Personal History
The engine’s growl first hooked me in the Carolinas, where I cut my teeth on a motorcycle, carving through the twisty mountain roads of the Blue Ridge. The asphalt snaked tight, pines blurring past, and every lean felt like a dance with the earth. But the dirt called louder. I picked up dirtbiking there, trading pavement for mud, roots, and ruts—freedom in every skid.
Three years ago, I hauled my bike to Washington State, where the trails and mountains dwarfed anything I’d known. The Cascades became my playground—racing through pine-scented singletrack, climbing rocky ridges, and bombing down slopes that tested every nerve. I thrived on it, the FE501 screaming beneath me, a beast built for the wild.
Then adventure bikes roared into my life. I snagged one and hit the Backcountry Discovery Routes, exploring the United States—Idaho’s dust, Utah’s red rock, Montana’s endless skies. My passion for off-road only grew, splitting time between the adventure rig and my trusty FE501. Two wheels, endless trails, and a hunger for more— that’s my story now.
Riding Goals
I ride to break free, to soar, to chase the only “why” that matters. It’s my lifeline— the cure to a rotten day, the pulse that makes me feel alive. Nothing compares: it’s not just a thrill, it’s air in my lungs, a primal need. This year, I’m tearing across Austria’s untamed soil on my adventure bike, tasting freedom on foreign trails. Then it’s Idaho’s BDR— rugged, wild, mine to conquer. Every year after, I’ll chase a new country, a fresh state, tackling the toughest, most stunning Backcountry Discovery Routes. Riding’s my oxygen, and the world’s my open road.
Competitive Highlights
When someone asks about my achievements, I point to my first year on an adventure bike—conquering the Washington Backcountry Discovery Route. That beast of a ride tested me like nothing else: a big bike wrestling through brutal trails, mud-slicked climbs, and rocky descents that’d rattle anyone’s bones. It was the toughest haul I’ve ever tackled, and I finished it—exhausted, proud, and hooked. Beyond that, I’ve ripped singletrack in spots so wild, most can only dream of glimpsing them—hidden ridges, secret forests, places that feel untouched. I’ve come back banged up, bruised, even broken, but the urge to ride? Never flickered. That fire’s my real trophy.