Love. Pass It On.

The first mountain bike I ever rode was my boyfriend’s sister’s Bianchi. And I pedaled that beast like a pro. Lugged its awkward, overweight frame up the “steep” hills of the (possibly illegal) mountain bike trail system that diverged off a nearby dirt road. Rebounded its rigid fork off rocks, roots and, really, just about anything that got in my way. And muddied its metallic finish when I sloshed through creek crossings aplenty.

It was love at first chainring "tattoo." And ten years later, I’m still in love with the sport (and the boyfriend).

Last week I had the desire to introduce someone new to the dirt. Naturally, I chose my fixie-riding, punk rock-listening, vegan brother. He was all for it. He just had to lose the tight jeans first. (Love ya, bro!)

He pedaled his sister’s boyfriend’s bike. (Pictured below—minus the dirt and profusion of tail lights.) It was awkward, rigid and only fitting for his inaugural ride.


We did the left loop at High Rocks—technical, steep, rocky—and he only crashed once. I think he’s a natural.

We cruised home from the trails on some back country roads and I yelled over my shoulder, “Did you have fun?”

“I loved it,” he responded.