There is a place, in the furthest corner of the world, where 12-year-olds will have you reconsidering how good you actually are at mountain biking. To picture this place, imagine any mountain town, multiply the beauty of its scenery to a near-fairytale level, add a lot of cutoff jeans, and pepper in two of the world’s largest public jump lines. This is Queenstown, New Zealand.

As a rider, I’ve been dreaming of spending time in New Zealand since I first laid eyes on its splendor about 18 years ago. In early 2024, I took a month-long trip with a few besties to ride there and get the scoop on what makes this region so special. My findings, it turned out, were a bit unconventional.

With a resident population of about 60,000, Queenstown is situated inland on the southern end of the country’s South Island. This medium- sized town sits at the foot of a number of insane mountain ranges and shares its valley with the beautiful Lake Wakatipu. Adventure tourism is Queenstown’s biggest industry, and a diverse array of adrenaline-fueled people flock here from all over.

Queenstown is sandwiched by two mega lines—Dream Track and the Gorge Road dirt jumps—on opposite ends of town. Between them, the Skyline Gondola runs straight from the center of the bustle to the Queenstown Bike Park. In every direction there are iconic trails and some of the most beautiful views I’ve ever witnessed. With a public, sanctioned trail infrastructure like this in place, the mountain biking community is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I realized that on day one, when a man extended his hand to me, cigarette dangling from the corner of his smiling mouth, while I waited to drop in on the mulch jumps at Wynyard, a zone close to Dream Track.

“Hey, how are ya? Name’s Gaff,” he said from aboard his dirt jumper outfitted with pegs. I’d later learn his name was Garph, and that he could throw flips in any direction. He was there with a few buddies—we’re talking some core dudes, rippers for sure. One sported a ragged, homecooked bowl-cut hairdo worthy of a ‘90s cereal commercial. Garph’s shoes were held together by zip-ties. The laces, he told me, blew out while he was cutting up a car. This was a jean shorts, bleached hair, no shirts kinda situation.

I was a little intimidated by the vibe but, before long, my friends and I were sessioning the jumps with Garph and his crew. Within a few hits on the Wynyard mulch on that very first day, all three guys were encouraging me and helping me improve what I was working on. It ended up being an experience very indicative of the rest of our time in New Zealand. Of all the places I’ve ridden in the world, the people in Queenstown stand out to me as the friendliest.

In fact, I noticed clues about this before I ever set foot in the land of the Kiwis. At home, as I packed for the trip, I had snapped a photo for the ‘gram of a spread of gear I planned to bring that included a bike lock. Within a day of posting, I lost track of how many people responded to tell me I wouldn’t be needing anything like that in New Zealand.

“No bike lock! We’re safe as here,” read one comment.

Crime, it turns out, is exceptionally low in Queenstown. So low, I came to find out, that some locals I met during my trip had never taken their keys out of their cars. Downtown, bikes dangle from unattended vehicles. At private homes, they lean untethered against backyard fences. In parking lots around town, vans sit full of gear, windows down.

This relative safety has seemingly combined with near-perfect terrain and an ultra-dedicated community of local mountain bikers to produce a town that is nothing short of buzzing. During peak season, gatherings such as jump jams, chainless races, pumptrack races, and whip-offs are the norm. It’s a magical vibe with a lot of happy people. This all funnels into what I find to be the most unique aspect of Queenstown: The caliber of the average rider here is off the charts. On any given afternoon, you can roll up to Dream Track and find locals of all ages and professions absolutely throwing down.

There’s a fourteen-year-old here with a better whip than most pros I know. In Queenstown, your local plumber, construction worker, or food service employee likely has plans to casually lap a few lines with 40-foot-plus gaps as soon as they get off of their shift. Many of them ride Frankenstein bikes with bits pieced together from wherever they can get them. New Zealand’s isolation from the rest of the world means the latest and greatest parts aren’t as readily available as they are in Europe or North America.