Å·²©»áÔ±Èë¿Ú

As Diné or Navajo, we’re raised with a driving force, a core value of the importance of family and connection to community. This bond, to the land and to our people, is rooted in radical loyalty and unconditional love for each other. Å·²©»áÔ±Èë¿Ú’re taught to look out for one another, teach one another and grow with one another. It’s called °­â€™Ã�, and it’s how I ended up packed into an overstuffed SUV with four other full-grown humans, driving on an unfamiliar highway in Northern Utah.

Å·²©»áÔ±Èë¿Ú still had five hours until we hit Victor, Idaho, the next stop on our journey and our base camp for the next few days while we explored the area around Teton Pass. After a full day on the road, crammed knee-to-knee eating gas-station snacks and fast food, everyone was looking forward to a little legroom and a good night’s rest.

This was day three on the road and the culmination of something photographer Eric Arce and I had been scheming since we first met via social media early in the COVID-19 pandemic. The concept was simple: Å·²©»áÔ±Èë¿Ú’d road-trip into the mountains of Wyoming, photographing as much mountain biking as we could and riding with as many BIPOC riders as possible along the way. Add in a few Navajo friends, and we figured it had all the ingredients for a good time.

With those goals in mind, we put together a loose 10-day itinerary. Our route would start in Southern Colorado, with a handful of our favorite trails near Durango and Cortez. Then we’d loop north through Utah to Wyoming, making a few pit stops to ride along the way, before wrapping up the trip at Rezduro, a yearly mountain bike race held in the middle of Dinétah, near the community of Hardrock, Arizona. Rezduro is the first and only enduro-style race on the Navajo Nation and is organized by Diné riders, trail builders, friends and family.

Å·²©»áÔ±Èë¿Ú asked two friends to join: Frank Cook and Lorenzo “Zoâ€� Manuelito. They’re both Navajo, talented riders and trail builders, nonprofit coaches and staples in our Diné mountain biking community. A few hours before our departure, we added a fifth: Dom Clichee, another talented rider and coach who took on the role of a youngest brother and general bringer of stoke.

For me, trips like these are always more impactful than I’d ever anticipate and even more so a few months down the road, after I’ve had time to reflect, process and pine for the next. They’re an opportunity to experience far-off trails, but there is also holistic growth in the journey, whether we choose to recognize it or not—and, even deeper, whether we choose to nurture it.

Some of that growth is physical, like the endurance gained while huffing through the alpine meadows outside of Durango, Colorado, pedaling at 12,000 feet above sea level; or the skill-sharpening that comes from riding techy, double-black-diamond trails off Teton Pass. Some of it extends beyond the individual. Trail builders like Zo, Frank and Dom, for example, will find themselves so inspired by a unique trail or feature that they’ll bring that creativity home to share with the rest of our riding community.

I think the deepest growth, however, comes from connecting with the land and nature and from the bit of peace that brings. Hammering down a chunky mountainside may not sound peaceful, but it’s one of the few times I find myself fully in my body, with my mind fully committed to one point of focus. In a world going what feels like 90 mph in 90 different directions, I’m thankful for the moments where I can simply exist as a human in nature.

Though 10 days may seem like a long time, it wasn’t nearly enough to truly appreciate these places, and there was too much time spent jammed in the car. But °­â€™Ã� isn’t always comfortable and bringing one more friend is worth the tighter fit. The infectious positive energy—the stoke—made us all feel so much lighter, a constant reminder of how blessed we are to experience and connect with the outdoors alongside our relations.