A one-pound ranger changed my whole ride. I rolled into Rocky Mountain National Park at dusk, layered up at 8,000 feet, and let the quiet find me—wind through pines, a slow river in Endo Valley, and the sharpest voice of the night from a tiny Albert squirrel telling me to move along. That small interruption opened a bigger conversation about how we listen, how we ride, and how we care for the places that move us. I talk about the practice of letting your ears adjust to wild spaces—how silenc...