I Live For Exposure

Not that kind of exposure… as much of a glory whore as I am I could care less about whether you know how rad I am or am not.

I love tall scary things. I feel like I wasted the last few years of my life in suburbia riding road bikes and being safe-ish. Racing local things and "shredding" front range trails. Waving as the past significant other passes me on her way to yoga as I finish riding at 8am with 45 year old men.

Let's run the metrics real quick. I have put less than 500 miles on my road bike this year, an equal amount of time on my mountain bike and worn out one rope. #America.

I literally forget how much I love climbing until I get my lead head about me on the sharp end. I can still climb a 5.9 all day long if I have a friend in town and they want to go climb but I'm not comfortable doing it. I just know that it's my baseline. Hanging off 2 fingers way up in the air and being comfortable enough to look around and say, "Yes, this is my life and I am happy," is a different monster. And being in that zone is sweeter than anything in the world.

MOAB teaches me that on a bike every damn year I visit there. I linked together the sweetest turns I have ever put together on the Whole Enchilada this year. Things I never would have turned my brain onto were automatic for some reason that morning. It might have been the beer at the halfway point. Going fast enough on a mountain bike to get tunnel vision and literally only hear your heartbeat and see what is in your immediate line is a special feeling. Couple it with a wicked trail and actually commit to the drops and you turn into a rockstar real fast in your own head.

Anyways, cheers to exposure. Big lines, overhangs and being scared.