twilight

Thursday’s trail run

I pulled into the parking lot at the trailhead a little before 6:30 on Thursday morning. The nearby houses were dark. There was one other car, a gold SUV, in the parking lot but no sign of the driver or anyone else. The trail disappeared into darkness until I clicked on my headlamp, creating my little circle of visibility. A half mile in, I perched on the edge of the meadow that sits like a shallow bowl below the hills.

My Favorite Coyotes

I was recently asked what sound has the greatest influence on me and my first thought was “silence” quickly followed by “coyotes.” I start my runs in the dark these days. It’s pretty darn cold, solitary, and generally a testament to my doggedness that I am out there at all. The coyotes are really vocal now that it is mating season, and hearing them assures me that the sun will, in fact, rise. As I run, the latest version of the winter

Moab! Still Awesome.

A couple of years ago, for a couple of years, we lived in the little town of Moab, Utah. When people ask me if I miss living in Moab, the thing I immediately think of is being in awe of the landscape and grateful to be in it, every single day. We camped less, because our backyard was as good as most places we camped. Of course, the mountain biking was amazing, too. But mostly it was the beauty, the light,

How to Be Stupid in the Mountains

We were in the final days of a 3-week big bike vacation, with stops at Silver Star, Whistler, Squamish, Bellingham, Sandy Ridge and Teton Pass. After two and a half weeks of bike parks, machine built trails, jumps, tables, bridges, log rides, and steep berms, I was riding faster, jumping bigger and feeling the most confident I ever had on a bike. At Sandy Ridge, after three hours of zipping and jumping around the trails I leaned into a switchback

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