When settlers first came to the Pacific Northwest, they began an initiative for deforestation. The forest held many valuable resources, but it also evoked fear in people, which, in turn, evoked a desire to tame it. Perhaps, as a species, nothing is more ingrained in us than the inherent understanding that nature holds the capacity to both nourish us and rip us down to our very core.

With much deference to this idea, I traveled last February from Bellingham, Washington to Bolivia where, alongside five of my closest riding buddies, we hoped to cruise some of the highest elevation scree runs in the world amongst massive peaks. Though, what came as a greater surprise was just how much emotional weight each day of riding held. For the duration of our time south of the equator, we did whatever it took to burn the singletrack of Bolivia into our brains, even if it did end with a five-night hospital stay for some at the conclusion of the trip.

The group consisted of a Bellingham contingent—Leif Trott, Hannah Bergemann, Quinn Campbell, Matt Russell, myself—and Knight Ide from Vermont, who had been a boss to a few of us and would become a good friend to all. Once assembled, we met our guide, Yannick Wende, and set off on our journey.

After enduring 39 hours of flights and layovers, Knight’s classic wide-eyed grin was still firmly in place as we explored the streets of Bogota, Colombia, on our way to La Paz, Bolivia. Knight has long inspired me; he started a masonry business out of the back of his Saab in high school, towing a concrete mixer with his childhood friend Dylan. Bicycles changed his life, a fact that radiates from his being and that he passes on to others through his dedication to trailbuilding and outdoor advocacy. In the backyard of his home in Vermont, which overflows with perfectly sculpted dirt jumps, I learned about community and the importance of hard work.