Progression can be a slippery, fickle concept.

Defining what it means among mountain bikers is a difficult task because we all interpret from our highly individual and fluid platforms built entirely of personal experience, preference, strength, and weakness.

At the root of progression for any rider, though, is hope. We drag ourselves out of bed at 5 a.m. to catch a lap before work because we’re hopeful that it will benefit our long-term health; we spin circles for hours in the driveway, hoping to finally grasp the right blend of pull and pop for that elusive bunny hop; we push aside our deeply ingrained instinct for self-preservation and send that steep kicker to the moon in the hope of conquering a persisting fear; we show up alone for a group ride hoping to meet new friends who share our way of thinking; we gingerly stretch our chest, hoping that maybe today those sore ribs will finally feel good enough for a mellow pedal.

In May, a message came in on my phone from a text thread among mountain bikers in the small Pacific Northwest town I live in: “Found a pack on the trails today—maybe you know who it belongs to?” The backpack, it turned out, belonged to legendary local rider “Big Ed,” who had taken it off hoping to not get his stuff soaking wet if things didn’t go according to plan while he was sessioning a lakeside left-hander that has a chunky root ball right in the middle of it. Over the years, it’s a spot that has sent a few unlucky souls for unplanned, mid-ride swims.

Big Ed is 78 years old, and it struck me that he still makes a point to stop and repeat technical sections of trail or tricky corners. So, a few weeks later, I caught up with him to get his take on what progression means to him.

“I still push myself all the time. I say to myself, ‘If I want to get better, I have to take risks,’” he told me. Years ago, he broke his kneecap on that same corner he was practicing recently. “If you want to get better at math, you have to overload yourself. If you want to get better at history, you have to overload yourself. Mountain biking is the same way.”

This edition of Freehub is dedicated to those pushing their riding in whatever way feels meaningful to them. In her feature “Cultivated Precision,” Jen See profiles breakout slopestyle rider Patricia Druwen, who is pushing through an ongoing health issue to realize her full potential. In “Challenger Deep,” Dillon Osleger writes about a harebrained mission to accumulate nearly 36,000 feet of descent in one day—the equivalent of the ocean’s lowest point. In the wrenching world, Anne Keller documents the lone two female race mechanics working on the North American circuit. This is still an area of mountain biking where men far outnumber women.

These stories, along with a host of others in these pages, outline various forms of progression. Together, they share a common thread: Real progress happens when you just keep going.

—Ian Terry, Editor in Chief