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Am I Running Out of Time?

por Richard “Flaco” Flores

My doctor looked at me and said: “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go on this trip.”

It was 2023. I had spent months planning the Walker’s Haute Route (WHR), a 130-mile hike from Chamonix to Zermatt through the Swiss Alps. I’d booked the huts, mapped the route, trained for it. And just like that, I had to cancel everything. You can’t plan for when health issues may pop up. It was devastating. And it planted a question in my head that wouldn’t go away: Am I running out of time for the big adventures?

I came to hiking late. I grew up in Los Angeles and the outdoors wasn’t exactly part of the world I grew up in. It wasn’t until I moved to Portland, Oregon that nature became part of my life. And once it did, I was drawn immediately to the mountains. The big views. The hikes that make you feel like you earned something hard. The Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB) in 2021 opened a door and the WHR was waiting on the other side.

It took three years of mental and physical work to get back on track. In 2026, even though it was five years after I had set my sights on the WHR, I felt ready.

My start was amazing. Great weather, good views, and the anticipation and excitement carried me through. On Day 3, I stood at the top of the Fenêtre d’Arpette, a pass I’d skipped on the TMB and had been waiting years to do. The views were endless. I felt elated in a way I had not in a while. This was also one of the hardest passes on the entire route, so my confidence was back on high again.

But then on Day 5, my ankle and foot started acting up. The big pass and the endless views were not totally free. Out of nowhere, mid-morning, a pain I couldn’t ignore. The questions and doubts came back louder: Can I still do this?

But from my experience on the trail, when the body struggles, nature steps in. I pulled energy from the mountains, the wildflowers, the streams, and I pushed. You put your head down. You walk. You learn to listen to your body and also learn when to pull. You rest when you need to. You learn to take the easier path without guilt. You meet others, some even older than you, still out there. Quiet support alongside you, cheering each other on, waiting for you with a cold beer in hand at the hut.

That’s how it goes on the trail. A series of highs and lows. And in this journey, you always come out ahead.

On Day 13, I stopped at a waterfall. It wasn’t the biggest or most dramatic, but it was loud. The kind of loud that fills your chest. The water came all the way down from a glacier above, and I could see the whole thing, from the ice at the top to where it crashed below me. I just stood there. Sunblock and tears. I thought about 2023. The doctor’s appointment. The cancellation. Now here I was, standing next to this roaring waterfall, one day from the finish. I couldn’t believe it.

I walked into Zermatt fourteen days after leaving Chamonix. Exhausted. Proud in a way I rarely let myself feel. It took a day or two to sink in, that I had done the thing I had to cancel three years earlier. That I had answered my own question: “I am stronger than what I give myself credit for”

The WHR taught me to push and pull. When to rest and when to go. When to take the easier path and when to dig deeper. To enjoy the highs, and to learn from the lows. To reset mentally every day, and soak in how lucky I was to be there, to have enjoyed those views, to still be standing.

Because we are stronger than what we give ourselves credit for.

Go. It will be good for you.

¡Vamos!

Richard “Flaco” Flores is a Latino hiker based in Portland, Oregon. He grew up in Los Angeles with no access to the outdoors and discovered hiking as an adult, and eventually as a lifeline. He documents his hikes on YouTube and Instagram at @AndarConElFlaco, creating content for the Latino outdoor community. This summer he completed the Walker’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt through the Swiss Alps and is always looking forward to the next adventure.

Harvesting Hue

Por Nidia Trejo

I am a Salvadoran-American who grew up in the vibrant city of Los Angeles. As a child, I loved color. I remember going to the L.A. Fashion District with my family to pick out fabrics for sewing projects, and watching my mom spend her evening hours with her rose garden. My life was a blend of textiles and petals, though I didn’t know how they would eventually connect.

When I started college at UC Davis, I had an open mind for science. I began to study the chemistry of colorants—one of my first projects was to dye various natural fabrics with red wines. For years, I felt like I was living in two different worlds. In a science lab as well as in a design studio.

Connecting art and science has been a challenge; both spheres are fueled by creativity, and they often compete in my mind for attention. Recently, I challenged myself to bridge the two worlds.

As a teaching artist at the Richmond Art Center, I created a new class called “Petal Power Art” bringing seasonal flowers into the studio for outdoor engagement. The flowers were provided by the Urban Tilth and the Cloverfield Farms located in the San Francisco East Bay (Richmond and El Sobrante, California). Students extracted pigments, directly, by pounding flowers onto cotton fabric and watercolor paper. We explored the colors from the petals, stem, and any leaves using mini-hammers, rollers, and our fingers.

During this time, my own feelings of stress and exhaustion were a barrier that challenged my access to the outdoors. I typically go on walks with my dog, but the new adventure for me was going into the outdoor spaces of local farms. I pushed through because I believed these “Petal Power Art” sessions would create a sense of calm, progress, and certainty.

It was also inspiring to learn about seasonal flowers. The people at the farms were appreciative of my presence, excited about my purpose and use of the flowers. Standing in the sunshine at the farms, seeing the butterflies, and engaging in Spanish with the people there, I felt a deep sense of belonging—a feeling that this is exactly what I was meant to be doing.

Initially, I worried that the seasonal shift from Fall to Winter would limit the flowers. We started with the bright yellow and orange Marigolds from Urban Tilth in Richmond. I soon realized nature’s inventory was much larger than I thought. During morning walks with my dog, I noticed purples and reds in my own neighborhood—Mexican Sage, Roses, and Hydrangeas.

My visits to Cloverfield Farms in El Sobrante were a lesson for trial and error. In the class we discovered that purple Cosmos and yellow Coreopsis gave brilliant, lasting colors. While some flowers, like Red Amaranth, Agave Zinnia, Anise Hyssop, were trickier to work with because they held more water than expected. These were lessons from nature.

Throughout the class, I connected to my heritage and science background. I pointed out which flowers were native to Mexico, Central America, and South America, connecting students to more places beyond the art studio with the stems in their hands. We talked about the chemistry of the colors — anthocyanins that create deep pinks to purples, as well as the carotenoids and flavonoids for vivid yellows and oranges.

We worked with smaller marigolds as the weeks got chillier, quickly learned to use several parts of the flower, and could extract beautiful color even seven days after a bloom was picked. The artworks from the classes were a blend of organic floral shapes, complimented by embroidery, drawing, and watercolors.

The art studio became a piece of nature, inviting us to take in the scent of the flowers, examine the pollen, and be mindful of any insects we needed to care for during the class. By bringing flowers from farms to the art studio, I showed that the outdoors isn’t a distant destination for both art and science.

Although it may be challenging to bring the art supplies into the outdoors, my future plans are to bring “Petal Power Art” sessions to the local farms and East Bay parks. See my ongoing work at my website, https://www.nidiaktrejo.com/.

Raíces, Ruedas y Comunidad / Roots, Wheels and Community

Por Gabriela Hydle

There are weeks that remind you exactly why you started. The past few weeks have been exactly that a beautiful, unexpected, overflowing reminder of why Bici Libre exists and what community truly looks like when it is built with love, intention, and a whole lot of cumbia.


Hay semanas que te recuerdan exactamente por qué empezaste. Las últimas semanas han sido exactamente eso un hermoso, inesperado y desbordante recordatorio de por qué existe Bici Libre y cómo se ve la comunidad cuando se construye con amor, intención y mucha cumbia.

A Spanish Yoga Class / Una Clase de Yoga en Español

It started with breath. We gathered for a Spanish-language yoga class and watched something magical happen beautiful people joining us for the first time, and others who have been coming to our events and keep coming back. Together we moved through poses, settled into stillness, and ended in savasana breathing together, resting together, while enjoying a sound bath. The room held people from across the Americas, and in that silence, every single one of us belonged.


Todo empezó con el aliento. Nos reunimos para una clase de yoga en español y vimos algo mágico suceder personas hermosas uniéndose por primera vez, y otras que han estado viniendo a nuestros eventos y siguen regresando. Juntos nos movimos, encontramos la quietud y terminamos en savasana respirando juntos, descansando juntos, cuándo disfrutábamos de un baño sonoro. El espacio reunió personas de toda América, y en ese silencio, cada uno de nosotros pertenecía.

Taking the Stage at Denver Bike Fest / En el Escenario del Denver Bike Fest

Then came one of our proudest moments yet we took the stage at Denver Bike Fest to teach a basic bike mechanic class entirely in Spanish. Two incredible teachers shared with the community how to check your bike before a ride and how to change a tire on the trail because we never want anyone to feel discouraged and give up. We want to empower every rider to keep going.


Luego llegó uno de nuestros momentos más orgullosos subimos al escenario del Denver Bike Fest para enseñar una clase básica de mecánica de bicicleta completamente en español. Dos increíbles maestras compartieron con la comunidad cómo revisar tu bici antes de una rodada y cómo cambiar una llanta en el camino — porque nunca queremos que nadie se desanime y se rinda. Queremos empoderar a cada ciclista para que siga adelante.


And then the music started.


Y entonces comenzó la música.


El Salvaje took over and the rhythms of cumbia, salsa, and cha cha cha filled the air and people came. Like bees to honey, they were drawn to our space. And gathered around us were voices and stories from Panama 🇵🇦, Mexico 🇲🇽, Peru 🇵🇪, Colombia 🇨🇴, Guatemala 🇬🇹, Puerto Rico 🇵🇷 and beyond each person speaking their own beautiful words, their own expressions, their own flavor of our shared language, it was a tapestry.


El Salvaje tomó el escenario y los ritmos de la cumbia, la salsa y el cha cha cha llenaron el aire y la gente llegó. Como miel para las abejas, fueron atraídos a nuestro espacio. Y reunidos alrededor de nosotros había voces e historias de Panamá 🇵🇦, México 🇲🇽, Perú 🇵🇪, Colombia 🇨🇴, Guatemala 🇬🇹, Puerto Rico 🇵🇷 y más, cada persona hablando con sus propias palabras hermosas, sus propias expresiones, su propio sabor de nuestro idioma compartido, era un tapiz.

The Weekend of Wheels / El Fin de Semana de las Ruedas


And then this weekend arrived with its own kind of magic. 18 riders. Two routes 10 and 26 miles. Two incredible leaders. Two amazing sweepers. And a community that showed up for each other in every possible way.


Y luego llegó este fin de semana con su propia magia. 18 ciclistas. Dos rutas 10 y 26 millas. Dos líderes increíbles. Dos sweepers maravillosos. Y una comunidad que se apoyó mutuamente en cada manera posible.


People shared snacks. People shared words of encouragement. People shouted ¡Vamos! when someone needed it most. Nobody was left behind. Nobody rode alone. And the next morning I got many messages of how people felt welcome, felt seen, and felt like they belonged.


La gente compartió snacks. La gente compartió palabras de aliento. La gente gritó ¡Vamos! cuando alguien más lo necesitaba. Nadie se quedó atrás. Nadie rodó solo. Y a la mañana siguiente recibí mensajes de cómo cada persona en esa rodada se sintió bienvenida, se sintió vista y se sintió parte de algo.

What All of This Means / Lo que Todo Esto Significa


Bici Libre It is a space that says you are here, you matter, and this was always yours.


Bici Libre es un espacio que dice estás aquí, importas, y esto siempre fue tuyo.


Yoga. Mechanic classes. Cumbia. Miles on the trail. Snacks shared between strangers who became friends. This is what we are building one breath, one pedal stroke, one ¡Vamos! at a time.


Yoga. Clases de mecánica. Cumbia. Millas en el sendero. Snacks compartidas entre extraños que se convirtieron en amigos. Esto es lo que estamos construyendo un aliento, una pedalada, un ¡Vamos! a la vez.

Gabriela Hydle is a coach and ambassador for VNTR Birds, an ambassador for POW, Women of Colorado, a volunteer with LO, COMBA, and Mile High 360, a member of the Coalition for Everyone Outdoors Colorado. A Regional Community Stewards Program with Bikepacking Roots. A Waldorf Early Childhood and Spanish teacher.