When I first started riding a dirt jumper bike in 2021, I remember wishing so deeply that I might someday find a group of women like me that were participating in this less common form of mountain biking, but aside from a girl or two, I was usually the only one. 

So I went ahead anyway, alone, not knowing at the time just how critical holding onto that little beacon of courage would soon be as I navigated the most challenging days of my life that lay just around the corner. My entire world disintegrated before my eyes when, on an ordinary autumn afternoon, a shocking revelation would inherently dissolve my 14 year long relationship with my then husband. My life, and everything I knew, would never be the same. 

Depression took over, a dullness to life grew with the pain of facing each day as I succumbed to the searing hot knife that was pushed deep into my heart. Everything I built my life on, gone in an instant. I was lost. An unshakeable feeling of isolation was amplified by the rainy cold winter months, and I felt my sense of identity slipping through my fingers. Entangled by a creeping fear of the unknown, I was beyond terrified of starting over. 

It was tiny moments of friends calling, sending encouragement, inviting me out for a bike ride - fragments when put together would create the rope that would pull me from the depths, back to reality. They reminded me of what I was capable of, and saw in me something I couldn’t yet see myself. 

Without realizing it, I was soon challenging my fears in a way that reflected my process of working through the fear of trying something new in mountain biking. From steep rock rolls to wooden drops to big jumps - I knew that if you wait until the fear is gone before you take that first step, you're never going to take it. Our fears are always going to be there, but it’s all about taking that first step anyway. Along with the empowerment I gained from the support of my community, I knew I could at least try.

And that's when something really incredible happened, as my excitement for the road ahead began to outweigh my fear of it. This feeling began to grow and take up more space than the fears in my head that were holding me back. Suddenly, a spark lit me from within and I knew I had to share this fire with my community. 

I knew firsthand how difficult it was to show up to something while grappling with a fear of judgement, not being good enough, and the isolating feeling of trying something new. Dirt jumping represented all of this among women riders, so I wanted to change that narrative. 

And Golden Hour was born - an inclusive place for female identifying bike riders to build confidence and belonging by learning to jump together. Now in its third season, we have up to 40 women meet weekly during the summer months to progress, share experience, and lift each other up on the bike and in life. 

...and in the process would realize I was actually on track for something even better than that life I once had. In those desperate times I experienced, there were no doubt bits of golden light. They were there the day my tires finally touched the dirt again. They were there while laughing with friends as we pedaled up the mountain. They were there the moment I realized I was stronger than my fears. And they are here, the moment I now witness unfolding every week, as women find their own spark on the jumps. 

So there I was on a warm July evening, riding, cheering, and hyping up the girls. It was getting dark, but a warmth set in. The jumps were glowing in the setting sun, and somehow I felt weightless. I was reflecting on all that had happened and all I had been through to get to this moment, and knew it was this strong, bold group of women pushing their limits all around me and the village it took to help carry the weight when I could not carry it myself. The shadows stretched as the sun bobbed on the horizon, the soft glow of the peach-colored sky a perfect visual representation of what I was feeling inside.