Growing up in the forest just north of Seattle, my sister and I had are fare share of bike rides in torrential rain. When the snow started falling our old man would take us to the hill after school, grades allowing. We would ride up to the mountain in one slow rusty Nissan pickup. Vague memories of smushed pb&j’s and mismatched gloves are scattered throughout childhood. In high school not much changed. I would take a slow sapphire blue minivan to Stevens Pass. Often slammed with boards, trash, and enough friends to push us out when we got stuck.
Being consumed with the outdoors has led me to more incredible memories, and it’s the people who make this place one truly unique story.
- Bellingham WA
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