All is good at Transition’s HQ north of Bellingham, Darrin was working on some new Anvl products, Carl was shooting bikes whilst the rest of the gang hurriedly got mails done before shutting down for the day. Leaned on a bench one of their Klunkers caught my eye, but there was no time as a pile of Covert’s were primed and ready to head to the hills.
Sternberg was obviously the front man when it came to riding but he has good back–up in owners Kyle and Kevin, Sam, Cam and Darrin. This little company has some heavyweight personalities and possibly one of the world’s most stylish, ‘turn it on in an instant’ riders. This year Sternberg is focusing on world enduro for the company. He’ll do a grand job.
The drive to where we were going was pretty epic vertically and clearly liquidly challenging for some of the guys on this, their ‘away day’ to the hills. We shuttled high, Mount Baker constantly on our flank. At the summit I found it almost unbelievable that someone had cut in a trail from this altitude, and after being chased by bees we dropped in. It was classic hand cut stuff, deep of decomposing needle, interrupted by rock and always keeping you on your toes.
The gang cooled off in the drink of frozen mountain water and we head back to the coast for one of the most heavenly evenings imaginable, the end of some unforgettable days in the Pacific north west.
We shuttle and then walk to a small piece of shoreline to where a group of friends sipped beers amongst some rowing boats. Lars has a fire lit and Darrin and Cam head out on to the silky waters to pull the crab pots that they had dropped earlier in the day. They measure the catch and return the smaller ones back to the clear waters but the rest we will feast on until sunset.
The drum of a washing machine acts as a great pressure cooker and soon we are picking at one of the freshest meals imaginable. Every now and then an Amtrak train rattles down the line between us and the forest which we had been riding a few days earlier with Mandell. The waters now almost waveless, a serene moment looking west to Lummi Island, tired from riding, fully content.
