Like many of you, I live with one foot in one place and another elsewhere. What I mean is this, I live in and love the city and yet at the same time I long for adventure in the wilderness. This is not simply about escapism. Quite the opposite. I love the city. I live in the heart of the city. Most days of the week find me with on my commuter bike or road (gravel) bike in the city, walking in the city, taking public transit in the city, or even, yes, riding my scooter in the city (not a pretty sight).
I've learned to mix up my routine (keep in mind I don't abandon a routine) throughout the year. Seasons seem to be the best times to do so. Summer and fall find me spending more time out on the trails while the wet winters and springs find me spending more time on my gravel bike and climbing hills. I find that unless I mix it up like this I'll get dreadfully bored with mountain biking. (GASP!)
There is seemingly an explosion of people either selling homes and moving into conversion vans or at least doing so for extended periods of times. The spontaneity and flexible it allows is unheralded. Many of us long and dream about such a day when we can go and do the same. To walk away from our 9-5 jobs and make our careers and livelihood sync up with life on the road. To drive from mountain bike hotspot to mountain bike hotspot waking up each morning, brewing up our coffee, and then hitting the trail that you're parked next to.
As a company we change. We learn, adapt, and figure things out on the fly as we go. We've added more teams, riders, and races that we sponsor. We aim to get into even more bike shops and events this year as we grow our partnerships and fan base. Change is good. Progression is even better.
Frost covered the grass and there were still patches of snow along the gravel jeep road that we climbed. With temperatures hovering right around freezing sucking in the cool air was refreshing on the long climb. After an hour of ascending we finally hit the turn-off to descend back down the valley on pristine singletrack. Rocky and well-drained, it was the perfect winter riding spot.
One of the reasons why I rode a singlespeed for a decade was because I had grown to hate derailleurs. There is nothing worse than being out on a ride, whether a speedy commute to work, a trip to meet a friend at the coffee shop, or on a long climb while mountain biking up Syncline in the Columbia Gorge, and then hear those dreaded noises ... Clank! Pop! Pow! The sound of the derailleur in rebellion. With so many moving parts and a stretching cable it seems like we’re always tinkering with our derailleurs. Or there are those moments when a rock or log rips our beloved 11-speed derailleur clean off.
