The Django 29 experience
The sound of the river’s churning froth drowns out the cyclical click of our rear hubs as we roll along its banks. Its red rust dyed waters polish the granite beneath and slap the mossy green banks. Our wheels bob over boulders and roots, chocolate milk water and pudding-like mud squirting out from under our tires. A verdant blanket enshrouds us, a forest full of ferns, unfamiliar trees, bushes, and plants so thick it’s a jungle. It’s warm and humid. Spotted lime green frogs leap out of the way sensing the vibration of our bodies pummeling along this path. The place feels tropical and the language is foreign. It could be the Amazon, Costa Rica, a far off French colony or some equatorial paradise. But it’s not that muggy, there's no life threatening bugs, reptiles or predators and the trail is far too manicured. The faint strip of the cocoa colored track is perfectly etched for mountain bikes. It flows, banks with berms, pops through corners and sturdy ladders elevate us above the bogs. For half of the year, this whole landscape is spindly, brown and hibernating. Right now, though, here in Vallée Bras-du-Nord, Quebec, the place is thriving.