Post MTB, Colorado.
Gothic Road, Crested Butte.
Head over to www.whitneyljames.com for the real experience. Over there, I can do things like center the image below and have it actually work. For those of you who want to follow along here, I’ll still be posting.
Stehekin, North Cascades, Washington State.
Independence Pass, Aspen.
When I was 13, I mucked stalls in exchange for horseback rides and what I’m pretty sure was less than half of minimum wage. When I was 16, I got down on my hands and knees and cleaned the floor of the back room in Starbucks, because it was in the job description. When I was 18, I spent hours on backbreaking hours trimming hedges in the yard by hand, in exchange for my parents being so kind to house me. When I was 22, I went back to work on a ranch and mucked more horse shit. And I loved it.
Kids think they know everything. Even as a complete daddy’s girl, I was no exception. Growing up in Washington state with my dad at the helm of my childhood weekends, I was an adventurer: A hiker, a biker, a camper and a world-class marshmallow roaster. We fished and we canoed. There were pancakes and sleeping bags. The tent smelled funny but I knew it was because it was a part of history— some special item that Dad carried through time with him.
Read the rest at Outdoor Women’s Alliance.
Weekend Roadtrip, Colorado.
Crested Butte, Colorado.
It takes a special type of person to realize life is worth living, and it’s worth living well. Exactly what “well” means is open to interpretation, but at least a few insightful individuals (e.g. Thoreau and myself) would call it “awake”. It all comes down to those moments of clarity and bursting insight, when you blink your eyes and realize, oh hey – being alive is pretty great. It’s a beautiful mix of mental vision and awareness of physical self, and aside from using some exotic mix of drugs, is really hard to find. Here are some tried and true approaches that, while fleeting, will at least give you a toned butt.