Page 10 of Riding the Storm
We lapse into silence for a while. The cabin lights dim. Most passengers are asleep. The sky outside starts to lighten, streaks of pink and gold breaking through the clouds as we cross into Wyoming airspace.
I can see the Tetons now, jagged and white-capped against the horizon. They’re beautiful—I’ll admit that. Wild, dangerous, unyielding. The kind of place that might understand a man like me.
Maybe.
“Look,” Shawn says, quieter now. “You don’t have to like this, Ry. You just have to show up. Work with the trainer. Prove to everyone—including yourself—that you can do this. If you still hate it after the summer, we’ll talk. Figure out what to do next. But if you walk away now, without even trying, you’ll be walking away from everything you’ve built.”
I stare out at those mountains and wonder if maybe that’s exactly what I need to do—walk away with my head held high.
But I don’t say it. Because I’m not ready to walk off into the sunset. Not yet.
Instead, I mutter, “Fine. I’ll give it the summer.”
Shawn exhales in relief. “Good. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”
“Don’t expect you to.”
The plane begins its descent, bumping through turbulence. The captain comes on, talking about clear skies and mild temperatures, like that matters. My gut tightens, the way it always does before I land in a new place—same as before a ride. Only this time, I’m not sure what to expect.
When the wheels hit the runway, the jolt snaps through my spine, and I swear it feels like a bolt of lightning, signaling the start of a storm.
Welcome to fucking Wyoming.
When I step through the sliding glass door with our bags in tow, the Jackson Hole air hits me like a slap—crisp, thin, mountain cold, even in May. Awe-inspiring snowcapped peaks look painted in the distance.
Shawn headed straight to the rental company inside the terminal to arrange our transportation, but I needed a moment to breathe.
I stretch my neck and roll my shoulders. They ache sometimes, especially after long flights. A stark reminder of all the times I hit the ground hard and got back up.
And how blessed I am.
Yes, this last fall was a doozy. But I’m far from broken down. My body is as strong as it’s ever been. Honed by years of hard physical training, both in and out of the arena. I’ve been lucky enough to have access to the most state-of-the-art equipment and facilities, as well as elite coaching and injury prevention conditioning, to refine my mental and physical game.
My core, grip, and leg strength are unparalleled in the sport. Sure, I could up my cardio and flexibility games. But the fucking hot yoga and long walks in the park that the last eighteen-year-old hippie therapist suggested sounded like sissy bullshit. I’d rather deal with the stiff neck and aching shoulders.
A black Chevrolet Silverado pulls up with Shawn behind the wheel.
I toss my duffel in the bed with the rest of our bags and climb inside.
“You sure you can handle this thing?” I ask. “It’s a lot different from that little shiny Mercedes you zoom around Fort Worth in.”
He gives me an exasperated look. “Just sit back and take a nap or something,” he snaps as he taps the screen on the dashboard.
“How far is this place—uh, what did you call it again?” I ask.
“Wildhaven. About an hour’s drive.”
“Wildhaven,” I repeat, half amused. “Sounds made up.”
“Small town, but it’s very real,” he says.
We pull out of the airport and hit the highway, winding through pine forests and valleys that look untouched by time. Cattle graze in distant pastures. Fences run for miles, silver wire glinting in the sun.
I start to see the appeal. It’s quiet, wild, rugged.
Maybe the name does fit.
