The Hills are Alive (and I’m pretty sure they hate me)

Remember that feeling of rushing down a hill, hands in the air, hair flying back, feet off the pedals because they're turning to fast to keep up?  I was the youngest of four kids in a single-mom family, growing up in the seventies. That meant no helmet and hand-me-down bikes  that were probably too big … Continue reading The Hills are Alive (and I’m pretty sure they hate me)