No Way! : Laguna’s Hans Rey got a nickname by doing the impossible on his mountain bike. But he insists he’s just a regular guy.

Hansjorg Rey is a member of the Ancient Astronaut Society. He gargles with sunflower oil. He would like to ride his bike up and over an elephant.

But here’s where the story gets weird: Rey, a German-born Swiss citizen who lives in South Laguna, is no different than the rest of us. His friends swear this is true.

Forget that Rey does things on a mountain bike that seem straight out of the “X-Files.” Forget that he’s able to ride his bike up and over cars, trees and picnic tables. Rey, they say, is truly down to earth. It’s his talent on two wheels that’s otherworldly.

Picture riding your bike up a slippery, boulder-strewn waterfall. Or popping a wheelie while keeping your hands in the air. Imagine riding down a hill in San Francisco on just your front wheel.

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Rey not only manages these feats; he performs them for a living. At 29, he is one of biggest names in mountain biking and he doesn’t even compete. Never heard of him? Give it time. He’s coming to you--via talk shows, TV commercials, live performances worldwide--with a super-charged mix of sports and razzle-dazzle.

Not bad for a guy who says he once dreamed of becoming a garbage collector. “Hans is a rock star; he just doesn’t know it,” says photographer Tim Cadiente, who witnessed Rey being mobbed by adoring fans in Italy.

Rey grew up in the Black Forest region of Germany and began riding a bike at the age of 8.

He was fascinated with motorcycle “trials,” an arcane event that requires riders to carefully navigate over a jumbled set of obstacles--fallen trees, ramps, boulders, beer kegs--intended to throw the rider off balance. Riders are penalized a point each time they make bodily contact with the course. The rider with the fewest points wins.

Young Hans begged his parents for a motorcycle but received a bicycle instead. When bicycle trials were introduced, Hans took to it like a thorn to a tire. He won seven national titles, moved to the United States and dominated the American scene. He was so smooth hopping his bike from one obstacle to the next that at times he appeared to be levitating.

The other riders just shook their heads. Hans Rey could ride where others could barely walk.

Imagine: You’re riding your bike along a wooded trail. You come across a large oak tree whose lowest bough is only a couple feet off the ground. You study the limb, note how it curves and twists. Then, keeping your feet on your pedals and hands on your grips, you bunny-hop the bike up onto the bough and start pedaling.

Your friends say no way, Rey. No way can you ride a tree branch as if it were a stripe down the street. No way can you hop your bike from one picnic table to the next. But you prove them wrong again and again; the nickname sticks: No Way Rey.

“No one could pronounce ‘Hansjorg’ anyway,” No Way Rey says.

Rey is sitting in the back yard of his South Laguna home, which he and his wife, Marisa, purchased two years ago. The house is filled with cycling trophies and the sounds of reggae, but the back yard is its sanctuary. A tinkling waterfall, a koi pond, a grove of bamboo and tropical plants. This is where Rey, the in-touch-with-nature dude, revives his spirit after weeks on the road.

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He performed 80 shows worldwide last year and figures he’ll perform at least that many this year. His phone and fax machine buzz 24 hours a day. He keeps his passport by the door.

“The whole thing’s getting way beyond what I ever thought it would,” Rey says in his German-accented surfspeak. “You go to Uruguay and people actually know you.”

Rey sounds almost incredulous. As if he’s amazed at the response. So he makes his living as a professional bunny-hopper. What’s so unusual about that?

Actually, mountain biking’s P.T. Barnum knew all along where he was headed. Why else would he have a cameraman at his side when he hopped streams of red hot lava in Hawaii or popped wheelies on the roof of a New York City taxi or bungee-jumped off a 150-foot bridge with his bike in New Zealand?

“I created my job around exposure,” Rey says with a shrug.

And how. Rey’s cycling jersey is one of the busiest billboards in the industry, with logos ranging from a German clutch company to a maker of peanut butter cookies. He wears three wristwatches for a photo shoot, allowing three times the exposure for the Swiss watchmaker who sponsors him.

In some sports, that might be called selling out. But Rey’s peers don’t seem to mind one bit. Their more-power-to-him sentiment is fueled by a deep reservoir of respect.

“I think the world of him,” says Ibis Cycles owner Scot Nichol, one of the few who doesn’t sponsor Rey. “He’s friendly to everybody. He hasn’t let all this incredible fame go to his head. I can’t think of anyone who does not like him or wish him well.”

Now wait a sec. What about that cheer heard around the mountain biking world that time ol’ No Way bit the dust in a race at 45 m.p.h.? He merely suffered a punctured lung, broken ribs and scrapes up the wazoo.

“Yeah,” Cadiente says, seeming to relish the memory. “Everyone was saying, ‘He fell, he fell! Hans is human. ‘ “

So human, in fact, there’s a trail in Aliso Woods Canyon named after a crash by No Way Rey. It’s dubbed: “Almost, Rey.”

Rey smiles. Sure, he pops wheelies off his roof and into the pool sometimes. And he’s been known to ride underwater. Yeah, he takes to the trails with the Laguna Rads, who live for dirt, sweat and steep thrills.

But it’s not like he drinks adrenaline for breakfast, he says. And he’s definitely not a death wish on wheels.

“I’m more mellow and realistic,” Rey says. “I’m not out to kill myself. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

What’s the first thing?

With Rey, it’s tough to say.

He loves to surf, ski, and read works by Hermann Hesse. He’s intrigued by a UFO-tracking group called the Ancient Astronaut Society. He keeps up on home remedies: swishing the mouth with pure sunflower oil so as to eliminate toxins from the body, using cherry brandy and salt for sore throats and headaches.

Problem is he doesn’t have a tick of spare time. He’s working on a video starring “Mr. Jiggs,” a mountain-biking chimpanzee. He’s looking into a trip to Peru to ride the Inca Trail. He’s intrigued by the prospect of riding up and over an elephant (in an environmentally correct way, of course).

And the pyramids in Egypt? Wouldn’t you know, they’re calling Rey’s name.

“I flew over to check them out,” Rey says. “The Great Pyramid is too steep, though I could possibly ride down the third one, but. . . . “

Rey pauses. He looks a bit sad.

“Then everyone would say: ‘Oh, but he didn’t ride the Great one.’ ”