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Reflections
2019 was a big step forward as to living deeper into our vision, mission, and values. Also, it was a year leaning more into our brand and identity … who we are, who we’re here for, and where we’re going. As oddly as it sounds, we’re finding our voice and growing comfortable in our own skin as a company.
I’ve come to see mountain biking as the bridge between urban and rural … city and wilderness. Due to sheer population density most mountain bikers live in a city whether large or small. What that then means is the continual travel from the city to the backside of nowhere to ride. We leave the comforts of city life … access to amenities, services, and the pulsating rhythms of constant activity … to replace with the quiet remoteness of a trail.
We all have our origin stories. Each business has one too. I do know this: if it wasn’t for the countless hours spent out on the trail in the Sonoran Desert there would be no Loam Coffee.
One of the exciting things about mountain biking is you never know what you’ll find or see out on the trail. From lost car keys to bike parts to spotting deer or a bear from afar we can never anticipate the unanticipated. I’ve spied on bald eagles perched directly above me and have peered down from a low cliff to watch a 6 foot long white sturgeon lazily swim at the surface. I feel as though I’m always prepared for the unprepared … or at least assume I could anticipate confronting a mountain lion on the trail (which I couldn’t) or troublemakers shooting guns too close to the trail (which I hope I don’t). But a few weeks ago I came across something … someone … I wasn’t anticipating.
A rogue trail builder.
Unless you live in a place where your town or city is the trailhead then it usually means loading up your bike and driving somewhere to ride. Even then, for those of you with access to world-class trails right outside your front door sooner or later they can become a little stale and you hunger and thirst for new trails elsewhere.
Currently I’m sitting in front of my computer (obviously). But what is significant about that statement is it comes on the heels of cleaning up, showering, and putting away my gear after a mountain bike ride in the rain. You know how it goes. Seemingly more time is spent cleaning, de-layering, and putting stuff away after the ride than actual time out on the trail. That’s part of life for many months of the year here in the Pacific Northwest.
Was it a good trip? Would I classify it as a good ride? What then is a good trip or ride? Are those even fair questions?
