There are few feelings more exciting than hitting the open road, midsummer, with some best friends and your bikes—backseat stuffed to the brim with camping gear, helmets, coolers, and most importantly, snacks.

We live for these trips, planning them out in detail and dreaming about them to get through mundane daily tasks. The anticipation to get to the fun can be heavy at times, and the irony is that these trips rarely go as planned. But, what if that’s the whole point? Why do we cast ourselves out into the unknown? Are we optimists looking for a beautiful experience or are we masochists looking for a good adventure? After a recent trip to Revelstoke that ended with a mangled wrist, I’m still pondering these questions.

It all started this past July: I’m loading up the truck with the goods and preparing to head up to British Columbia to go ride bikes in freeride veteran Casey Brown’s new backyard. I have a fresh Specialized Status 170 and I’ve got my little camping setup all dialed because it’s 2025 and the mountain bike industry isn’t exactly in a place to be offering up nice accommodations. That’s OK though, we’re mountain bikers. We love to be outside. Camping? Twist my arm. I was born for this. The excitement is palpable. I’m going to see so many friends. My pal Kaia Jensen is on her way to put her stuff in my truck. We ride north at dawn, baby.

To say it’s been a lean year for events and support as a professional freerider would be a bit of an understatement, so my anticipation for this event, Dark Horse, was at an all-time high. Casey’s actual baby, dark-colored horse would be there on the property as well and would be in need of some seriously good pets.

Kaia and I decided to hit the road early because we did not want a repeat of our previous journey to Canada. On that trip, together with fellow rider Brooke Trine, we hit several major roadblocks. First, we got stopped at the border and searched for two and a half hours. While being harassed with accusations of “weapons” and cocaine trafficking (it was a bag of salt), we pleaded with the border agents to simply test the white substance so we could get on our way. Finally, as thoughts of my future being completely wrecked loomed in my head, we were let in to Canada.

Five hours of driving later, we hit an actual roadblock due to a raging forest fire on a mountain pass. This added up to another nearly three-hour-wait, which meant a trip that should’ve taken about six hours was pushing 12. All of that to say, as Kaia and I set out from Bellingham this July, we were bracing for an adventure. In hindsight, all our preparation—perfectly organized camping kitchen boxes with absolutely no salt—couldn’t prepare me for what happened.

Our drive went smooth. We made it through the border in six minutes flat and cruised straight to Revelstoke with no issues. We thought we’d arrive, set up camp, kick back, and enjoy a cold one as we cooked dinner. However, when we got there, we were met with 50-mile-per-hour wind gusts that hurled tree branches clear across the road as a storm approached. This wasn’t something we were particularly prepared for. Next, came the mosquitos, something I didn’t realize Revelstoke was notorious for until we were there fighting them off by the handful. The combination was so bad that we immediately got in the car and retreated back to town.

When we arrived, the rain started, as did the realization that we now had no plan. Luckily, we were able to do some digging and found out some of the other girls had a room at a local bed and breakfast. All of us who were camping squeezed inside to crash on the floor. The storm was so intense that the power was out, which meant everyone arrived in the dark—a room full of friends, many having not seen each other in months, squinting and chuckling as we fumbled through the blackness. “Dark Horse, more like Dark House,” I laughed to myself, the lack of light concealing my cartoonish grin.