The Trailhouse was a real place. Tucked away in the brambles and big trees of a northern Cascadia town. It was a dank and dreary place. But combating the low-light and mold was a band of merry mountain bikers who chose to live in the damn place. It's location was such that they had access to some of the best trails in the country without letting their tires touch pavement. It goes without saying, they didn't have to drive to the trailhead--they lived there! While pretending to be college students, the studies of singletrack mythology, design, lore, riding technique, shit-talking, and proper hydration were undertaken. While no degrees or certificates were given out, the continuing education still lives on to this day.
My only wish is that we all maintain a 'Trailhouse' of sorts. A place where passion and curiosity is free and young, and only encouraged to grow.
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