Some people celebrate Valentine’s Day with chocolates and flowers. Me? I celebrate it with horsepower, mud, and the kind of love that only the trails can offer.
I remember a ride a few years back, one that changed how I see this sport—not just as a hobby, but as a bond between people who share the same passion for the trail.
Full Throttle
It was the first Saturday we didn't have frigid temps since last month. A group of us had planned an all-day ride through some of the best terrain in the county. The kind of day that makes you grateful for knobby tires, a solid machine, and good friends.
We met at sunrise, engines rumbling in the crisp morning air, steam rising from coffee cups as we checked straps, filled tanks, and laughed about who was most likely to get stuck first.
“That’s easy,” I called out my buddy Wade. “Wade always falls in love with the first mud hole he sees!”
Stuck in Muck
About an hour into the ride, our group veered onto an overgrown trail, the kind that promised adventure and a fair share of trouble. It wasn’t long before we hit a deep ravine—a steep, unforgiving climb covered in slick rock and thick, sticky mud.
One by one, we gave it a shot. Some crawled their way through, silently thanking themselves for upgrading their skid plates as they scraped against the jagged rocks. Others spun their tires relentlessly, leaving behind streaks of rubber in the mud—a costly reminder that terrain like this takes its toll.
And then, just like clockwork, Wade got stuck.
Not just stuck—buried.
Our group didn’t hesitate. Winch cables flew, hands grabbed mud-covered ropes, and we went to work. We'd only been in the woods for about an hour before we hit this ravine, and by the time we yanked Wade's machine back on solid ground the entire day had slipped away. As we stood there, breathless and covered in mud, someone said, “Now that’s true love.” And they weren’t wrong.
“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” – Proverbs 17:17
Wade apologized and felt bad for holding us up, but as he wiped the mud off his machine, he grinned. “Well, at least my new windshield held up—not a single scratch!” We laughed and gave him a hard time about falling in love with the first mud hole he saw, then headed back to camp.
Never Riding Alone
As the sun dipped below the trees, we sat around a campfire, boots drying by the flames, the scent of burning wood mixing with the faint aroma of gasoline and the sound of burgers sizzling on the grill next to me.
“This,” I thought, “is what I love”
Brotherhood, horsepower, and the open trail. It's a love story not between two people, but between man, machine, and the wild outdoors. Because at the end of the day, love isn’t just about words—it’s about action.
It’s about the people who pull you out when you’re stuck, the ones who ride beside you through the tough trails, and the ones who remind you that no matter how deep the mud gets, you’re never riding alone.
