The boulder shifts and my right foot twists. I hop sideways trying to catch myself but trip and fall into the rocks. The dislodged hunk clatters away downhill and I lie still for a moment. Everything feels ok, thank god. I roll to my back and swing my legs downhill. The flash of fear and anger softens as I sit where I’ve fallen, looking down at bloodied shins and unstable granite boulders fanning away to the valley floor below.
Read More2,000 feet left to climb as we make the left onto Timberline road and stand on the pedals, coaxing laden bikes upward with unwilling legs. We’re moving at a snail’s pace, burning with the waste of the climb from Portland. A blast of upper-mountain wind whips across the road.
Read More“Shit, shit, shit!” I’m looking down at my gloved right hand clutching my whippet, the ice ax blade jammed into the névé ice of the slope. I want so badly to be anywhere but here. I take a shallow breath. Look at the right edges of my skis, biting ever so slightly into the slope. I grip the whippet tighter, trying not to think of what will happen if my edges blow over 2,000 feet of iced over cliffs.
Read MoreExperience is what we’re after, and it need not be expensive.
Read More
