Alive Within It

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Highway 23, just outside of Revelstoke, clings to the Columbia River like a thread stitching land to water. I remember riding it solo one day, the road almost completely mine. On my left side, the river—powerful, vast, deep. To my right, endless trees—rooted, unwavering, strong. Snowcapped mountains rose like ancient guardians above me—watching, protecting. It felt like I was gliding through something holy. The silence, the space, the stillness of it all—it pulled me in.

I let my eyes linger too long on the view, taking it in like breath after breath of something sacred.  

And then I looked back to the road.  

I had veered too far to the left. The edge of the pavement was closer than I’d realized, and a bend was coming fast. That split second—the moment between realization and response—was thick with consequence. It wasn’t panic that moved me. It was something deeper. My body responded before thought could catch up, adjusting my line, easing off the throttle just enough to make the curve safely.  

It could’ve gone another way.  

That moment stayed with me.   

A huge part of what I love about riding is the feeling of being completely at one with my environment, immersed in the beauty of the world around me. It’s why I ride in the first place—not just for the rush or the solitude, but for the way the land and the machine and my own awareness come together in motion. But that experience taught me that staying grounded is essential—not as a limitation, but as the very thing that makes the full experience possible.  

Grounding doesn’t mean pulling back or missing the beauty; it means tuning into all of it.  

The way the road curves.  

The way my bike responds.  

The timing, the attention, the rhythm.  

The moment-to-moment negotiation between awareness and trust.  

When I bring that presence into the ride—when I feel myself as an active part of the scenery, not just a spectator—that’s when it all clicks. The individual elements of the experience merge into a unified whole, and the ride becomes communion. Not just with the beauty around me, but with the razor-sharp clarity of being fully alive within it.