Bikes were the big unifier of this weekend, my sub-par Spanish was less handy than the joy we all spoke so fluently. It’s a warm and gooey feeling looking back on the weekend, when so many variables could go wrong and ultimately nothing does, it’s hard not to feel everything’s kismet. It struck me in the end that this weekend wasn’t at all centering bikes, sure they played a huge role, but it was human connection that was the most important take-away in the end. The conversations and sweet invisible tethers we got wrapped up in are the souvenirs we took home (and a bottle or three of Bacanora). To feel welcomed back to a place and called back to the people that inhabit it – dare I say – it feels like home.

On the last Friday of April, four strangers convened at the Bradfield Campground near Cahone, Colorado at dusk. Our two rigged up trucks and one camper van were parked neatly near the start of what would turn out to be a grand adventure: a weekend of sanctity, the fruition of an obsession, training in preparation for a big tour, and then checking off of a box to confirm that yes, all of the time, energy, and research spent assembling this could lead to something quite special.

I can’t speak much to what other races and biking events are like, but I see that Ruta del Jefe is particularly special. Though centered around a bike race, it is much more about community and education about a space that deserves life. The celebration of it all happens while riding your bike. Truthfully a weekend at RDJ left me with more than just the accomplishment of conquering the most brutal ride of my life.