Sharing stories and adventures about all things coffee, stories, and stoke
Event coffee catering wasn’t something I set out to do. But somewhere between roasting my own beans and chasing the rhythm of gravel and mountain bike races and trail work days, it all came together.
Loam Coffee became something more than a roaster. It became a mobile coffee experience, grounded in the outdoors and fueled by people who show up for the hard and beautiful things.
By the time most riders stirred from their tents each morning, the coffee was already flowing.
Each day of the Oregon Trail Gravel Grinder began in the dark. I’d crawl out of bed at 4:30am, fire up the coffee brewers, and start brewing coffee before the birds even knew it was morning. By 5:00am, that familiar smell ... Loam Coffee in full bloom .... began to drift across camp.
And like clockwork, the line would form.
I’m not a surfer. Never tried and don’t plan on it. It’s not the sharks (cough); it’s that I already have enough hobbies to keep me happily broke and perpetually busy. But dirt surfing? On a 170 mm enduro bike? Now that I can get behind.
This past weekend marked the kickoff of Ride the Dirt Wave, an enduro series along the Oregon Coast.
I have a road trip ritual I rarely stray from: Diet Mountain Dew, crunchy peanut butter Clif Bars, sunflower seeds, and classic country music. How that combo came to be, I couldn’t tell you. But it works.
I just rolled back home after a weekend of serving coffee at Cascade Gravel in Sisters, Oregon. These events always feel like something special. The energy. The people. That final pre-race sip of coffee before riders clip in and chase 40, 60, or 80 miles through the shadow of the Cascades.
Let’s be honest: most people aren’t drinking espresso pulled from a $20,000 machine, let alone a $1,000-$2,000 machine at home. They’re not measuring water temperature or timing the bloom. They’re grabbing a mug on the way out the door, pouring drip from a countertop brewer they picked up from Walmart, or topping off a gas station cup somewhere on a dusty road between Point A and Point B.
And you know what? That’s okay. It’s actually great.
The light was soft, the gravel still damp from the night before. Riders rolled in slowly, quiet in that pre-race way with legs tense and minds somewhere between stoke and nerves. I had already fired up the kettle in Nacho the Van, the smell of freshly ground beans mixing with pine and chain lube in the cool morning air. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just coffee, a little conversation, and the quiet satisfaction of showing up.
That’s the version of Loam Coffee I’ve grown to love most.
