Have you ever had somebody tell you that you couldn’t do something? It’s pretty frustrating. But can you imagine what it would feel like if your body told you that you couldn’t do the things you loved the most- like an occasion where you would have no say in the matter at all? Would you feel discouraged or would you feel more motivated than ever? This weeks Fresh Face of Instagram is Mimi Kvinge, who has an incredible story to tell. She’s an artist and an adventurer, but most of all, she’s a fighter who has overcome incredible odds.

If you follow her on Instagram @mimikvinge.creative you already know that her feed is stacked tall with incredible works of art. But would you believe it if I told you that she never considered art to be more than a hobby until about a year ago? From a very young age she took to skiing and developed a love for the outdoors. Then, when she was an adolescent, she was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer in her leg.  This ultimately took away her ability to be active and to pursue her passions in the outdoors.

As part of her treatment, a large part of her knee and hamstring was removed. Despite the fact that doctors were uncertain that she would regain full function of her leg again, she was able to make a full recovery. She credits that she was able to engage her body in “a real way” through her love for skiing and nature.

Mimi’s parents have always encouraged her and her brother to use their imagination and to be as creative as possible. It wasn’t until last year, after getting a huge response from a piece of art she posted onto one of her social feeds, that she considered doing art as more than just a hobby. Her artwork is experimental, and she’s constantly using new techniques to change the way it looks and feels. No matter what medium she uses, she almost exclusively showcases the beauty of the natural world. Her inspiration is derived from her love of nature and is intended to make people “feel the awe and respect for the natural world” that overwhelms her when she heads into the mountains.

“The mountains are my church, my gym, my therapy…”  –Mimi K

Mimi’s art speaks for itself, but it has a much more beautiful context when you know where it comes from. Social media allows you to connect with people who do inspiring things, but on occasion, it also allows you to connect with people who are inspiring by their very nature. Mimi Kvinge is one of those people.!

To see more of Mimi’s work, check out  www.mimikvinge.com or follow her on Instagram @mimikvinge.creative. You can also contact her directly if you’re interested in purchasing her incredible pieces!

Adventure Dining Guide is a culinary web series that takes you out of the kitchen and into the great outdoors.  This show was created to give backcountry dining the recognition it deserves, and inspire others to make their next adventure more gourmet.  Join host Michelle Shea as she hits the trial with athletes, chefs and outdoor enthusiasts to learn how to eat civilized, miles from civilization.

Out of the seven days of the week, Monday probably takes the cake for least favorite day. The weekend is over, the hangover is rough and the average Joe goes back to a world full of people they spent the last three nights trying to forget about. Back to the stinky hallways and claustrophobic cubicles, forced conversations and the all-important meeting that for unknown reasons, requires your attendance. Mondays mark the return to the hell hole.

It was just another Monday morning as I scarfed a jelly donut while waiting for my carpool to pick me up from the parking lot at the Park City Dirt Jumps. Dustin Orem’s mini-van rolled up, so I downed the last of my coffee and took a seat next to Jonesy Fedderson and Riley Smith. We had one more stop in Coalville to pick up Matt Beringer before we’d be on our way to the Hell Hole. Not the same hell hole, however, that most people were commuting to that morning. None of us were agonizing over the thought of sitting at a desk for 8 hours, or correctly filing TPS reports. We only had thoughts of drinking full strength domestics and shredding some BMX bikes at the Hell Hole full pipe in Wyoming.

It might not be the secret spot it once was, but no one will tell you Hell Hole has lost its appeal. There’s something different, something special about venturing away from the perfectly sculpted concrete parks and over-sessioned street spots in urban neighborhoods. Sometimes we get trapped in our comfort bubble. Smooth transitions and effortless flow are hard to find in the middle of farmland, America. But, if you’re up for a little adventure and a challenge, spots like Hell Hole can not only humble you, but remind you of how rewarding it is to put in work for a few tube rides.

We arrived to find some newly installed gates blocking the service road that parks you right at the pipe. Perhaps a sign of the developed popularity of the spot. A little hike is always good for getting the blood flowin’ though, that, and some house cleaning. Lurkers find it amusing to toss rocks down the mouth of the elbow. Can’t say I wouldn’t be tempted myself if I wasn’t aware of the hellish nightmare I would create for anyone sessioning the pipe. Matt will tell you first hand, that nightmare sucks when it becomes a reality.

A quick sweep was all that was needed before the session was on. Everyone took turns charging up the tube, high marking the elbow before carving the 200 feet back out of the snake. It was all smiles, with every run feeling better than the last. Each new high mark was raising the stoke, and every fresh skid made a lasting impression. Jonesy threw down a couple flares and over-vert hand plants while Riley stacked some clips for an upcoming edit. Matt was typically creative in-between speed runs, rocket sliding the belly of the pipe from the elbow all the way out the spout, and Dustin couldn’t get enough flow rides, pumping the walls all afternoon. It was tiring just to watch him, but his energy never faded, nor did his big, bearded grin.

By afternoon, we had cranked enough pedals to clean any gunk out of the lungs. There were no more man-cans to crush and the graffiti lining the pipe was getting blurry, so we loaded the bikes back in Dustin’s van. High-fives for the good times were in order after some hard work on a Monday. No deadlines to meet today though, just the tough decision of what photo to gram on the drive home. There was only one thing left to do before we crossed back over Brigham’s border. A quick stop at the discount liquor store in Evanston was necessary to fill all the empty space in the van. Enough full strength to last until the next Monday!

I’m sure you.. YES you, have done this.

There comes a time when you don’t listen to other people when they tell you not to do something.* Though, the best adventures and experiences seem to occur only when taking risks and challenging yourself to do something you never thought attainable. Of course things will be scary, but that’s the risk you have to be willing to take. Whether the end outcome is positive or negative, that depends… but either way you’re learning a lot more about yourself along the journey. This is where my story begins.

I grew up following freeskiing. Attending the first ever Winter Dew Tour in Killington, VT sparked my hunger for photography and skiing. By the time college came around, even after getting into school in SLC, UT I was told that “it’s too far away”.  Well yes, this is a true fact, but I can’t imagine all of the experiences during that time I would have never been able to do had I listened to that one person. I was told I shouldn’t go to Japan last season, but to me that was my biggest accomplishment and progression of skiing images so far. Today, I am still being told to not pursue my goals of becoming a published action sports photographer/videographer.

Do you think I’ll listen to that?

Skier: David Wise Photo: Dani DeSalvio

Here’s to the mistakes to be made, lessons to be learned, and the hustle to be had.  Cheers & stay stoked – dani

*Though it is probably a good idea to listen to your friends in the backcountry.

Soooooooo here’s some phoots from my recent trip to the mountainous Everest base camp in Nepal.

Stunning photography from a trek into the Everest base camp in Nepal.

When I first came to Brule, Alberta, I was profoundly excited at all the mountain biking potential it so quietly held.  I imagined there was a world of trails waiting, wanting to be discovered. Sitting in the yard, I would look at the mountain for hours. It was a strange combination of hoping and knowing there was an epic trail on her, waiting to see the love of a mountain bike.

Slowly, bit by bit, I am familiarizing myself with this place. Talking with locals and neighbors to get every little bit of information on what exists out here. However, with so much high quality riding in Hinton, Jasper and just outside of Brule, it has taken me a few years to find the riding right here in town. Knowing that if it didn’t already exist, this place was ripe, and perfect for building it… or maybe just restoring it. Brule sits right on the Jasper National Park boundary, and the area is full of nearly 100 year old mining roads, old prospect trails, and ruins.

Yesterday was a throwback. I ventured out and up to the Brule graveyard. A final resting place for many of the Groat family, among others, who helped make this region, and this province what it is today. I only meant to ride up there to see it, as I had not previously taken the opportunity.  Too busy riding the well known trails around our community pasture, nordic centre and Hinton, I began falling into the belief that nothing lay on that mountain but bramble and bear shit. I longed for single track.

I wasn’t prepared for a big ride. There was a half litre of water in my pack, 15% battery in my phone, and I had no idea what I was about to find. No camera, no tracking the ride, a raglan t-shit, no knowledge of what lay in front of me. I only knew these three things.

1. There were trails leading off the road.
2. When the mountain was on my right, I was headed toward Ogre canyon,  and when on the left back towards Brule.
3. All my hopes were about to be confirmed. The best feeling ever!

The bugs were bad. There was bear shit on the trail. It was over grown in many places. I ran out of water and filled up at the creek. I have no idea how far I went, or how much vertical I covered.  I kept riding this old single track as it wandered up and down and back up along the hillside below the mountain. Flowing S turns took me from a climb into a descent,  switching back into a climb. Every time I thought it petered out, I would come across an intersection.

This was the throwback. It was like falling in love with this sport all over again.

I couldn’t ride every trail I saw. I never rode the same trail twice, and I was able to do a complete loop back to the graveyard road (which is 52 st. oddly enough, in a town with only three streets!). This region has so much hidden potential to be a world class destination for our beloved sport. In many ways it already is. But I can’t help feeling there is a piece of that puzzle, waiting to be dusted off and joined with the rest.

I was in full pursuit of a dream, atop a bicycle, our noblest invention (thank you Stance films for “Life Cycles”).

It felt like a quest, a noble cause.

This summer, pursue your dreams and fly by the seat of your pants once in a while. Seek out the adventurer within.

Spread stoke, go far, and BE in the Mountains.

I don’t know when I am going to die.

I intend to make the most of my limited time by doing the things I love. It is my life goal to have as much damn fun as I can before I go. I want to experience everything our awesome planet has to offer: from climbing the bulletproof granite of Yosemite, to exploring the frozen tundra of Antarctica.

#82 Snowboard 20 days in a season

Four years ago on a sailing trip, my friends and I started talking about Jimmy Buffet and how great it would be to have a cheeseburger and margarita with him in paradise. We came up with other things that we wanted to do before we died and jotted them down on the back of a notepad. My bucket list was born.

Sailing trip in Florida 4 years ago

Over the years, my bucket list has grown from 1 to 261 (and growing) things that I want to do before I die. It acts as a compass to keep my life exciting. I am constantly stoked by knowing that there is always a new adventure waiting for me on the horizon, I make sure of it. Whether it is outrunning a swarm of bees, or being a ski bum for a season, I always have a new adventure to be excited about.

#222 Ice Climb

I started a blog for my list in August 2012 so I would not have to keep re-reading my atrocious handwriting. My bucket list covers a wide variety of challenges and personal goals. It consists mostly of adventurous items, but there are also a few inside jokes, like hiding bouillon cubes in my friend’s showerhead. I now document all my accomplishments with a short post so I will be able to look back and reflect on all the cool things I have done. Along the way I have also been able to connect with people around the world who share the same interests.

#209 Indian Creek

So far, my bucket list has actually had a pretty big impact on my life. Now I always say yes to new things, and to any adventure (even if my grades will suffer). If it weren’t for my bucket list I would never have started climbing, I can’t imagine how empty my life would be without it. Feel free to check out my bucket list at http://jakesbucketlist.wordpress.com/. I know I will never do everything on the list, but I am making progress and having a blast while doing it. I’m always looking for new adventures, so please let me know if you have any rad ideas.

 Stay Stoked!

-Jake Dickerson

Three weeks ago today, I endured the experience that any athlete subconsciously dreads. Skiing by myself at Solitude, I took the tumble that would end my season and jeopardize my long anticipated spring travel plans. As I came to a stop at the bottom of the icy face I had just descended, I knew that I wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon. I felt a shooting pain from the bottom of my left leg, almost positive that I had broken my ankle. I waited there in the snow, cringing with pain for 20 minutes before a woman finally skied by and called for help. At this point, my tears were less for the pain in my leg and more for the fact that I was supposed to be leaving for a month long volunteer experience in Nicaragua only a short week later. After being assessed by ski patrol, I was packed into a sled and taken to the Solitude clinic for x-rays. Low and behold, it was far worse than I had hoped. A spiral fractured fibula, with x-rays calling for immediate surgery. At this moment, all of my upcoming adventures, the first joyful opportunities presented to me in over a year and a half had vanished before me. I felt defeated, pissed off, cursed and undone by the reality of my situation. Two days after the accident, I underwent surgery on my fibula leaving me with the 9 screws and long metal plate that will forever be a part of me.

I beat myself up for hours after the accident but soon came to terms with the fact that accidents DO happen. Injury is an inevitable part of any active lifestyle and frankly it is in everyone’s best interest to move past the ‘what ifs’ or ‘what could have beens‘ in any way possible. I reasoned with myself that the universe kindly broke my leg to prevent me from getting eaten by a shark surfing in Nicaragua or perhaps from drowning in the river’s depths of the Grand Canyon, a trip I had planned only 2 days after my return from Nicaragua. Rather than dwelling on something I cannot change, I committed myself to healing in the open, tropical arms of Santa Marta, Nicaragua.

For those who know me well, I am not one to be defeated by the ebbs of life. Rather, I use them as opportunities to challenge myself to creatively overcome every obstacle that soils my path. Though the challenge of navigating this rural landscape on crutches has proven to be difficult, it has also transformed my experience into something entirely unique and entirely beautiful. Most locals around the area know me as the broken gringa (la gringa rota), often found riding on the back of various motorcycles or slowly making my way through the sand at the beach club of Playa Colorado. Being reliant on locals for rides throughout Santa Marta, I have established relationships that I would never had known had I two working legs. Just the other night, we were cordially invited to a rural Nicaraguan cock fight, La Pelea de Gallos, a spectacle not suited for a weak stomach. A gamblers game at best, the fights lasted over 5 hours while I sat contently behind the drunken debauchery, meeting and conversing with locals who were admittedly surprised at my attendance. Shortly after the fight, we found ourselves at a local night club where the owner quickly sent his friends to find a couch for me to sit on, another service exemplifying the generosity of the locals.

We have been here just shy of two weeks now but have successfully become a working part of our surrounding environment. Our workplace, Finca Santa Marta, (www.fincafarms.com), is a non-profit, organic farm dedicated to the practice and education of sustainable farming to benefit the local community. Adam Kenworthy, CEO and founder of Finca Farms has formed a credible repertoire amongst the people of Santa Marta and has dedicated his time, money and hard work to the progress and future of Finca Farms. Though I am limited to the kind of work I can do at the farm, I have found my niche planting and caring for Finca’s herbal nursery as well as constructing a few other garden projects of my own around the farm. During our first week, we also helped Adam in curating an art project for the local kids of Santa Marta. The kids were instructed to paint pictures of Finca Farms which will be displayed and sold in New York City, alongside individual portraits of each child and their artwork, in an effort to raise money for the farm. Most of these children will not complete an education above a third grade level which is an incentive for these projects to diversify their limited means of education.

As most of my fellow nomads will understand, traveling is far from a vacation. To me, travel is an experience brought upon us by curiosity. I myself am a creature of curiosity. I thrive on the adventure of the unknown and have taken advantage of the international opportunities that have presented themselves over the years. I now find myself basking in the heat of the Nicaraguan sun, consumed by a third world hospitality that ruminates through the colorful, rural pueblo of Santa Marta.

As with any experience, memories are created and lessons are learned from the trials and tribulations that breech the flow of life. If there is anything I have learned from my experiences, it is that life is indeed short and one must presume that any moment could be the last. Most obstacles are malleable; they can be bended, twisted and flattened by the intrinsic strength that pushes us forward when we can’t help but look back. Stay positive. Stay strong. Stay STOKED.

Several weeks ago, I lost a dear friend to the mountains in a ski accident in Switzerland. When I heard the news I was heartbroken and grief stricken. Yet a strange and familiar feeling was present.  As I reminisced the joys and laughs of my friend, I became aware of this feeling that resided.  Gratitude.  Gratitude is a simple word with numerous meanings, and in this exact moment of time, it meant peace, harmony.  Let me explain…

With a love for the outdoors and a thrill seeking attitude comes an immense emotional roller coaster. Where lows can be tragic and humbling, and highs can be exhilarating and rewarding.  This range of emotion is extreme, but then again, apt for extreme sports.  The uncertainty of what today’s adventure will bring I think is what is most appealing.  Will I be confident or fearful, will I succeed or break, will it snow or rain? This might be the reason I indulge in my passions. The moment is so defined when you ‘adventure’.  It’s what fuels me to get back outside and do it again. Because no matter what emotion my passion is igniting, there is one that is constant: an undeniable love of being outside.

I have witnessed fatal injuries and the hardship that inevitably comes with disability. I have heard the words, “lost in an avalanche” too many times, and I have shed numerous tears over my own progress and frustration with nature. Yet with all of these defying moments has come clarity. It is these moments that remind us how precious our time is, something that should never be taken for granted. DO. WHAT. YOU. LOVE. NOW. The rewards and joy will always outweigh the hardships. The feeling of bliss from accomplishment conquers all, whether it is jumping off a cliff, getting to the top of the mountain, or getting up on a kiteboard for the first time. Feeling happy for someone like seeing your little cousin on skis for the first time, your friend standing up out of a wheelchair, and seeing your dad’s face light up when discovering an untouched pow field triumphs any grief.  Be grateful, for everything.  The injuries and victories, the distress and stokeness, the powder and ice mogals, and most of all nature, for this insanely beautiful and vast playground.   That is exactly what my friend, Sam Thompson did.

“Be present in all things and thankful for all things.”- Maya Angelou

Here are some photos from previous adventures that remind me of why it’s so important to live in the moment, no matter how hard it may sometimes be.

Now time to go outside, take a deep breathe, and smile…

There were a couple of things I wanted to do after graduating high school. One was go to underwater soldering (that word looks nothing like it sounds) school, and roll in the big bucks – the other was to make a difference in the world. I uneducatedly decided to go into the Peace Core. To make a section of a long story shorter, I ended up in Nigeria managing prairie fires – which apparently are a big issue down there.