In 2024, I made a huge career decision. I left my previous bicycle sponsor after working side-by-side for six meaningful years to join the crew at Esker. I wasn’t planning on doing this for work— I was planning on becoming a dentist or even a doctor. Hell, I studied high-level chemistry in college, it seems like a waste not doing anything with all those years of inner turmoil. The bikepacking thing was just how I made space in my world to cope with the numerous inequities I experienced as a Native woman in a big body. However, I began to realize that when I was in spaces unrelated to mountain biking, my presence in the room faded, and my light dimmed. The confident, single-speed shredder I existed as on the trail turned into a woman who tried to make herself smaller in every way.

After we had completed all the contract and negotiation business, I had to do the real hard work. I had to pick my bike for the year. I settled on the Japhy— the blingy one in my first photo shoot with Esker. It’s a beautiful bike. I went with titanium because, well, that’s what the rich folk buy. I have never purchased a titanium bike. I’ve only received them as part of sponsor contracts. I could not afford one then; I still couldn’t afford to buy one now. It’s like how my brother feigned over Matchbox cars as a child, except I did that with bikes. When I worked in the bike shop in Madison, Wisconsin, I’d drool over our three-person titanium tandem. I wanted a titanium bike so badly, but the reality of my purchasing one was fantasy. So, choosing the titanium Japhy was my way of almost holding space in an elite world to which I don’t really feel like I belong. I’m not supposed to be on a titanium bike– they are.

The Trail Ripper

I like shredding trails. I was such an apprehensive trail rider when I started, but as I got into ultra-racing, my confidence in technical riding would explode after a shakeout day of nerves. I got better at technical riding as the hours passed. And I wanted to use the Japhy to take me to the next level. I took the Japhy for a few rides around our local trail system, and while preparing for ultra-season, I brought the Japhy to Arizona for a pre-season shakeout ride. I ditched the gears for a singlespeed build, and spent a week bikepacking around the desert. I wanted the bike to feel a certain way. Ultimately, my bike and I didn’t have that connection, so I flew home knowing I would ask the guys to set me up on a Hayduke.

The Japhy rode so well with gears on my local trails and unloaded day rides that when I tried to turn it into a singlespeed bikepacking race steed, I longed for a different feel. Maybe it was just that I switched from riding custom geometry bikes to production bikes and should have spent a little more time fiddling with my fit. Regardless, I slapped the gears back on the Japhy and told the guys that I would build up a different bike for the Grand Loop bikepacking race. Due to my last-minute change of heart, we could only get a steel Hayduke in time. I scrambled to source new parts for the build and felt disappointed that I “had” to ride steel again. Hadn’t I made it as a sponsored racer? Shouldn’t I have the lightest, fastest bikes out there?

I was inundated by an egotistical pity party. I’d ridden steel bikes before, but that was back when I was an emerging racer; I felt like I was better than riding a steel production bike. I thought it would be heavy and slow me down; I hoped I’d eventually get back on a titanium bike. It’s complex when our inner dialogue doesn’t align with our belief system. In theory, I think we should ride what we’ve got– a lighter bike isn't the only factor in a strong performance, and any bike is better than no bike. Dang, though, I was wondering if I would lose my advantages by racing a steel bike when I knew many of my competitors were on carbon or titanium.

I was smitten as soon as I had my Hayduke in my hands. It was sparkly rainbow black, kind of (dare it say it) punk-rock. The weight of it in my hands felt punk. It felt like wearing your favorite band-tee. I traced my fingers along the frame like I traced my fingers about my favorite vinyl. I asked Cane Creek to set me up with a blingy fork to match. I slapped some bougie eeWings cranks on the steed. That first build had an Industry Nine Solix wheel set on it, with my favorite medicine wheel color theme. I ultimately think that the bike frame is the least significant part of impacting a bike’s ride quality. As much as I want to pretend that I care about my bike's material, I only care that it’s metal. I think wheels, saddles, handlebars, bike fit, and tires play a much more significant role in upgrading one’s ride quality.

After carrying my bike across the Grand Canyon during the Arizona Trail Race in 2024, I realized that I absolutely loved my Hayduke (even though it was steel.) I'm kidding, but really, I actually do love the steel bike, maybe even more than a titanium bike. The responsive, durable nature of my steel Hayduke felt more akin to who I really was and what style of riding I thrive in. It feels like a bike for the people, and I like being one of the people. I returned to steel after years of rocking titanium, and I didn’t miss the titanium one bit this year. I didn’t feel elite; I felt punk rock. And that’s the one part of my spirit I refuse to age out of.