I am following James Doerfling and there is dirt everywhere. The trail bed is rich and dark. There is a sheet of soil rooster-tailing towards me in a brown wave, obscuring my vision and doing it’s best to get up my nose. We are high above the Northern gold rush pit stop of Carcross, Yukon. The surface we ride upon looks like farm land that has been roto-tilled. It is as if the trails have had helicopters dump bucket after bucket of organic matter upon them. There are corner bombs going off left and right. We pick up speed and we aim, shoot, and hit our target, sailing over a span of roots. The trail goes to the right. Whammo! A corner bomb. Dirt is suddenly in my teeth, in my eyes, loose earth shoots up underneath my helmet. There is even dirt down my ass crack. How does that even happen? James, what have you done to me?!?