A little over a year ago The Canadan, one of my best friends, suffered a stroke. He really thought he might die, and after a day or so when it was reasonably certain he wasn’t going to die he thought he might end up permanently damaged. Damaged? Disabled? What is the term? Anyways, I remember visiting him in the hospital during that first week. To see him struggle to play with the matchbox car we brought him (a gift of therapy!) when I’ve ridden so many ridiculous technical trails with him was sobering.

Not long after, Teh Spousal Unit™ and I discovered that our water heater had been leaking boiling hot water into our crawlspace, and the entire house was infected with mold. We had been experiencing health issues, now we knew the cause. We moved into a temporary living situation, called contractors, and got the remediation underway. Later on we fought with contractors and the insurance company, all while being displaced from our home. In the end the house is back together, our health is better, and I think we’re stronger for it all despite the rough go.

A few days after we discovered the mold, The Canadan was able to go home. He was already showing signs of improvement, but was still a long way out from being back to “normal.” His early progress prompted him to start thinking about the future. He went from “I may never ride again” to “If I can ride X trail by the end of next summer, I’ll be pretty happy.”

A few weeks went by, or maybe it was months? I found myself down on the Front Range for something or other… maybe an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon to discuss getting a hip replacement, maybe work, who knows. I stayed with The Canadan like I always do. Between work and whatever else I had going on that visit, we planned a bike ride.

At this point his balance was terrible, he had severe left-side weakness, and his cognitive ability to process information was really slow. Essentially riding a dirt trail was out of the question, and a far cry from the types of ride he and I normally have done. He could ride on the road, but on his mountain bike because it was less tippy. And only with flat pedals, no clips.

But when your buddy can’t ride what you can ride, you ride what he can ride—no questions asked. It’s not about the ride itself, it’s about spending time with that person. We rode slowly up Lookout Mountain Road, and he made it the whole way. Doing that over an over prompted another goal for him: 50 trips up Lookout Mountain in 2025.

He kept getting better, stronger, more “with it.” In time his slurring became barely perceptible, and he could clip in again and ride on dirt. I rode with him a few more times in the next few months, and while it was weird with him not being able to keep up with me it was also glorious every time we rode and I could see his progress.

In the spring, shortly after moving back in to our house from the mold issue, an old injury in my hip really started bothering me. There were a couple weeks I was in serious pain, and could hardly walk. The time had come—I needed to have my hip replaced. In early May 2025, I had the surgery. I stayed with The Canadan the night before and after, he and his fiancee opened their doors to anything Teh Spousal Unit™ and I needed for my surgery. I was walking the same day as surgery, and a couple of weeks later I was able to start riding my gravel bike.

The Canadan was riding much stronger by this point, exceeding all of his expectations. That trail he wanted to be able to ride “by the end of summer?” He rode it by the end of spring. He was still hesitant on the descents, but his climbing fitness was coming back aggressively. He and his fiancee were going to come up for a visit and of course we were going to ride.

It was still fairly early in my recovery from hip surgery, so I was relegated to the gravel bike. Trying to keep it “chill” and not too much climbing, not too rough of roads, etc. And when you can’t ride what your buddy can ride? Well, he rides what you can ride—no questions asked. So The Canadan and I set out on a gravel ride, and let’s just say I completely misjudged and underestimated the difficulty of it. He cursed me up, down, and sideways for bringing him on a ride where mountain bikes would have been the call, yet here we were slogging along on our gravel bikes. It’s not about the ride itself you see, it’s about spending time with that person.

Fast forward to a few days ago. The Canadan and his wife (!) came up for a visit. We’re both able to ride just about anything now, both of us being really far along in our respective recovery journeys. We chose a ride that he and I did last summer, before any of this happened. South Fooses, a trail off the Monarch Crest. It’s a pure joy ride for both of us, and we were pretty stoked.

It was moody up there and the recent rains gifted the trail with great, albeit variable, conditions. There were some extremely slippery spots, but also long stretches of amazing traction. Traction so good, you could hear when it was good. It got me thinking about our journeys with recovery, and how you have good days and bad. Times when you feel like you’re slipping, and times when you can just tell you’re making progress, that you have traction.

A friend visiting from out of town just texted today and asked if I wanted to ride Fooses in a couple of hours, work and house chore obligations are going to keep me from joining them. To be honest so far as Crest rides go, I’ve only been able to ride Fooses this year. I think I’m okay with that. The other trails will still be there. What matters is that I can ride, that I’ve got traction again after a long stretch of slipping. If Fooses is the trail I ride over and over, that’s fine. Recovery isn’t about checking off every trail, it’s about building traction again—enough to keep moving forward.

I’m grateful for the people who get that, and who’ll dial it back with me when I need to find that grip in the soil.