Chunder is a Bro term that describes loose rocky, technical terrain. A trail might have a lot of chunder on it or even be ‘chunderous.’ The etymology may include the words churn and thunder combined in a cute portmanteau, or it may just be a cognate of the Aussie slang ‘chunder,’ which means vomit. You can sorta see how a particularly technical trail might be strewn in rocket vomit.
Chunder is a step up from chatter, which is the first gradation after ‘loamy’ or ‘buffed out.’ We used to say a chundery trail was littered with ‘baby heads,’ small, unstable rocks the size of…well, yeah. A trail like that could be ‘gnarly.’ If the rocks on the trail are big, but not necessarily loose, you’d say it’s ‘chunky,’ not chundery, but that’s advanced Bro.
As an aside, my understanding is that UC Boulder will soon become the first university to offer a course in Bro, the language of young action sports participants. Bro has struggled for recognition for decades, especially as its slang-based dialects evolve so rapidly, and because, let’s be honest, it sounds pretty dumb.
While chunder doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you want, navigating a bunch of ground vomit on the way to a good time, a trail that sports heavy chunder is actually right up my alley. I am no longer (and likely never was) fast, but I love the technical side of the game, so I love me a low-flow grind that keeps me right at the edge of my skills.
Give me chunder. Give me chunk.
If the spaces in between offer ‘hero dirt,’ sometimes called ‘brown pow,’ but never by this writer, then so much the better. I’m in favor.
As a bike industry veteran, I’ve had to become conversant in Bro, because it is the dominant argot of the shop employee. Many of us use its cringe-worthy terms and phraseology in an ironic manner, a way of signifying that we know who we are and yet aren’t afraid to laugh at ourselves, the tacit agreement being that of course, we’re not actually bros, but we’ll talk like this with a little wink-wink just to prove it.
If you and I are out on a ride, and you say to me, “This section coming up is chunderous, so be careful,” I’ll clarify, “So loose and technical?” I might also say, “Don’t speak to me that way. I’m a grown-ass adult.”
I understand though, it can be hard to know quite how to play this one. My feeling is that irony only takes us so far. It’s good to avoid taking things (everything) too seriously, but there’s a sanctimoniousness, a smug sense of superiority, that attends to most irony that isn’t a good look for a person sitting on a $6k bike wearing knee pads and a helmet.