Inside the Garage Where Mountain Bike History Was Made on the North Shore

Robert Wilson · 2026-09-21

You know garages. Some smell like fresh paint and neatly organized toolboxes. Others smell like gas and lawnmowers. But Wade Simmons' garage? It smells like chain lube, fresh tires, and pure mountain bike history. It's a space where legends are born, not just bikes. An old Rocky Mountain frame sits between two work stands, surrounded by motocross bikes, skis, and boxes overflowing with spare parts. A workbench is covered with hundreds of bolts—maybe a thousand. Only Wade truly knows where each one belongs. We needed an 8 mm Allen key. "Just help yourself," he said, gesturing to the chaos. This isn't just a repair shop. It's a think tank. For years, people haven't just fixed bikes here. They've dreamt up ideas, shared stories, and planned the next big adventure. ### The Heartbeat of the North Shore Scene Wade is to Rocky Mountain Bicycles what maple syrup is to Canada. They just belong together. Known as the "Godfather of Freeride," he's also the social glue that holds the entire North Shore riding scene together. But more than any title, he's just a genuinely down-to-earth guy. After crashing at his place following a ride, an early knock came at the door the next morning. The morning crew was rolling in. Margus Riga, the photographer. Eric "Lornny" Lawrence with his camera. Ken, Lyle, and Tom, Rocky Mountain's product managers. These are the people who spend mornings on geometry charts and afternoons thrashing test bikes through the dirt. It's a familiar ritual. One last tire pressure check. Someone adds two clicks of rebound damping. Another person is hunting for their helmet. And Wade? He's calmly watering his garden. His dog, Luna, wanders between the bikes like she's seen a thousand mornings just like this. ### The Friday Ritual That Never Changes Nobody says a word about when we're leaving. But fifteen minutes later, everyone is clipped in and ready to roll. Tools rattle, pedals go on, a track pump hisses. Just another Friday on the North Shore. The driveway empties, and the crew disappears into a maze of towering cedar trees, slick rock slabs, and wooden bridges. ### Where City Life Meets the Wild Vancouver has two faces. The Pacific Ocean is right on its doorstep, and mountains rise straight up behind the city. In between, you'll find skyscrapers reflecting in the harbor and one of the densest, most technical rainforests you can ride. People here head out for a post-work ride on trails others travel thousands of miles to experience. The tarmac ends, and the moss takes over. It's that simple. Here's a quick look at what makes the North Shore unique: - **Accessibility:** World-class trails start where the city ends. - **Community:** It's built on a shared passion, not just competition. - **Terrain:** A unique mix of rock, root, wood, and loam that tests every component. - **History:** This is the birthplace of freeride and modern trail development. The Rocky Mountains lie hundreds of miles to the east. But Rocky Mountain Bicycles was born right here in a Vancouver bike shop basement. In the late 1970s, three friends—Grayson Bain, Jacob Heilbron, and Sam Mak—started modifying their road bikes. They added wider tires, flat handlebars, and tougher components just to survive the North Shore. By 1981, that project became a brand. Legend says Bain came up with the name while looking at snow-covered peaks from an airplane window. More than four decades later, Rocky Mountain is a true icon. It's survived turbulent times, even insolvency, before a rebirth under new ownership. But one thing never changed. The North Shore isn't just the brand's birthplace. It's still the ultimate proving ground for every bike they make. As one local put it, "Beer tastes better on fallen logs." It's about the experience, not just the ride. The towering western red cedars rise like cathedral columns, creating a sacred space for the sport. This is where mountain biking has never stopped being a community. It's a living, breathing culture that starts in a humble garage and flows out onto the loamy trails, one Friday at a time.