Easy Riders Cruise The Slopes Snowbikes Offer Speed, Stability And A Gentle Introduction To Winter Recreation

Perhaps harbingers of things to come, our band of snow-slope rebels descends on the unsuspecting ski lodge.

Garbed in Thinsulate and Gore-Tex, we strut in and slug down rounds of Perrier, straight up. After fiercely bantering about quarterbacks and 401(k) options, our fractious pack swaggers back out to where the white and chrome steeds await. Grabbing handlebars, we swing onto the saddles and shove off for another cannonball run down the mountainside.

In the city, we might be middle-aged professionals, but here in the land of packed powder, we become Down-Hell’s Angels on Snowbikes.

Invented in the Alps, Snowbikes have finally slid to American slopes. Generically known as “skibobs,” the trademark-named contrivances look as if they were built of booty plundered from Schwinn and Rossignol.

Each features a squatty frame, which resembles the stingray bikes of youth. Where a road-going machine has tires, the downhill slider sports a pair of stubby skis.

Conventional handlebars turn the front runner while the back one trails in a fixed position. Powered by gravity, there are no motors, pedals, chains or cables.

Snowbikers wear conventional ski boots equipped with runners which float through the snow to act as training wheels. Combined with two fists gripping the handlebars and a pair of cheeks on the saddle, Snowbikers enjoy six stabilizing points of contact. At least that’s what instructor Jerry Wood of Colorado’s Silver Creek Resort says.

Silver Creek is the first of what promises to be many North American ski areas to offer Snowbiking. The family-friendly operation lies near the Continental Divide, between the mega-resorts of Winter Park and Steamboat Springs. Accompanied by brave-hearted friends, my wife and I drop by to test drive the new sport.

For less than a day of skiing Vail, Silver Creek provides lifts, boots, bikes and lessons. Jerry meets us outside the main lodge where Snowbikes are lined up like Harleys at a biker’s bar. None are choppers.

“The Snowbikes come in several sizes,” Jerry says, his voice idling with an easy rider, Arkansas drawl. “It’s important to find the right height.”

We search out appropriate fits and mount the two-runnered beauties. Hunkered close to the ground, I feel like a hip Peter Fonda cruising on his low rider.

“You want to lock elbows and keep thumbs on top,” Jerry tells us. “Your feet stay in close unless you’re stopping.”

I notice my buddy scrutinizing his bike. He looks puzzled.

“Where are the brakes?” he asks.

“You stop as you do skiing,” Jerry answers. “You form a wedge with your foot runners and carve into the slope.”

We scoot our bikes to the top of a short, low-angled practice hill where Jerry demonstrates.

“The bike’s runners have side-cut similar to downhill skis. To turn, push down on the handlebar and lean in the direction you want to go. Keep pressure on your heels, and don’t tilt forward or you’ll kiss the snow.”

Jerry leads down, and we follow timidly behind. Since nobody crashes, he decides we are ready to ride the main slopes.

We gang together at the top. My pal’s wife, who thinks all bikers suffer an Evel Knievel death wish, stares down the slope with a terrified gaze.

“Before today, has anybody died doing this?” she squeaks.

“We’ve had a few spills,” Jerry admits, “but so far the worst injury has been a sprained thumb. The bike is designed so that when it falls, you can’t jab yourself with the handlebars.”

I’m more concerned that if I slide into the front crossbar, I might start singing alto. I suppress the worry as Jerry continues instruction.

“You ride these as you would a motorcycle,” he tells us. “You lean with them in the turns.”

We practice the technique by making single bends across the slope. After showing that we can combine lefts and rights, Jerry turns us loose and we slither netherward, linking turns in a serpentine twist to the bottom.

“I am surprised how responsive these are,” my wife bubbles. “I was able to make short turns quicker than on skis.” This praise comes from a woman who schusses chutes where Jack Kevorkian wouldn’t send a client.

“How fast do these things go?” she asks when we meet for another run.

“The inventor’s son set a world record of 103 mile per hour,” Jerry tells us. “A few months later, he was clocked at 106 mph before falling and skidding sideways across the finish line.”

Although none of us plan to break a school-zone speed limit today, we do find velocity increasing with each descent. Turns come easier as we become accustomed to edging outside runners and unweighing inside ones. For those of us who ski, the technique seems intuitive.

“The biggest problem learning to downhill ski is trusting weight placed on the outside edges,” Jerry says. “We’ve had beginners try Snowbiking first. Because of the six-point stability, they quickly master weight transfer. When followed with ski lessons, novices learn much faster.”

In addition to the increased stability, we notice another difference from downhilling. As the hours slip past, we do not develop willow-kneed fatigue. Jerry tells us that because it’s less taxing, Snowbiking can provide an activity for people who otherwise cannot enjoy a ski experience.

“We’ve had many riders with bad knees, and I’ve taken up kids who have cerebral palsy,” he says. “Yesterday, I worked with a woman who was recovering from a stroke.”

We continue until the operator announces last lift. To console our disappointment, she allows one final run.

Our band of bikers gathers on top. Resembling a gang of born-to-be-wild accountants, we pose on our motorless snow hogs. The lift’s monotonous drone provides a poor substitute for the burble of Harleys.

One by one, members peel off for the final blitz down. I linger, watching as they slide from sight. When the run below empties, I too push off. Like a racer qualifying for Indy, I decide to press the limit.

Shooting down faster than a college jock on a beer run, I scribble tight zigzags through the snowpack. Trees become evergreen blurs, and trail markers might be Burma Shave signs for all I can tell.

It is fortunate there are no flying bugs in winter, because I’m grinning like the Cheshire grill of an old Buick. Fins of snow trail behind. Whooping, hollering and wearing my ball cap backward, I drag race maturity and shatter the sensibility barrier.

Silver Creek runs are short, and I soon coast to where the others await. Ripe with pride and pumped on adrenaline, I feel I am a Starbuck’s blend of Marlon Brando and Jean-Claude Killy.

“Wow! If we had that on video,” I shout, “it would be The Wild One meets Downhill Racer!”

“I think I would choose a different title,” my unimpressed wife counters. “At your age, it looked more like Speed meets Dumb and Dumber.”

I smile, confident that Evel Knievel probably hears the same wisdom from his spouse.

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: If you go The Silver Creek Resort ski area, located 78 miles northwest of Denver, is open through April 12. Runs operate from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Silver Creek Reservation and Travel (800-618-7669) provides a central reservation service for area properties. Silver Creek charges first-time Snowbikers $50 for a full-day lift ticket, equipment rental and lesson. The price drops to $45 without the lesson. Participants should dress as they would for skiing, including warm clothes and gloves. For more information, contact the Silver Creek Resort at 800-754-7458.