Heli-Biking

    Last year one of my sons went heli-biking which is much like heli-skiing. A helicopter flies you to a high and remote location, but you come back down by mountain bike. The descent, by the way, involves traversing the actual mountain, not by coasting downhill on a highway.

   A few other fellows were involved and they survived, along with some good stories about the adventure which took most of the day. I will spare you most of the stories and the pictures will have to suffice. There is one story worth recounting, however, which involves an earlier biking experience that is difficult to believe and which needs evidence. 

"Jumping the Tour"

  My son mentioned that the participants could be described as a hardy and experienced group and that one of them had, years ago, "jumped the Tour de France." The phrase literally means what it implies, that someone soars over the peloton by bike. Not given to boasting or bullshit, my son was not questioned by me and his assertion was verified very easily by a Google search. The participant who told the story actually appears in some of the stories now provided below. I have not included names here to protect the guilty. It may be the case that some of these fellows told their wives or employers or insurance agents that they were spending the day doing something far less dangerous.

   To follow, are stories and videos about heli-biking should you wish to verify my (his) account, or perhaps find out where you can go heli-biking. Since readers of MM are not a particularly credulous lot, I will provide first the most difficult thing to believe - that mountain bikers have jumped over those road bikers riding in the Tour de France. In this account, one of the jumpers featured who jumped the Tour, is still riding in the mountains with my son many years later.

"Road Gaps and Yellow Jerseys: 9 Times Mountain Bikers Crashed the Tour de France Party: A Brief History of Grand Jumps at La Grande Bouche. Terry McKall, Canadian MTB, June 25, 2021. 

Sources:
  For more about "Tour Jumping" see: "All the Famous Bike Jumps Over the Tour de France Peloton From 2003 to 2019: A History of Hucking the Peloton," Rachel Wight, July 17, 2019.
  For Canadian heli-biking opportunities, here are some options. View first this video about mountain biking in "Disneyland" which is the term used to describe the vast mountain playground in the mountains around Squamish, B.C. 
Black Tusk
Wandering Wheels
Alpx (Whistler)
High Terrain Helicopters
Glacier Helicopters

  For articles use "heli biking", helibiking or heli-biking in your search. There seem to be many articles about heli-biking in New Zealand. This article indicates that a lodge in Alaska was among the first to provide heli-biking in the U.S.: "United States' First Heli-Biking Adventure Takes Flight in Alaska at Tordrillo Mountain Lodge," PR Newswire, Oct. 4, 2017:
"Tordrillo Mountain Lodge is the first outfitter in the United States to offer heli-biking, an unrivaled outdoor experience that enables mountain biking access via helicopter to millions of acres of pristine mountain terrain in the breathtaking Tordrillo Mountain range of Alaska.As a top provider of incomparable adventure experiences, Tordrillo Mountain Lodge invested in the country's first Aero Quick Design Release helicopter bike rack, a state-of-the-art piece of equipment that can transport bikes without the burden of disassembling them for flight. With the new rack, four bikers and their bikes, as well as an experienced guide, are flown into the Tordrillo mountain range from the Lodge's helicopter pad and are ready to hit the pristine Alaskan trails in just minutes."

   This article, ten years earlier, indicates that a Canadian resort was offering heli-skiing and heli-biking during the summer. "Heli-biking Is a New Sport That Takes Riders to the Limit - and Leaves Them There,' Michael Park, The Sunday Times, Sept. 16, 2007. Since The Times is behind a pay wall, here is some of the article. It is about the Mike Wiegele Resort in Blue River, B.C.

   "It wasn't until an hour after the orange helicopter had dropped us on top of the cloud-covered mountain that the doubt began to set in. One minute I was hanging on to my mountain bike while careering down rocky trails, over logs and across icy streams at the start of what would be a 7,000ft descent, and the next, I was lost.
"We are more 'off-track' than lost," said Courtney Nash, our guide, in a not completely convincing tone. At that moment, stranded in a ravine on the side of an anonymous peak in the middle of Canada where (I had read) bears and mountain lions roam free, and with only a tyre pump for protection, I'm not too proud to admit that I was losing my bottle. I wondered how long I could survive on three energy bars. Welcome to the entirely unpredictable world of heli-biking. The sport is still in its infancy and as yet there is nothing comparable in Britain, where mountains are few and far between. Across the Atlantic, however, it is taking off as the next big extreme sport.
   The premise is simple. Like heli-skiing, competent bikers looking to push themselves beyond the limit are flown to the top of a mountain peak inaccessible by any other means, in a helicopter. They're then dropped off with their bike and enough supplies for a day's hard ride, and left to fend for themselves. The beauty of it is that as well as tackling some of the most challenging routes imaginable, you get the thrill of knowing you're probably the first person ever to cycle the unmarked trails. Plus, of course, you haven't had to endure the leg-sapping climb to the start point. But the downside is that if you get lost, run into a tree or shoot over a precipice, you're on your own. The sport grew out of the fact that heli-skiing being a winter sport, the choppers were idle during the off season. So bikers approached pilots and asked them to drop them at the same place as they would the skiers, leaving them to make their own way down the mountain.
   Ever more ski resorts are latching on to the idea, and you can choose from a wide range of trails. But most organisers stipulate that you must be an experienced rider, and it's advisable to earn your spurs on the lower nursery slopes before going properly off piste. There you can learn about the techniques required for riding skinnys (a length of log you have to balance along), switchbacks (fast, tight corners) and drop-offs (a sudden step down in the trail).
   In winter, the Mike Wiegele Resort in Blue River, 270 miles northeast of Vancouver, plays host to the rich and famous, all seeking privacy and some of the best virgin powder and downhill skiing in the world. There are no chairlifts to take you to the top of the Monashee mountains in which Wiegele's resort sits, so only those coming in by helicopter can experience the spectacular views of glaciers and snow-capped peaks.
  During the summer, when most of the 30ft of snow that falls each year has melted, the bare rocks, fallen trees and narrow trails alongside streams and soggy grassland offer mountain bikers the most challenging of descents.
   And this is where I found myself on a Saturday morning with half a dozen other heli-bikers kitted out in body armour and helmets and a bike called Rocky Mountain Slayer.
   Going up is almost as thrilling as coming down. Almost. We buzzed over treetops and wilderness that stretched to the horizon, the bikes packed in a net slung beneath the chopper. We banked hard then our veteran pilot dropped us on to a small plateau a few metres from the ridge line from which we would start our descent.
   It's when the helicopter becomes a tiny dot against the granite face of the mountain and the noise of its rotors dies away that you realise just how remote you are. There is no mobile phone signal, when you shout your voice shouts back at you, and beneath your feet is terrain that possibly nobody else has ever stood upon. The view is epic, the sense of wonder all-consuming, and against the massive mountain you and your bike seem very, very small and insignificant.
   We saddled up, clicked into our pedals, adjusted out helmets and rolled over the edge.
   Back in the ravine, August snow had started to fall silently through the trees.Nash decided we had taken a wrong turn at "the big tree" (Er, right, like, which one?) and that we should dismount to retrace our steps. "Be careful," he said, "the snow has made this trail slicker than a gopher's guts."
   And so we worked our way back up the mountain, sunlight bathing the green trees and moss-speckled granite rock by the side of the trail. Gingerly, we coaxed our full-suspension bikes over rocks and roots, through valleys, ravines and pristine forest.
   An hour later we were back on track. Before saddling up for the descent, we paused to take in the spectacular views in every direction. It was then that I decided it was safe to take a bite of the energy bar I had been saving.
   We pedalled gingerly down a single-track trail then bombed down a dirt track used by loggers, as brilliant white clouds of snow billowed through valleys below us and the wind roared in our ears. When we arrived at the end of the road, ready to be picked up, we all agreed that it had been one hell of a ride."

(I was pleased to see that the Mike Wiegele Heli-Skiing Resort still exists.)