The screen door slams shut on the porch as I head out into the backyard and climb onto my loaded Hayduke in the wee hours of the morning. It’s dark, and especially cold for August.
Each breath is visible in the brisk mountain air as I pedal down the driveway and out into the lights of the silent neighborhood streets. An overnight storm has brought early season snow to the higher elevations but the dark morning sky looks to be clearing out nicely before sunrise.
I take a turn and pedal another block downtown where Tuck and I meet up at the Café with loaded bikes and ready appetites. Inside, lone tenants sip coffee at the bar amongst the noise and commotion of the kitchen. The walls are adorned with prize fish, ungulate skulls, and old photos showcasing a long history in this valley. The breakfast plates are full and the coffee flows until you put a stop to it, which we reluctantly do.