my Black Bear Brand... jacket!

The rain started like a whisper, a sly murmur threading through the evergreens, but it didn’t stay that way. The sky cracked open, we were already deep in it—no turning back. The Pacific Northwest doesn’t offer warnings; it drags you under, spits you out, and leaves you gasping for meaning.

This is a land of extremes, where the mountains stretch higher, the forests grow darker, and the storms hit harder. A place where the line between man and wild blurs, and only the reckless thrive. It’s not for everyone, but for the ones it calls? There’s no escaping it.

I’ve ridden through a hundred landscapes, but nothing compares to this. The cold wraps around you like a vice, the rain a relentless hammer against the steel of your will. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you find clarity. Not peace. Not calm. Just raw, unfiltered truth.

This isn’t a ride; it’s a rite of passage. The Flathead roars beneath me, and the Black Bear Brand coat clings to my back like a battle flag, soaked but unbroken. Each drop of rain, each mile, each roar of the engine—it’s a prelude to something bigger. Something untamed. Something wild.
And now, the storm has arrived.
- josh