Updated: Jun 17
I was born in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. From there, my family moved around a lot. I lived in rural areas in Colorado and Texas throughout my childhood and came to love coffee at the ripe, old age of 2. I used to wake up around 4 AM, wander into the kitchen as my dad was getting ready for work, and ask him for "foffee". My dad would mix a tiny bit of coffee with milk, and we'd sit together to prepare for our busy days of turning wrenches, eating dirt, busting knuckles, and blowing spit bubbles.
We always lived in small towns, and the few coffee shops I grew up around were independent, mom-and-pop places. They were unique, comfy havens where most of the patrons knew the owners and each other, but newcomers were welcomed with smiles, hellos, and a cup of something awesome made by a true barista, someone who shared a passion for the art of coffee.
Following in dad's footsteps, I went into mechanical work. I moved to Salt Lake City, started working on equipment in manufacturing plants, then met Robert at a passenger train manufacturer. He knew me as the disgruntled mechanical foreman who always had a giant jug of coffee that I brought to work because the coffee at work was terrible, and I knew him as the disgruntled Austrian guy who worked "upstairs" (in the offices) in the supplier quality department. Our respective roles had us working together a lot. We became quick friends and, eventually, business partners.