Friendsmas in Motion

There’s something about December adventures that feel quieter on the outside
and louder on the inside.

This past weekend, Malee and I gathered with a handful of friends and headed south to St. George for what became our own version of Friendsmas. Bikes loaded. Coffee on repeat. No big agenda—just time, movement, and shared space.

We rode.
Revenant.
Bearclaw Poppy.
Barrel Roll.

And somewhere between dust and desert light, I earned my official initiation crash at the bike park. Front tire caught. Momentum carried. Body airborne. A very brief flight over the handlebars and a sudden awareness of gravity.

A deep breath.
A laugh.
A reminder that learning always comes with a little skin in the game.

It felt strangely perfect.

Between rides, I shared a few things that matter deeply to me. Indian food—always—and a chocolate croissant from Bonrue (formerly Farmstead). Croissants are not casual for me. They’re a ritual. I search for them wherever I travel, slowly and intentionally, waiting for the right one.

The kind that shatters when you pull it apart. Layers so thin they scatter onto the table and your clothes. Butter that melts the second it warms in your hands. Inside, a ribbon of chocolate that cools into a firm, glossy layer—just enough resistance before it gives way. That contrast is everything.

Sharing a croissant is never an afterthought. It’s an offering. I notice who I’m with. I pay attention to the moment. I break it carefully, knowing that once it’s shared, it can’t be taken back. I love explaining why this one matters, watching faces change with the first bite—surprise, delight, recognition. If I share a croissant with you, it bonds us in a way that can’t be undone. It says: you were here with me. This mattered.

Indian food grounds me in the same way—familiar, comforting, deeply satisfying. Red Fort delivered exactly what my soul was craving.

Food as punctuation marks between long conversations and belly laughs.

What stayed with me most wasn’t the mileage or the trails checked off.
It was the flow.

The ease of being with people who feel aligned.
The way conversations deepen without effort.
The way new friendships form without force, and old ones soften into something even richer.

There was a moment—quiet, ordinary, easy—where I realized I was sitting inside a version of life that once didn’t exist for me.

Not the relationship I have with myself now.
Not the partnership I share with Malee.
Not this circle of friends.
Not this sense of belonging in my own becoming.

And that’s the thing about evolution—you don’t always notice it while it’s happening. You notice it when you look around and think,

Oh. I’m here.

This is what enjoying the journey actually looks like.
Not perfect. Not polished. Sometimes scraped hips and ribs and bruised confidence.

But shared.
Witnessed.
Grateful.

Micro adventures don’t need to be big to be meaningful. Sometimes they’re just a weekend away, a crash that reminds you you’re learning, a croissant passed across a table, and the deep knowing that life keeps expanding when you stay open to it.

I’m profoundly grateful for the people who walk alongside me in this season. For the versions of ourselves we’ve grown into. And for the spaces—internal and external—that now exist because we kept choosing to show up.

Feed the birds.
Share the ride.
Enjoy the becoming.

☕️🚲✨