We have sat staring at each other across the kitchen table in studied silence for weeks. Not a word said. An underlying sense of menacing intent on their part that pervaded the entire house. Intimidating, unsettling. I’ve tried to understand, to show my interest with small tokens of affection, hours spent carefully researching and selecting each one. But the underlying tension remains.
I’ve been here before, in a different time, different circumstances and can’t for the life of me remember how I resolved it, I just know it worked out alright in the end, the more time we spent together. The weather hasn’t helped, the long winter up here in the far north has somehow subsumed the first half of spring too with snow lying over everything and perpetual strong winds making getting outside together a less than enticing prospect. But with the first glimmers of buds on the trees, there’s only one option left to break this impasse. I suggest a van trip; get away, explore somewhere new and see if we can connect.
And so I find myself in the start hut of the world cup downhill track in Fort William astride my new Hope HB916, replete in lovingly and painstakingly applied framewrap and shiny new Hope Union GC pedals. I’m ashen faced, anxious, full of what-ifs and self-doubt. They are exuding total confidence and utter control: calm, collected. We’ve had a few days together now, started to understand each other. The first date went like many; a lot of coffee to galvanise some action, some awkward silences, occasionally a knowing look as we find a degree of rhythm; some chaffing and the odd inexplicable bruise as we try to iron out a few remaining idiosyncrasies on both sides. And it’s brought us to this point, the defining moment of our embryonic relationship. This is make or break.
Clunk, click: dropper down, cleats engaged. Brain: disengaged. I’ve never ridden this, I don’t know the lines. “Follow my wheel” is well meant but ultimately hopeless advice. It’s just the two of us locked in a desperate embrace as we dance the serpent snaking its way down Aonach Mor. Time to let go and trust. And with that trust comes reward. The surefootedness of this bike, the ability to soak up truly appalling decision-making on my part and allow me to contemplate tackling ever more challenging sections is a revelation. My confidence grows. A little too much and I’m rewarded with a short sharp nip to the back of my legs from overstepping the mark and slipping out of the pedals when I overcook a rock garden. My fault; learning the boundaries. Back to it and into the trees and the lower jump section where things really take off. Literally.
Sat outside my van after the first run, there’s no doubt she’s a keeper. In terms of looks and ability, she maybe a 10 and I’m only a 6 but it seems to work and I’m excited to see what the future brings. I’ve been approached in car parks by interested third parties with a twinkle in their eye, asking probing questions about size and reach, but I’ve never been too interested in the deep tech aspects of riding; I go by feel, not numbers. If it looks right, it probably is and the HB916 certainly looks more than alright. The most I can offer these enquiries is that it flatters. It exudes confidence and in doing so, inspires your own. My riding has gone next-level in the few short weeks we’ve been together and the sense is that we’re nowhere near the limits of its capability, and by inference, mine. That is a captivating thought.
It offers a very different experience to the HB130, a very capable bike in its own right. The HB130 has taken me to some amazing places over the past few years, with its all-day rideability and calm composure when things get a little rowdy. And the carbon weave finish is a vision of master craftsmanship. It’s an adventure bike that allows me to get deep into the mountains on all-day missions. The 916 is more of a heavy hitter, a race-bike thoroughbred for smashing laps of local riding spots, for short, sharp hits of adrenaline. For hike-a-biking a Munro and smashing the descent down long-forgotten ghillie paths. It would be easy to cliché that it’s essentially a downhill bike you can winch to the top and tackle ever dafter lines on. But that would be to do it a disservice, as it is so much more than that. And for such a bike its pedalability is surprising. This thing can really climb. Like its stunning chameleon paint, this is a bike with a complex depth of character that is much more subtle than its initial intimidating curves and stature suggest.
I love biking but I had fallen out of love with biking for a while. I’d tried various solutions, resorting to the tried and tested formula of the total number of bikes to be owned equaling n+1 where n is the number of bikes currently owned. But that only ever provided short term relief from my malaise. This is different. The HB916 might just have changed the maths of mountain biking: n+1 might just equal HB916.
Words: John Fidler
Photos: Pete Scullion