The fearsome, awestriking part of bikemomma is that she expects to eat shit, get up, and try again. She expects her flock -- her kids and her community -- to do the same. Continue reading »
Within days of coming home, I was dreaming of dirt. Of shredding familiar canyons, portaging the streams and picking poison oak out of my butt. I unloaded my bike, put in a load of laundry, and headed for the hills. Continue reading »
hawtt!