Wheels

Biking has been apart of me from as early on as I can remember. My parents always had a bike or 2 for themselves at the ready. It was integrated with their lives both prior and after my sister Tonya and I came along. As Tonya and I grew, our bikes grew with us. After taking a biking hiatus for the past 20 years, I’m making the commitment to get myself back into the sport & love - for my health, to be closer to my family and to add the joys of adventure back into my life. In reflecting, I’m taken by the impact that 2 wheels have made throughout my life - being apart of my story all the way through the various aspects of my life journey. Biking grounds me, bringing me back to a 5-year old living on 173rd, a quiet street in Redmond, years prior to Microsoft putting this small town on a map.

A family friend, Leonard Ackerlund, nicknamed me “Wheels” at age 3. I was a kid on the move, happiest when I was exploring. When I was 5, my Grandpa Nutter presented a 2nd hand bike from a ‘teenager’ that he had spent time fixing up just for me. I recall my initial response as disappointment, knowing this meant I would not be getting the pink Huffy bike with the thick squishy seat I’d been dreaming of.

Nonetheless, I rode this bike day in and day out. It was apart of me. We lived on a main street with the entrance of the cul-de-sac Pitcairn just one house down from us. My sister Tonya and I had our best friends in that cul-de-sac, at the bottom of the hill where there was a Y - Beth to the left and Monica, Michelle and Bonnie to the right. There was one rare occasion that my mom bought a package of skinny shoe lace red licorice. I was so excited to show my friends. I tied one end onto the next, making a big long snake tied to the back of my bike. Off I went to my friends house, dragging my licorice to share.

Then there was the time I flew down Pitcairn hill, wind in my hair. Initially I was going to head to Monica & Michelle’s; at the last second I had a change of heart - Beth’s it was. Too late in the game for this call though, I landed smack into the curb of the residence at the bottom of the hill. It left a memory but not too much damage to the bike or myself.

My family will still periodically use the beloved term 'biesgol'.

My family took advantage of biking the Marymoore trail which hugged the Sammamish slough. This outing was something each of us enjoyed, going there often in the summers and after school/work when time allowed. We would stop by Kentucky Fried Chicken, getting bbq chicken, biscuits with honey butter and a Tommy bucket for desert, then head off down the trail.

There were bugs hitting us in the face, boredom, complaints, tired bodies. But we pushed through and my dad got especially creative in trying to coax me along. We always had some sort of treat at the end of the trip before turning around and heading back. We most often rode to Bothell but there were more than a few trips into Seattle, riding the Burke Gilman which met up with the Marymoore trail.

My sister, two years older than I, didn’t do a lot of complaining. I on the other hand, kept my dad busy. He initially tried towing me with a rope when I got too tired. This worked fairly well, typically taking place at some point on our return trip home. It worked well right up until one ride when I started contemplating the physics behind the slack in the rope. We were traveling just my dad and I on West Lake Sammamish Road. What would happen if I rode on that rope slack? I soon found out, crashing onto the pavement, a bloody knee entailed. A kind woman stopped the car asking if I needed a bandaid. My dad in his embarrassment said I was fine. Off we went home and that was the end of the rope towing.

After that episode, when I got tired riding on the trail, my dad would ride beside me, arm on my back, pushing me along. This took place typically on the ride home for many miles. I think of this often when I ride these days. The arm on my back; the effort it took my dad to help me along with absolutely no shame in the process.

When I was 14, I saw a bike I absolutely loved the looks of in a Seventeen magazine. This was a bike I wanted. My mom encouraged me to save my babysitting money to buy the bike, giving me the go ahead. I tracked it down at a local bike store and eventually saved up enough to buy it. It was a red 10 speed Peugeot with white handlebars and red checker tape. Ooooo it was a beauty.

My dad was the true biker. He would head out, riding the streets on weekend mornings going long distances and exploring the area. Sometimes Tonya or I would join. He taught us street smarts as a biker. I love thinking back on conversations during this time. They were casual, honest, more adult conversations as we rode side by side or one in front of the other. There were helpful pointers on how to keep going in the midst of challenges. Chewing gum helps as you get tired, just chomp on that gum hard as you’re peddling up the hill. My dad told me on one of those rides that it was easier to agree with my mom versus standing up for himself and causing a scene. The backlash and the tears weren’t worth the outcome of working though an issue or problem. It was easier to simply back down. I recall trying to convince him otherwise, but to no avail.

I pushed myself sometimes during those years, taking a big loop ride around our house, first heading down to Tam-o-Shantern, riding around the maze like neighborhoods, then forcing myself to see if I could make it up the monster of a hill on 24th. It was an enormous challenge for me, deep breathing, concentrating on steadying my breath and keeping my legs pumping. It happened more than once having reached the top, after a quick turn back to our house, that I ended up having an exercise induced asthma attack. A rush of saliva filled my mouth, enough to make me vomit, then nearly black out. I’d experienced this onset from my previous days running in track and knew what to expect. Sit and wait it out. The pride and accomplishment of taking on 24th was the overriding feeling that made the outcome worth it.

There were notable crashes. Once riding the Marymoore trail in the evening hours when bugs were prevalent, I asked Tonya if I had a bug in my eye. As she got close enough to to see my eye, our bikes knocked into each other & we found ourselves skidding to the ground. The bug was a minor discomfort by comparison. Another time Tonya went out on a ride by herself on one of her visits home from college. My parents ended up seeing her in Issaquah and gave a big wave from their car, wanting to give her the independence they knew was important at that stage. It was only after they returned home and received a phone call from Tonya from a pay phone that they heard about the bad fall taking place just prior to them seeing her on the road - she really could’ve used a ride not just a wave that time.

This event didn’t deter my sister. In her 20’s she and her husband Rod continued to be avid bikers. They had a tandem bike (along with many stories due to this challenge) and for many years rode the STP, Seattle to Portland. They did this every year right up until they had kids. The last year they rode it, crazy enough, Tonya was 5 months pregnant!

I certainly was less adventurous but biking still played a big part in my life. Post college and living with a roommate in Fremont, I bought my first mountain bike. My parents pitched in about half for my birthday, splitting the cost of the bike. Working not quite full time at $7/hr, this was a large investment for me at that time, even with their help. I loved that bike. It signified new adventures and self reliance up ahead. My work schedule during that time gave me Fridays off; I spent many Fridays taking small trips on my bike around town. Choosing to bike over taking a car meant there was a lot of exposure - it was a more intimate experience with nature, parks, cars, people and my coffee shops. It always took a bit of a push to choose riding over the ease of a car, but the outcome inevitably outweighed the ease of driving.

By the mid 90’s my career shifted from entry level “office assistant II” at a large architectural firm, to actually sitting at a desk learning the ropes as an entry level interior designer. My previous work required a lot of activity and movement. I was the support staff for 70 or so architects and designers, in charge of making blueprints, running to the reprographics company, sorting mail, getting coffee for meetings, filing etc, but always on the move. When I moved to an actual desk job sitting all day my body took note. It was subtle but there was a bit more softness. My parents reacted by asking whether I wanted a stationary bike stand for my health. I was adamantly opposed to the idea; I didn’t take it personally, although I recall Tonya being a bit appalled at their suggestion. My strong reaction was ‘if I’m going to ride my bike I’m going to ride on the streets and in nature, not looking at a wall!!’ Whatever their intention, the end result was that I made an effort to choose riding my bike more - for health and for fun, out on the streets and in nature.

In the late 90’s my friend Sara and I were at a Semisonic (aka “Closing Time” band) show and saw Eric, an old highschool acquaintance/friend. He was hard to miss, standing 6’7” with braided blond hair down to his waist. Having grown up in one of Bellevue’s most exclusive neighborhoods and spending his entire schooling at a local private school, Eric’s adventures post high school years took a turn, spurring on various rumors amongst my peers. He had disconnected from society’s expectations and pretty much society itself, biking to Alaska, living there for long stints of time, periodically biking back to the Seattle area. He was an odd dude. But extremely fascinating, and fun to hang out with. We became better friends after that run in, and surprising enough we connected quite well, eventually dating. He was down to earth, extremely funny, personable and intelligent. He was basically homeless, living dollar to dollar, but this was simply his intended choice. For the next 4 years Eric was in my life. He certainly lived outside the box and was unlike anyone I knew. Once a year around his birthday he would take a long solo bike trip, typically camping along the side of roads and living off of a few dollars a day. Eric rode thousands of miles on the trips and would often be gone for a few months at a time - his adventures included LA to NYC; Germany; Venezuela; Morrocco, to name a few. He gained so many stories from these trips, meeting and getting to know the locals. Eric greatly influenced me, as I know I did him as well. I’d like to think I helped him see stability and rootedness as something to take pride in. I certainly did somehow encourage him to open a bank account, something he was previously adamantly opposed to. Spending time with someone this adventurous and passionate about life rubbed off on me, strengthening my independence and love of nature. I soon became more knowledgeable and invested in both photography and biking due to Eric.

In 1999, I took a leave of absence from my work and left for a 3 month stint in Copenhagen for a summer course in Interior Architecture. Copenhagen is one of the most bicycle-friendly cities, with an estimated 41% of residents using a bike as their preferred means of transportation (The Bulletin 6/16/2024). Once getting settled, it was only expected that I would be on the hunt for a bike. On one of my walks from school back to my apartment I passed a pond that had a bike dumped near it, sitting in the swampy water. I grabbed the bike & brought it home. I got it cleaned up and felt quite proud of gaining myself a bike. Bikes there are in such high demand, they’re surprisingly difficult to come upon, especially on the cheap for only a few months. I enjoyed that bike, and life was good up until I learned from an insider that you don’t just take dumped bikes. Copenhagen has the highest rates of bike theft in the world, and the stolen bikes’ vin # could get me in trouble, not to be messed with I learned. I ended up talking to the right people and found a fairly inexpensive bike for the remainder of my time there.

I fell in love with Copenhagen as a whole, but the all encompassing aspect of biking with the locals was over the top for me. The flat streets allowing ease of distance, and the automatic sense of safety with the wide bike lanes and large number of bikers, reeled me in. I loved the unpretentiousness of the old 1-speed bicycles; no helmets, brakes simply by pedaling backwards and peoples wearing their street clothes - dresses, short skirts, men in suits carrying a briefcase; biking in any type of weather, umbrellas in use when absolutely needed.

After returning back to Seattle from Copenhagen, I contemplated my options, seriously wanting to move to either Copenhagen or Stockholm. From my sources I learned it’s extremely rare for companies in these Nordic countries to hire foreigners - there has to be a proven reason why they would hire outside of the country over their own. One suggested option if I wanted to live there was to become a nanny/au pair. This was contemplated, but I couldn’t do it - that felt like such a far step backwards from my current career goals. An alternate option and ultimately my final decision, was to bring what I loved so much about Copenhagen and Stockholm with me to Seattle, and put down roots. I chose to explore more, re-creating the freedom I felt so strongly. I chose to bring in new experiences, riding my bike (in a skirt if I so chose). I started riding my bike to work at this point, and focused on my options for buying a condo.

Up until this time my work days consisted of commuting to work by bus, from Fremont Ave to Pier 56. On a good day it took about 20-30 mins plus the wait time for the bus and there was the 5-10 min walk from the waterfront to 3rd ave. The bus brought many inadvertent adventures - more than a few strangers slowly turned into friends; there were the commutes with standing room only, packed in like sardines; the few times full buses passed by the bus stop as we looked in disbelief; and there was the just barely missing the bus scenarios….it nearly killed me. Bus stops are typically located every 2 blocks or so. If the stoplights worked in my favor, there was a standing chance of catching the bus if I booked as fast as possible. There were times I ran block after block, what felt like nearly 1/2 way home; sometimes getting lucky and catching it, other times finally giving up. The idea of waiting an additional 15-20 minutes for the next bus felt so painful I typically preferred continuing to try catching that darn bus.

Biking actually took about the same amount of time AND was reliable. And it was built in exercise. The hardest part was deciding what to wear, pack and how to prepare correctly for the work day ahead. I got it down. I avoided the serious biker look, no spandex shorts for me. I took my cues from the bike couriers which was more my style. The route was sketchy - I knew it at the time and in looking back, I’m quite grateful to have not encountered any mishaps. To avoid large hills and extra commute time I rode on the Aurora bridge’s small elevated sidewalk. I would pass underneath the bridge at the south side (Sketchy) to get to Dexter Ave. Then down Broad St and along the waterfront. On the way home it was as similar route in reverse but I would carry my bike up the Harbor Steps getting to 3rd avenue, and north from there.

About a year after returning from Denmark, the stars aligned and I was fortunate enough to find and afford the most perfect condo. The next phase of my life took place with the purchase of this condo, The Ives, lasting a total of 8 years and a lifetime of memories.

My bike route switched to Eastlake Avenue, leading to Steward Street, with a straight shot to the Market, then down to the waterfront. There was the day, as I was heading off on my bike, I learned from a neighbor that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I was bewildered; there was little information beyond that. I started on my bike to work. By the time I reached work there was news of a 2nd plane and people jumping from the buildings. We watched the news live on our monitors. The horror of this event touched every one of us, a devastatingly sad pivotal day.

When I was 32, my doctor mentioned during a yearly checkup that there’s no time like the present to start thinking about timing for pregnancy if I was interested in ever having children. This took me aback, but she felt she had a responsibility to educate her patients on the increasing difficulty of becoming pregnant after the age of 36 or so. This, along with differing views and goals was what led to Eric and I calling it quits and moving on in 2002. We had a break up party, and amicably went our separate ways.

Literally the day after we broke up, I was told along with the rest of our interiors team that due to a difficult year, I would be working part time - 20 hours a week for the summer, with an evaluation after that time. This shift in life wasn’t all bad. It was hard, to say the least, but good changes were in store.

I dove in, finding and adopting the perfect dog (for me) - Annie. I took the time to find a new job, more fitting for my current goals. This came about all within the next month or so. In the meanwhile, that summer working part time with a new dog was an absolute highlight.

The change of a dog in my life, along with a new work routine, shifted my biking habit. I no longer enjoyed my biking commute to work, now located in Madrona - I tried it once or twice. I didn’t love it. I chose walking my dog over riding a bike by myself. My bike literally took a backseat for the indefinite future.

Meanwhile, my dad continued to take his weekend bike rides. He absolutely loved this form of exercise, along with the freedom and independence it brought. On one of the his rides home, he took a very bad spill. There was a couple who saw it take place, they weren’t sure exactly what happened, but they said he was traveling quite fast down a hill and tumbled head first, crashing into the pavement. His helmet saved him, but he was still pretty messed up. I, along with my mom were at the hospital after it happened. He had a concussion and initially doctors were unsure about the extent of damage. I recall him letting out loud moans as they shifted his body to the side. The recovery was long and difficult. The concussion was basically brain damage and it was unknown how long it would take to heal or to what degree he would return to. He was unable to talk for the first few days. He took a leave of absence from his chief engineering position at work. He initially had experiences of asking the same question over and over and over again. His short term memory was non-existent. It was a long arduous recovery for my mom. He eventually went back to work, with all of us wondering to what degree he was actually capable of working. Bit by bit his short term memory returned. The experience left my mom absolutely against the idea of him riding his bike again. My dad had ear issues with multiple surgeries through the years, most likely affected his balance, which may have been a cause of the crash. This scare and long healing process proved too much for her to take on, causing her to pull his much loved joy of biking from his life.

As my dad’s body and brain healed, his emotional state suffered. He was in one of the biggest funks of his life. He had grown up with a mom who suffered from mental illness and depression. She was in and out of the hospital my dad’s entire life; today she would have been diagnosed and given proper medication to help with her illness. She did not have this care sadly. A year or so prior to my birth, an attempt on her life succeeded and she left this earth. My dad explained that for the first time in his life he experienced what she must have felt. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and from that point forward met with a psychologist and was dependent upon medication.

Even with the medication he had long bouts of highs and lows, surprisingly the drastic changes seemed to kick in every 7 years or so. When he was down he sat looking straight ahead not saying a word, sleeping for hours on end. If not at work, he opted to be in his bedroom laying in his little twin bed. Spending time with him was awkward and sad. It took a toll on my mom. I recall going out to eat with them and having my mom step out to the restroom. It felt so uncomfortable being left there with my dad in this state, and this was only for a very short time.

When he was up, the highs were a bit scary as well. He would go to bed at 11pm, getting out of bed by 4:30am. He didn’t know what to do with his time. But he was high on life!! He had energy and excitement. He talked and talked and talked with a big smile. If you know my dad, this is absolutely the weirdest thing. It was unsustainable and a little nerve wracking not knowing where and when this would switch, but it was so much better than the alternative and we all just tried to enjoy him in this state. This state was actually much more difficult for my mom to live with given how annoying and ever present he was.

Years later, in 2010 or so, my dad confided to both my sister and I about the bikes he had at the office. My dad, the most prominent penny pincher I know, had multiple bikes; the most recent a carbon fiber Motobecane. He simply couldn’t hide the excitement of this taboo, longed for passion. He would ride miles at lunchtime. This sidekick was known to his work buddies. Tonya and I discussed our role and drew the conclusion that sooner or later it would be discovered by my mom, but it wasn’t our place to tell her. Well it happened. In spring of 2011 I got the news. I received a call from my mom at work, she was completely flustered, having forgotten my married name as she asked the receptionist to be connected to me. My dad had crashed his bike on one of his lunchtime outings.

This time no one had seen it. Someone had come upon him after the crash on Lake Washington Blvd and found him on the grass at the side of the road. It devastated my mom. She was both livid and so sad. He broke his clavicle, multiple ribs and hip. Luckily his head was spared this time. He had a very long recovery once again, but this time away from home. My mom would not care for him. He resided in the Covenant Shores rehab center as he healed and learned to walk again. Needless to say his bikes were sold. And biking was truly banned for him after this point in this life.

From that time on, my dad, Fred, continued to talk about biking often. He kept assuming he could convince my sister and I into just letting him go on one more ride. We explored options thinking about all types of outdoor activities. With his balance being an issue, many of these options were out of the question. On his own, he came up with roller blading. He would rollerblade on the Marymoore trail, bringing a broom with him for stability. We laughed (more than a bit embarrassed) at the prospect of this, and I’m sorry we never captured this on film. We did hold one of his Birthday celebrations at a local business park with all of us roller blading. Later he moved onto hiking. He would hike by himself for hours nearly on a daily basis. He had stories of hiking to the top of Rattlesnake Lake ridge, getting down on hands and knees to cross over to the ledge. There were times that we thought we lost him. It got increasingly uncomfortable for my mom, Tonya and I as time went on. His walking became more labored as well, and he eventually started to stay closer to home. At one point it was encouraged for him to buy a Tour de France stationary bike. It was a difficult change, but with time he grew to rely on this exercise routine daily. He would head to the shop every morning, pedaling for hours at a time.

Rather quickly, in my late 30’s I met my future husband, Chad. Thanks to Myspace, the prehistoric likes of Facebook with a focus on music and dating, I caught his attention by my interest in a band he had connections with, Sunny Day Real Estate. He was living in Bellingham and in no time at all he found himself spending every weekend in Seattle. Within 3 months he moved into The Ives studio with Annie and me. Within another 3 months I figured this was as good a time as any to buy a house. We could all use more space and if I pushed myself and found the right house, I could afford it. After lots of online searches, getting a feel for what I wanted, I set out with our realtor to visit 2 homes, one in West Seattle and one in White Center (or south West Seattle as advertised). Walking into the 2nd home’s kitchen I knew without a doubt this was it!! The sale & closing of both our new home & the studio had the usual bumps and difficulties brought on by a contingent sale, but soon enough we found ourselves with a lot more space, living in the outskirts of Seattle.

Chad was an avid vintage motorcycle fan and mechanic. He loved buying used motorcycles, fixing them up and selling them. He started working at Twinline Motorcycles in Georgetown and over the next many years his collection grew. It was only a matter of time before I ended up with my own vintage motorcycle. This was used simply for tooling around the area on backroads and small day trips.

I hadn’t totally given up on bike riding. For a period of time I felt determined to ride with the inclusion of Annie. I bought a bike trailer and did my absolute best to orient her into this activity. The entire duration of each ride she would let out the most pitiful whine. There was never any progress unfortunately and I eventually a gave up on the prospect. My bike continued to sit on the back burner.

Fast forward to my early 40’s, after years of hoping and striving for a family, we finally had a baby - Liam came into our lives! Liam was all boy as his grandma Patti would say, he loooved anything related to dirt “dut” and wheels. Our first bike excursion out, he was very serious, didn’t crack a smile, but we knew he had the time of his life!

When Liam was two, I was invited to join my friend Mo and her two friends on a biking/camping trip. This was a rare and much needed getaway from my ‘mom’ role. It sounded absolutely fantastic - 3 nights camping, with one of those days spent riding our bikes to Walla Walla to winery hop. It started off great, fun time with friends, cooking our dinner over the fire. That night though, I couldn’t fall asleep, there was endless tossing and turning until the morning hours. The next day was filled with memories of being the prime target for the local mosquitos. This on top of the sleepless night was turning me into a bit of a baby with complaints. Once again the 2nd night I also had difficulty sleeping; camping insomnia had crept in. The next day we set off on our bike journey. The plan was a 5 miles flat ride to Waitsburg, then another 20 miles or so on beautiful windy, hilly roads leading to Walla Walla. One of the girls brought her car with a rack and would drive us home. The prospect of this ride felt fine - you know, I rode the distance as a child, it’s shouldn’t be too hard for me.

Setting out on the 5 miles to Waitsburg was a bit of a shock to my system. There were strong winds blowing against us. Mo and her friend were fairly serious bike riders, both with newer sleek road bikes. I was still riding my old mountain bike from the mid 90’s. I was peddling for those 5 miles as fast as I could, trying to keep up with the girls. By the time we reached Waitsburg, I was actually a bit tired. The real ride was actually just about to begin, this flat extent was supposed to be a breeze. Off we went on the remote windy, beautiful road to Walla Walla. Up and down hills. Down hill I was pedaling as fast as possible trying to catch up, unsuccessfully. They were both striding along with ease (when I could see them). Other times they were way up ahead, which was fine by me, but it meant eventually they would have to stop and wait for me to catch up. Eventually I told them to just go ahead, I hated having them need to wait for me. I peddled and peddled and peddled on that ride. It took everything out of me. I’m not a quitter. But honestly about 5 miles from Walla Walla I realized I absolutely was not going to make it. I had the number of the friend with the car and I called her. Soon enough she was there to pick me up. I was so relieved. Sitting in a car never felt better. As we parked in Walla Walla and I got out of the car, to my utmost surprise my knees felt like rubber and almost buckled!!! It took me a good couple minutes to walk it out and get my legs back to functioning after this bout of extreme excursion coupled with cold turkey resting. This whole experience was humbling, I was not ‘the biker’ I viewed myself as. Time had an affect I wasn’t aware of.

Liam on the other hand, was well on his way, thriving on 2 wheels. He went from bike seat to Skuut, to his own small bike, then various bikes increasing in size. He did his first fun kid race at 2 and took it so seriously.

When Liam was around 7, much to my absolutely gratefulness, Chad started taking interest in mountain biking himself. His good buddy had told him about how biking changed his life, passing on the bug to Chad! Suddenly bikes were purchased, one after the next as Chad learned what worked best for him. His interest in motorcycles seemed to wane as biking ramped up and started to take over. He had many friends who were avid mountain bikers which helped his enthusiasm grow. He started racing at the Seatac Wednesday Night races, a fun family filled event. Then suddenly Liam was brought into the mix, a full suspension mountain bike was purchased for him. Initially Liam was quite disinterested and/or nervous about doing the kids race. I resorted to bribing him with $10 of Robux for the first ride. After that he was sold, and to this day he hasn’t missed a race!

Their experience kept mounting through the years! The amount of strength, courage, coordination and skill they’ve both gained has been quite impressive. I’m over the moon proud of my boys. In Liam’s words, “Dad has the most endurance, while I’m best at jumping and downhill”. In the meanwhile, I still had every excuse not to join in. How can I choose biking over walking Theo? I have so many interests causing guilt for not prioritizing, how can I add one more to the mix? What about the cost of a good bike, how can this be justified? What if it just sits in the garage like my previous bike?

2023 was a hard year. We moved my parents to a senior housing facility near me . This was fantastic in itself but the logistics of moving them out of their house of 63 years was a massive feat. It took so much stamina prioritizing this along with keeping up with my work schedule and ongoing family life. I tore my rotator cuff in August, due to an injury playing pickle ball of all things. Middle age and post menopause was starting to catch up with me. My work life also took a toll. I had been preparing with my co-worker John, to transition to ownership. The current owner was retiring and we’d been working towards this transition for three years. There were ups and downs, bumps in the road and some difficulty feeling excitement over this enormous endeavor. There were doubts but not enough to shake me until around the end of summer. I had a big wake up call and re-evaluation. I met with a life coach. Within a week I gained clarity literally in the depth of my soul, clearly telling me this was not my path.

I remembered who I was, what made me tick, what gave me joy and thrill. It wasn’t about climbing the ladder, financial gain, pushing myself with a gift I’d been handed or taking on the responsibility of keeping our sweet office going. It was about listening to who I’ve been throughout my life and where I wanted to be in 10 years. My focus suddenly shifted to my career being a unique choice, my creation, based upon what I excel at and what energizes me.

2024 took a healthy, invigorating turn. I deep dove into eating healthier; started an art night with friends; focused on healing my body and choosing activities that would help prevent future injuries. I started cold plunging once a week with a few friends in Puget Sound. Rain, sleet, jellyfish infested or shine. I started to envision and move toward things that made me thrive.

Then it happened; I allowed a bike back into my life, whole-heartedly investing in a bike that felt like home. I had heard myself say more than a few times over the past years, “I was the bike-rider” in relation to Chad picking up the sport & my absence with it. A sad detachment that only I could turn around. I’m now starting from scratch with the basics of mountain biking, but absolutely loving it. I’m happy to be out riding with my family.

I’ve enjoyed this linear exploration, thinking through the passage of time with choices molding and shaping me, and biking as the thread tying events together. We sometimes forget who we are, where we came from, with life shifting to a degree causing a gap in the line.

On my bike, I am: simple, passionate, adventurous, creative, connected, independent, courageous, unconventional, balanced, striving, fast, safe, kind and ever growing.

Most gratitude to my parents for passing on this love and keeping it alive.