The sky had that look. You know the one. It’s as if the heavens are brewing a storm, daring you to challenge its might. That’s how it looked on December 5, 2012, when Mo, a determined white female, and I decided to brave the elements. Our destination? The legendary Snow Bowl a-frame.
Our journey wasn’t just a climb. It was a testament to our spirit. The kind of spirit that looks at an angry sky and says, “Bring it on.” As we trekked upwards, the air turned brisk, the wind whispered threats, and the clouds? Oh, they were like an artist’s chaotic palette, swirling with grays and whites.
Mo, ever the adventurer, led the way. Her steps were confident, her eyes alight with a mixture of excitement and defiance. There’s something about being up against nature that brings out the rawest part of us. It strips away the facade and reveals who we truly are. Mo was unyielding, a force as formidable as the sky we were about to meet.
As we reached the a-frame, the world seemed to pause. There we were, two tiny figures against a vast, turbulent sky. It was a moment of awe, a slice of time where everything seemed both insignificant and monumental.
But here’s the kicker: the journey wasn’t about conquering the mountain or the sky. It was about pushing on. About moving forward despite the odds, about finding strength in the face of adversity. It’s a metaphor, really. For life, for challenges, for those moments when the sky looks down and dares you to blink.
We didn’t blink. We pushed on. And in that moment, we weren’t just climbers. We were storytellers, writing our tale on the canvas of the Snow Bowl. And let me tell you, it was one heck of a story.
Boneshakerbike 
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