The Escape That Changed Everything: A Folklore Tale of Fleeing a Bigfoot Attack and the Shocking Events That Followed in the Heart of the Wilderness 

In the high forests of Mount Hood, where autumn paints the maples red and gold, there are tales whispered among bikers and hikers alike. Tales of shadows that move faster than deer, of roars that shake the marrow, of giants who guard the slopes.

This is the legend of Derek Hullbrook, a rider who once raced the world’s steepest trails, and who found himself pursued by a creature of myth. It is told not as history, but as folklore: a story of speed, survival, and the thin line between man and mystery.

The Rider’s Path

Derek was a man of wheels. In his youth he flew down mountains, competing in races where stone and gravity conspired to break bones. He had scars from crashes, medals from victories, and a love for trails that no injury could erase.

By middle age, he had turned from racing to designing trails. He carved paths through forests, shaping descents that tested skill and courage. In October of 2003, he worked in Mount Hood National Forest, building a private trail for a wealthy patron.

The trail was three miles long, dropping fifteen hundred feet, a descent of speed and danger. Derek brought his finest bike, a machine worth more than most men’s wages, and strapped a camera to his helmet to record the run.

He did not know that the forest had its own watchers.

The First Signs

The ride began well. Flowing turns, rock gardens, jumps—all crafted by his hand, all ridden with mastery. He narrated for the camera, proud of his work.

Then he saw them: footprints on the trail. Not deer, not elk, not bear. Humanlike, but enormous. Sixteen inches long, five feet apart. Fresh.

He slowed, uneasy. The forest smelled wrong, musky and rotten, a predator’s scent. He heard movement in the brush, heavy and deliberate. Then silence, the kind that falls when small creatures hide from something greater.

Through the foliage, he saw a face. Too wide, too flat, with a brow like stone. Eyes dark and intelligent. A head twice the size of a man’s.

The creature rose, nearly eight feet tall, fur dark and matted, arms long as branches. It roared, a sound both beast and human. Derek fled.

The Chase

He pedaled, gravity pulling him down the slope. The creature crashed through the forest beside him, keeping pace with impossible speed.

The trail dropped steep, and Derek reached forty, fifty miles per hour. Roots and rocks threatened to throw him, but instinct guided him. He leapt over logs, threaded between trees, flew across jumps.

The creature did not falter. It hurdled obstacles, bulldozed through boulders, ran on knuckles and feet like a gorilla, yet faster than any beast.

At one point, it cut ahead, blocking the trail with arms spread wide. Derek veered off, crashing through undergrowth, branches whipping his body. He returned to the trail battered but alive.

The chase continued, a duel of speed and endurance. Rider and giant, man and myth, racing down the mountain as if the forest itself demanded a contest.

The Breaking Point

Derek’s bike began to fail. The suspension groaned, bolts snapped, the rear wheel seized. He knew that stopping meant death, yet the machine betrayed him.

He reached a wooden bridge over a creek. He leapt, landed hard, the bike nearly breaking beneath him. The creature followed, but the bridge cracked under its weight. It stopped, watching from the far side, chest heaving.

For a moment, their eyes met. Not rage, not hunger, but recognition. Respect, perhaps. Then Derek turned a corner, and the giant was gone.

He thought he was safe. But the forest had more voices.

The Others

As he pushed his broken bike, he heard calls. Not roars, but complex sounds—hoots, grunts, clicks—answering each other from different directions. More than one. They were surrounding him.

He abandoned the bike, took only water, radio, and camera. He ran into the forest, perpendicular to the trail, hoping to break their pattern.

The undergrowth clawed at him, his shoes slipped on moss, his wrist sprained in a fall. Behind him, heavy footsteps closed in. He scrambled down a slope, dirt and pine needles sliding beneath him.

The calls grew louder, closer. He was hunted not by one, but by many.

The Folklore of the Chase

What happened after is told in fragments. Some say Derek escaped, stumbling back to his truck hours later, shaken but alive. Others say he was guided by the creatures, allowed to leave as a warning. Still others whisper that he left behind his bike and camera, and that the forest claimed them both.

But the story became legend. Riders speak of the Chase of the Hidden Giant, of the day a man raced against myth. They tell of footprints larger than boots, of roars that shook the trees, of eyes that held intelligence.

Children hear of the giants who guard the trails, testing those who ride too deep into their domain. Elders speak of respect between man and beast, of recognition across species.

The tale is not about proof, but about awe. It is told to remind us that the forest holds mysteries, that speed and skill are nothing before the power of the unknown.

Lessons of the Legend

The folklore of Derek’s chase teaches:

On humility: Even the fastest rider can be matched by the forest’s guardians.
On respect: The giants are not mindless beasts, but beings who choose when to reveal themselves.
On survival: Courage and instinct can carry a man through trials, but only if the forest allows.
On mystery: Proof is less important than wonder. Some truths are meant to be honored, not explained.

The Chase of the Hidden Giant is not a tale of victory, but of encounter. It reminds us that the wilderness is alive with more than trees and trails. It holds watchers, challengers, beings who test the limits of man.

Epilogue: The Rider’s Silence

Derek lived, but he spoke little of that day. He kept the footage, but whether he showed it or destroyed it, no one knows. He continued to design trails, but he never rode alone in Mount Hood again.

And so the story endures, passed from rider to rider, from elder to child. The tale of the man who raced a giant, who fled through forest and stone, who glimpsed respect in the eyes of myth.

The Hidden Ones remain, their voices echoing in the woods, their footprints pressed into the earth. And when the wind carries a musky scent, when silence falls too suddenly, when shadows move faster than they should, riders remember Derek’s chase.

They whisper: The giants are watching. Ride with respect.