Vai Gringo – Incredible Riding in Rio de Janeiro
Christ the Redeemer is thirty-eight metres tall and weighs 1,145 tons – this is Cristo Redentor in Rio, seen from air, from the city, and on our television screens. However, few know of the amazing riding that can be found under the shadow of the iconic Christian statue.
BANG BANG BANG
I’m soaked in sweat, shivering, barely able to hold the bars. Were those machine gun shots that I just heard echo around this deprived district? I get off my bike, positioning myself in the shade of one of the colourful buildings, close to vomiting. It’s hard to believe that I’m in the middle of an XC race. The dust-filled air smells burnt, like a cloak on my damp skin. Bent over his front wheel, Pedro from pedal.br doesn’t look up as he speaks: “The shots were fired in the next slum. Don’t worry, bro.”
We’re standing on Morro Turano, the mountain that towers over one of Rio de Janeiro’s 750 slums. Usually this place is frequented by shoe polishers and rip-off CD sellers, and today there is one of the annual XC and downhill races taking place – we’re part of it. There are over a hundred participants in seven categories. Events to boost integration of the favelas, they say. Marshalls and signposting tape don’t exist here. The local kids walk barefoot over the course. There’s samba pumping out of speakers and a distinctive smell of grilled food. Tough teenagers ride clattering mopeds, swapping dead eyes with each other. It’s fairly quiet here today, though.
“Do you know that scene from Jackass when Johnny Knoxville is in the desert wearing a meat suit and fleeing from the lions? My bike is the meat suit, and the dangerous streets of Rio are the lions.”
This is one of the new experiences that I’m supposed to have for issue #018. In my day job as ENDURO ‘s graphic designer, I haven’t had much – if any – contact with weapons. The guys in Germany had warned me of the potential for such situations; any mention of Rio wouldn’t be complete without such tales. Just one week ago, heavily armed men attacked ten mountain bikers. The story is well known here. The police are powerless. There are more alternatives outside of the city for riding, away from the dangerous areas. But the riders in Brazil’s second biggest city harbor a secret, and once we reach the foot of Cristo Redentor, it appears that we’ve found it.
On the hunt for nature
The sweat is burning my eyes, everything’s blurry. The thermometer shows 39°C. The tar soaks up the heat and I feel like I’m in a fan oven. Out of the saddle, we make it up the hairpins, jolting our bikes from left to right. The slums climb alongside us, merging into the Tijuca forest. At the summit Cristo triumphantly spreads his arms, the Atlantic to his left. The slum children fly pipas, slicing their shopping bag kites through the sky that becomes their grand arena. Below us, a tooting stream of motorbikes, minibuses, and cars weave through the city’s corridors. It’s only a one-night-stand for me, but daily life for seven million Caricocas, as the locals refer to themselves.
Eventually the tranquility of the woods takes over, and we breathe fresh air. To our right we suddenly see a path – that must be the one! Is it part of the hallowed secret? We pull up our knee protectors and take a final gulp of lukewarm water before setting off. What follows makes my heart race and my eyes shine with excitement; I lack the words to describe the trail and its views. My face begins to cramp from the grin I can’t wipe away. Are we still in Rio, or have we ended up in a rainforest? Strava lost our location ages ago, and all we can hear is the rattling of our chains. Our tires desperately seeks grip on the wet roots, brakes squeal, and moist palm tree leaves whip our faces. After three minutes the trail spits us out, catapulting us back into civilization. Dodging rubbish, we manual and do stair jumps, landing between the dogs and goats who are being pelted with stones by naked kids. Bananas are being unloaded from a minibus to our right. High five.
Trails above, sea below. From Top to Bottom.
Almost all of the illegal trails finish on one of the many beaches: Capaccabana, Ipanema, Ilha Tartaruga. “Just head towards the sea,” is the answer that any local will give you as you ask for directions. Nobody stays dressed down there, throwing themselves into the jostling waves which are less refreshing than you expect. As kids pull wheelies on the beach promenade, the police show the tourists their best chin-ups. Of course, everyone’s playing football, usually barefooted regardless of whether they’re on tar, grass, or sand, regardless of whether they’re clad in jeans, shorts, or a bikini. Football isn’t just a human right here, it’s the city’s own language.
Largely unknown as a destination for mountain bikers, the city has its urban nature as the joker card. The weather dictates the city’s pace of life, with the nighttime alive after the swarming heat of the day. Whatever the time of the day, the locals are partying, the cars are tooting, and the surfers are out on the waves. The mountain bikers in Rio hang around the bars for a post-ride beer, drinking to the day they’ve had. Each tells a better story than the next, littering their tales with photos to prove it. Wheel sizes, suspension set-ups, and hugely fictionalised trail experiences are the same topics of conversation as at home. One conversationalist is Tomy; blond-haired and round-faced, he’s originally from Finland but has spent the past nine years enamored with Rio. “The trails, the beaches, the nightlife. I love this place, it’s paradise!” he says with a grin as he picks up his eighth beer. Tomy met his wife here, a real Garota Ipanema, as the locals lovingly call such model-esque, beach-dwelling beauties that can only be found in Rio.
But there’s more than just beach babes, incredible weather, and freshly fallen coconuts. Rio’s secret is somewhere between the perfect berms and the horizon… the wild root gardens and the flowing rock drops… the picture-perfect panoramas and the damp ground. It’s the monkeys, lianas, and hummingbirds that you have to dodge. Biking in Rio is like riding in the rainforest.
The hallowed ground from the Brazilians is a Swiss army knife – it has everything you need – even God’s blessing.
Words: Julian Lemme Photos: Eduardo Biermann
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