This time of year is always such a delightful wind down. While I must confess that I’ve hardly been shoulder to the wheel these last few months with work being quiet, and training only just restarting, I still love the abyss of the week between Christmas and New Year. I get reflective for a few days, and then I start to get all wishy dreamy about the new year with grand ambition.
2023 was such a great year. A rough start as the reality of winter in the north crushed my soul after two glorious months under the African sun at the end of 2022. But eventually, the sun and the warmth return, and your emerge from your hibernation.
Winter followed me to Moab and racing Moab Rocks in 2023 taught me some tough lessons. I had one great day out of three, and took the time for another glorious week in Moab filled with awe and wonder along with a good dose of fear when I was caught unprepared in a white white out less than a kilometer from the road.
I raced the Belgian Waffle Ride when they brought the race to Canada in April and then transitioned into a frenzy of work with Ride Lab, Mega Volt and then my favourite week of every year, race week at the BC Bike Race (BCBR)! I feel lame about how much of my social circle is connected to race week and then at race week I remember why its not lame at all – it’s wonderful. Saying goodbye after race week is hard, but just like Winnie the Pooh, I always remind myself how lucky I am to have people in my life who saying goodbye to breaks my heart.
In August I had another fabulous road trip returning to SBT GRVL, followed by 10 unbelievable days of adventure. I stayed in Steamboat a couple more nights and then headed north to Grand Tetons to camp for a few nights, and then on to Yellowstone. I haven’t written about that yet because it’s almost too much to comprehend and completely impossible to capture the absolute wonder of it in my elementary writing. I don’t know how to convey the magnitude of the experience of watching bison graze along the Madison River at sunset. On the way home I spent a night with friends in Montana – BCBR friends believe it or not – and just delighted in the connections that form between human beings.
A few days later my kid and her lovely boyfriend came from the UK to stay. I had the best roommates for 3 weeks. They climbed rocks all day, some days we’d have dinner together, other days we all did our own thing. In the evening we’d chat about our days. Ayesha would be at the table colouring, Tom would be planning their next day of boulder projects and I would knit – it was warm and comfortable and nothing short of wonderful. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces saying goodbye at the end of September.
The summer was probably the most glorious one I remember in the 8 years I’ve lived in Squamish. It was hot by May and stayed beautiful all the way through November. There were so many lake dips and great bike rides, long walks and mad adventures.
Looking back at the year, I realise how many of those lake dips and bike rides, that seemed so inconsequential at the time, contributed to how great the year was. Even in February when it was cold and miserable on the bike, the sun would break through and the soggy moss would catch the light in a way that you couldn’t ignore. I always stop to take in these moments. Trying to capture the magic was futile but always fun trying. Sometimes it was the light, sometimes seeing the first star appear from the middle of a lake at dusk, other times a mushroom spotted off trail. There were so many places my bike took me where you just can’t even believe the beauty – all the moments where you’re so in awe.
These often don’t make it to my Instagram feed because I can’t capture the magic or explain the wonder, but they each made my day in their own way.
The moments of human connection that warm your heart and feed your soul are the same. There are the bigger ones, like the time spent in Moab sharing a house with the Gibbenses and the McKeemans, a chance dusk swim with my new friend Russell (yes, yes, also from BCBR) when the timing just worked out perfectly, the weekend at SBT GRVL connecting with so many people, and the overnight visit with Michael and his lovely family in Bozeman.
Then there are the moments that don’t seem to stand out at the time, and yet they carry the same power. It’s phone calls with friends I worked with more than 10 years ago and still treasure, people that know me and that I don’t have to explain things to, because they already understand. The conversations that turn tears into laughter and leave me feeling so loved. I have an aunty who calls me on Facebook messenger once a month. She’s in her 80s and we talk for 5 minutes but I’m always so delighted to see her name pop up on my phone. She is so full of joy and genuine caring. There are the walks with Chris or Marlene, and the countless cups of coffee with friends like Vicki, who is always my safety net and is always there to catch me, even in my darkest moments. Sometimes it’s just something that reminds you of someone, and you just send a picture without any explanation but they get it. Maybe its the familiarity in that exchange, but it is enough to flood my heart with love and sunshine.
Other times its the casual interaction with strangers: complimenting a stranger you pass on their shoes, or sharing a joke in line at the post office, the casual banter with a stranger at the trail head. You catch yourself still smiling as you walk away from the exchange. These moments are so easily dismissed, yet so delightful.
There are also the solitary moments on my couch with a project on my needles, soft music playing where I am so filled with deep contentment. There are the miles and miles and miles of a big road trip that are filled with anticipation on the way there and overflowing with gratitude and awe on the way home. The quite time spent doodling or reading that I don’t even realise the delight they deliver. Dancing in the kitchen while I cooking some of my favourite dishes is pure joy. It’s all magical and wonderful and boosts my spirits and nourishes my soul.
These moments collect over the course of a year, over your lifetime I suppose, and they contribute at least as much as the big events to what makes it all so wonderful. It’s also helps to soothe the pain of the difficult goodbyes and the heartache when my reality falls short of my hopes and dreams. I take pictures of everything, of the blue hour sky, of the mushrooms, of the river because it gives me a pause to bask in that moment, seemingly so insignificant, but still so deeply meaningful. What might seem inconsequential is actually filled with delight, you just have to see it.