News from Jules | 02.17.2025 | All the Stoke
Their stoke rubbed off on me.
“Uh oh,” I said out loud as I checked Mountain Forecast for real-time updates on temperature, wind, and precipitation for Mt. Bachelor the night before our ladies’ riding day that we planned in the oddly warm January two weeks before. The next day’s forecasted high was 15°F, winds up to 25-30 mph, and five or more inches of snow expected. This was storm riding.
I knew it was a miracle that we’d found a day when seven people could ride together and if we changed plans we’d surely lose folks, so I went ahead and sent out a group text to coordinate carpooling and logistics. Here goes something!
The next morning, I was staring off into the snowy forest from the back seat of my friend’s Subaru as we drove from Bend, Ore. up to Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort along the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway. As we crested a hill and turned a bend, I heard the driver say my name.
“Jules, are you gonna be okay with this?”
I looked ahead through the windshield and my eyes widened as I saw the whiteout—the trees were gone and we could barely see the car in front of us—exactly as forecasted.
Clearly, we both remembered my comments two weeks before at our first book club gathering when our discussion of Carolyn Highland’s backcountry adventure memoir, Out Here, inspired the idea for a group ride. How I’d gladly trade off fresh powder for a beautiful bluebird day. How I was not a storm rider.
The two other gals who had not been at book club—my friend and coworker from REI and the driver’s friend—saw my face and immediately chimed in with encouragement and excitement. Their stoke rubbed off on me.
I smiled and relaxed. Sure it would be a stressful day far outside my comfort zone if I had come up on my own. But, I wasn’t alone. It was the perfect opportunity for a rad day learning how to ride powder with a group of amazing women.
See photos and videos from our day of storm riding on Instagram.
“This isn’t so bad,” I thought as we sliced through confection-sugar like snow on our first run aptly named Marshmellow where we could warm up our muscles and get a sense of everyone’s ability level since most of us had never ridden together before. Amazingly we were all in sync like those iconic Warren Miller ski movies that make it look so easy.
The seven of us swerved down the run together like a flock of birds—each taking her own turns, yet still flowing with the group—then filed into the lift line one after another, counting to make sure we were all there before swiping through the gate and hopping onto two quad chairlifts with huge smiles to do it again!
After a couple more runs, our chairs rocked with laughter at our inside jokes. We were having so much fun we barely noticed the icy wind freezing our face buffs or our cold fingers and toes.
Everybody was getting excited to stray from the groomed runs to find untouched powder. Not the “cascade concrete” snow encrusted in ice that I’d faceplanted in a few weeks ago but the pristine blanket of fresh, sparkly snow that lay beneath the groves of trees in between runs. The gal who rode up the lift next to me could tell I was still nervous. We met climbing nearby Broken Top mountain last fall so already had a day of experience adventuring together. She promised to be my wingwoman and follow right behind me to help out if I fell.
I squealed like a kid on a rollercoaster as soon as the fluffy snow blew up past my knees when I swerved past the top of a young tree poking out of the deep snow. I was transported into that Beginner’s Mind like when I was 10 years old and first learning to ski.
The curiosity, the fearlessness, the thrill. And the camaraderie.
All the stoke.
With the support and reassurance of the others, I quickly moved through my courage zone and back into my comfort zone so by the time we dropped into the same tree run for the third time, I was comfortable being at the back of the group. I raced after the others then confidently flew off the last jump back onto the main run and sprayed one of the gals recording video with a blast of white as I cruised past her.
At the bottom of the run, someone commented “Think you’re officially a storm rider, Jules!”
“I guess I am,” I said with a big smile.
May you let others rub off on you this week.
Love,
Jules
I thought of this song as I listened to your account of the day, "Riders on the Storm", by The Doors. Not so much the words but the music and tone. Ride on Storm Rider!
I love this story. Way to face your fears!