Wade Simmons' Garage: Where North Shore Mountain Biking Legends Are Made

Jennifer Miller · 2026-09-21

There are garages. And then there are garages. Some smell of fresh paint and neatly organized toolboxes. Others smell of gasoline and lawnmowers. Wade Simmons' garage? It smells of chain lube, fresh tires, and mountain bike history. An old Rocky Mountain frame rests between two work stands. Next to it sit Wade's motocross bike, a pair of skis, and boxes packed with spare parts. A workbench is covered with a hundred bolts. Or maybe a thousand. Only their owner knows where they all belong. We're looking for an 8 mm Allen key. "Just help yourself," says Wade, pointing toward the bench. You get the feeling that this is a place where, for years, people haven't just repaired bikes. They've dreamed up ideas, shared stories, and planned their next adventures. ### First Things First: Watering the Garden Wade belongs to Rocky Mountain much the way maple syrup belongs to Canada. The "Godfather of Freeride" is also the social glue that holds the entire North Shore riding scene together. More than anything, though, he's just a genuinely down-to-earth guy with no airs or graces. After crashing at his place following yesterday's ride, there's an early knock at the door the next morning. The morning crew starts rolling in: Margus Riga, the photographer, Eric Lawrence (Lornny) with his camera, plus Ken, Lyle, and Tom, Rocky Mountain's product managers. They're the kind of people who spend their mornings working on geometry charts and their afternoons thrashing test bikes through the dirt. We do one last tire pressure check. Someone else adds two clicks of rebound damping. Another is hunting for his helmet. Meanwhile, Wade is watering the garden. Luna, his dog, wanders casually between the bikes as if she's seen hundreds of mornings like this. Nobody mentions when we're finally going to leave. Yet fifteen minutes later, everyone is clipped in and ready to roll. Just another Friday on the North Shore, it seems. Tools rattle, pedals go on, a track pump hisses off a valve in the corner, and somewhere someone's hunting for a helmet. A few moments later, the driveway is empty and the crew has disappeared into the maze of cedar trees, rock slabs, and wooden bridges. ### Welcome to the North Shore: Where Mountain Biking Has Never Stopped Being a Community Vancouver has two faces. The Pacific Ocean lies right on its doorstep, while mountains rise behind the city. In between, ferries cross the water, skyscrapers reflect in the harbor, and one of the densest rainforests we've ever ridden begins. People here head out for a post-work ride in places others travel halfway around the world to tick off their bucket list. Few places blur the line between city life and wilderness quite so effortlessly. The tarmac ends. The moss takes over. The Rocky Mountains lie hundreds of miles to the east. Rocky Mountain Bicycles, however, was born right here, in the basement of a bike shop in Vancouver, where three friends—Grayson Bain, Jacob Heilbron, and Sam Mak—started modifying their road bikes in the late 1970s with wider tires, flat handlebars, and tougher components to tackle the North Shore trails. In 1981, that project became a brand of its own. Legend has it that Bain came up with the name while looking out of an airplane window at the snow-covered peaks of western Canada. More than four decades later, Rocky Mountain has become a true icon, surviving turbulent times and even insolvency before turning the page under new ownership. One thing, however, has never changed: the North Shore is not only the brand's birthplace but to this day remains the ultimate proving ground for their bikes. > "The North Shore isn't just where mountain biking happened. It's where it keeps happening." — Wade Simmons ### Beer Tastes Better on Fallen Logs Towering western red cedars rise like cathedral columns into the sky, while the forest floor is a tangle of roots and rocks. This is the North Shore, where mountain biking was born from raw necessity and a spirit of adventure. It's a place where legends are made, not just because of the terrain, but because of the people who ride it. For event organizers, the North Shore offers a blueprint for building community around trails. It's not about fancy facilities or big budgets—it's about the shared passion, the morning rituals, and the simple joy of riding with friends. Whether it's a grassroots race or a casual group ride, the North Shore proves that the best mountain biking events are the ones that feel like home.