Who decides to mountain bike in Missoula during mud season? (Yep, me.) The trail looked like a chocolate milkshake. Local wisdom? Completely ignored.
“It’ll be fine,” I muttered, settling onto my flat pedals. Spoiler: not fine.
Melting snows turned the road into a river. Nothing like those crisp summer days at Pipestone, where the trail was a ribbon of dust and promise. This? Just wet misery. My bike groaned, remembering drier times.
Pipestone
Work’s been messy. Good messy, if that’s a thing. Projects piling up, emails multiplying like rabbits. Collapsing into bed with that weird mix of satisfaction and exhaustion.
Mo’s situation? A different battlefield. She’s a federal worker caught in DOGE’s crosshairs. Mass layoffs, constant uncertainty. Her agency’s been hit hard. Some days she comes home shell-shocked, talking about colleagues getting walked out the door. Over dinner, I listen, trying to keep my own work avalanche from burying us both.
We do this sometimes, right? Make choices that make zero sense. Ride into the mud when every rational thought says “stay home.” Take on more work when we’re already maxed out. Carry everyone’s burdens. And somehow? We keep pedaling forward.
The ride devolved into a slush nightmare on the Kim Williams Trail. Snake-like skids, total loss of control. One moment moving, the next sliding sideways, fighting just to stay upright.
Bike-washing became an epic event. Water running brown, then clear. Something clicked.
I need one of these rides annually. The completely unreasonable choice you somehow survive. The kind that leaves you filthy, laughing, and weirdly? Makes every other challenge seem manageable.
Meanwhile, Mo had stayed in Pattee Canyon, skate skiing through the slush. I left her to her own adventure and rode back home. She was waiting when I arrived, both of us with our own messy stories from the day.
Life’s messiest moments have this weird magic. They wash you clean, but only if you’re willing to get thoroughly, gloriously dirty first.
This post benefited from the use of Claude for research and story development. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.
Today started off with me glued to my couch, trapped in a vortex of gloom. You know, one of those days where even your coffee needs a pep talk to bother perking up. But, as fate would have it, my dwindling toilet paper fortress and the echo in my snack cabinet finally nudged me out of my funk. So, with a heroic burst of energy that would make a sloth blink twice, I hopped on my bike, using the noble quest for bulk goods at Costco as my rallying cry.
Riding through the streets, I felt the wind in my hair and my spirits lifting. I arrived at Costco, parked my noble steed (read: slightly rusty but trusty bike), and met up with my partner in crime, Mo. Mo and I, armed with our oversized shopping cart, were ready to conquer the aisles of wholesale glory. Little did we know, we were about to embark on an adventure that would make our usual shopping spree look like a walk in the park.
Just as we were debating the merits of a 4-pack of a2 milk (because, really, who needs that milk … think latte?), the atmosphere shifted. The air turned colder, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. And then, out of nowhere, the Ghostbusters rolled in, proton packs at the ready, turning our ordinary Costco run into the set of a paranormal showdown.
“Attention, Costco shoppers,” boomed a voice, echoing off the concrete floors and towering stacks of merchandise. “Please remain calm, but we’ve got some uninvited spectral guests today.”
Mo and I exchanged glances. Our shopping trip had suddenly turned into a front-row seat to a ghostly invasion. Shoppers huddled together, watching in awe as the Ghostbusters charged through the aisles, zapping invisible foes with their proton beams. The ghostly howls and the smell of ozone filled the air, adding a level of excitement to our shopping trip that we hadn’t anticipated.
In the midst of the chaos, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here we were, just trying to stock up on bulk goods, and instead, we were dodging stray energy beams and spectral shoppers from beyond the grave. At one point, a ghostly figure zoomed past us, knocking over a display of Kirkland Signature nuts, causing a cascade of nutty goodness. Mo, ever the opportunist, snagged a rogue package, quipping, “Hey, free snacks!”
After what felt like an eternity (but was probably more like 20 minutes), the Ghostbusters declared the store officially “ghost-free.” The crowd erupted into cheers, and the Costco staff, ever efficient, began the monumental task of tidying up the aftermath of the spectral showdown.
As Mo and I checked out, our cart slightly more filled than intended (thanks to the adrenaline-fueled shopping spree), we couldn’t help but feel a little thrilled by our unexpected adventure. Sure, we came for the bulk goods, but we left with a story that would forever change our view of a Costco run.
And just like that, #$%@ed up day turned into an epic tale of ghosts, giggles, and gallons of a2 milk. Only in Missoula could a day that started with such gloom end with ghostly excitement and the promise of more supernatural escapades. *Note: This post was probably exaggerated!
Mo walked back to the van, sand and dirt clinging to her feet. As she slid open the door, she turned and looked out at the sunset. The sky was painted in hues of red and orange, a final farewell from the setting sun. She smiled and closed the door, ready to end the day’s adventure and start the induction cooktop. The sound of the sizzling burger in the skillet all the while I poured a couple cold ones. Soon tunes lulled her to sleep, dreaming of the wonders the next day would bring.
Adventure starts with small seeds of curiosity. And maybe a sunny day.
“I wonder if we could get over there?”
She was pointing to the other side of the bay. Supposedly it was state lands, a state park. The bay looked frozen and we had our fat bikes. All the items necessary to go investigate. Four hours later we went on a wonderful adventure.
Just to ensure a respectable amount of energy to pedal a bike with massive tires we put down a couple of really strong coffees and then set ou.
That is when we left Montana. The bays were private so it seemed as if we were marooned on an island. Well, except for the snow and Ice. Other times we were biking the ice chunks of Lake Superior.
Then a crossing of the high plains to end the day. Followed by removing numerous cactus from our tires.
It’s all there folks. Just a little curiosity and sunshine. happens every time.
We are not supposed to be here. Especially when you look at how this year has gone so far. Bikepack trips to cabins have been unsuccessful with no real big adventure outside of some trips locally. So it was no big surprise to wake up at 6 am yesterday to read about the winter weather warnings. Togwotee Pass expecting 3 days straight of heavy snowfall. And all the major passes were expected to close. High winds and drifting snow prompting officials to recommend staying at home this weekend. Still, we had to try.
Inside the lodge, it was cozy and warm.
I climb through the deep snow away from my bike propped against a huge bank alongside the highway. I am hiking away from the lodge. Away from comfort and warmth. I can barely see where I am going. I trudge on. I don’t know how far I want to go but I just want to get some intel on Snuggles. My hopes are high she is only 30 minutes at the most behind me. I am now hiking backward on the trail and decide to reach the next high point to access. I need to see if anyone else is going to make it. If Snuggles will make it.
So yea, obviously we set out anyway yesterday. We agreed that if we hit bad weather we would check the box of “trying” and turn around. Turn around and go home. AGAIN! It looked as though we would at least get to Enis and if we did we at least had Norris Hot Springs as a consolation prize. Arriving at Enis we could see the dark storm front to the South. Still, no drifts and the roads looked good so we trudged on. 5 miles out we hit the storm and the visibility went to zero.
The start of the race
Back to the moment at hand. I have finally reached the apex of the hill after a exhaustive wade through deep snow. I joined another who I assumed was a race official. In fact, she is someone doing what I was doing. Peering into the white distance for any trace of a fatbiker on the horizon. We saw nothing. She was also in constant contact with someone back at the lodge giving updates on anyone lucky enough to make it thus far. 3 small dots appeared. One was snuggles I think. I am so elated.
Yesterday around this time I was just looking for a turn around spot. Drifting snow across the road and the visibility was poor. We just kept the vehicle pointed in what looked like the least amount of resistance. Which is the road, without stopping and losing momentum. Things got a little better and we made it to the Quake Lake Junction. We pulled over and peered at the weather reports and highway maps on our phones. It looked like Island Park would be the worst but if we could get through it would be doable at least to Teton Pass. There we could stop in at friends and ask for a spot on their floor for the night. We went for it.
We want one of these
As little dots became fatbikers, or I should say fatbike pushers, it became apparent that snuggles may indeed be approaching. I got word that if she survived she could get second or third. We cheered them up the hill. I took a photo and then my smile started to flatten out. Something was not right. They crested the hill exhausted … it was not her. My eyes darted to the horizon. Nothing.
We should have never been here, should have never pushed over Island Park. At one time after an hour of white-knuckle driving, we were stopped for a bit. The highway temporarily closed because trucks could not make it up the hill from Ashton. Once in there, we were confident we had made it through the worst. The Idaho Highway Map put the route to Tetonia as dry and completly clear. 10 miles from Ashton we were hitting drifts as high as our headlamps. AGAIN, no choice but to bust forard and not loose momentium. It was a long journey through Idaho’s potatoe fields. With the help of other trucks ahead we all worked together. We finally made it to Tetonia. On to Teton Pass. Still, we did not think we would get to Togwotee not to mention Lava Mountain Lodge.
A rare appearance of the sun
And now standing on top of a hill in a complete whiteout fear was washing over me. My partner was out there in an unfamiliar place. A place that I was accustom to, maybe even yearned for. Trudging forward in a blizzard. The winds drifting in snow and covering all tracks 10 minutes after someone else had busted through. Icy winds that lashed out at exposed skin. Another fatbike pusher came by and stood there with us. I needed to go back but would wait as long as these other gracious people wanted to hang with me. I needed to organize a snowmobile rescue. Why were we here?
Yesterday cresting the Teton Pass behind a line of slow moving vehicles it became apparent that we might indeed make it to our destination, Lava Mountain Lodge. If we could just get there then we could hunker down and wait for the first opportunity to get back home. We were thinking 3 days. I would call work and tell them we were stranded. Not an excuse this time. Actually stranded. We were in this pattern. Make a pact to turn around, failing to do so, and then coming up with another pact. And this morning waking up to buried vehicle snuggles and I made another. Let’s just go to the lodge and see if they were going to still hold the race. At the very least we would see if the pass was still open and get intel. If things seemed bad we would just make it back to the lodge and wait out the storm. To make things even more possible the plow truck went by as we gazed out the window of the cabin while sipping coffee.
The slog about an hour into the race
“That biker down there is that a female”, I asked the person that had just showed up.
“Yes, we have been workg hard togehter but she just vanished behind me”, he stepped off the top and decended out of sight.
This morning we learned that the race was on but the it was a short out and back. Should just be a fun ride with frineds. We started by walking for a while. At one time I looked up and pointed out that the leaders were only “out there”. All attempts at riding didnt turn out well. On the downhills we were able to ride and a path started to form. I was used to having just a singletrack to ride so I rode more and more. By the turn around point, I had ridden 60% of the route. I was exhausted though and looked forward to getting back. Snuggles, only 15 minutes behind me as I started to bomb back. I had a tailwind and was excited to enjoy the downhill back to the lodge. 7 miles to go. When I passed her she looked like the back of a semi-truck that had just been through a storm. Her chest was crused white ice and could only muster “snuggles” but without a wavering focuse to the trail ahead. No stopping just a death stare.
Togwotee always has deep powder
The dot grew closer. I could tell it was slow going and finally, I could see the color of her coat. It was her this time. I was sure of it. Someone yelled, “she is running … holy shit”. To me, it looked like a survival technique. To stay warm against the deadly wind. To survive one must keep going. And most importantly keep warm. A run could keep the embers alive.
Earlier I figured she would make it because with the tailwind and … all downhill, easy, right? 4 miles out it all came crashing down. A wall of darkness enveloped me and one moment I was riding then another I plowed into deep snow. The wind picked up and I couldn’t see where I was going. No more riding. From here it was just finding the trail -marking poles one at a time. I joined a group of 5 and the saying was that together we could do this. The trail … it was down there somewhere. An hour later I stumbled into the lodge. A ghost-white figure with encrusted snow and ice. I sat down to peel off the layers and rejoice in the fact it was over.
Snuggles finishing strong
Snuggles was on the last climb but alone she struggled. It did not look like her. It was a survivor. No smiles. Only a wave as to stay that she was still alive. I couldn’t stay at the lodge when I knew she was out here. Shivering at the top of this climb I knew our journey was about over. And the joy, love, and happiness only made sense that we had done it together. The weekend was not another failure but an epic journey. When shesteppedd on top of the last climb we had successfully made it togehter.
“Meet you at the lodge, your doing great, yahooo …”, she dissapered into the trees.
Here I am, propped up against the wall like the last kid picked for dodgeball. Yeah, yeah, I hear the universe yelling, “Get out there, champ! Tackle the snow, embrace the blizzard!” I should be venturing into the great unknown, where only the bravest souls dare to tread. But alas, here I remain, a reluctant indoor enthusiast. And to add insult to injury, I’ve got a snow bike race breathing down my neck in just three days. You’d think I’d be out there, making sweet, sweet love to the frost, prepping my tires for the cold embrace of winter.
So, what grand adventure am I embarking on instead? Drumroll, please… I’m on standby. Yep, just twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Bill Martin to grace me with his presence and finally take me for a spin. I mean, come on, Bill, are we shooting for the World Procrastination Championship here or what?
Rolling into my humble abode tonight, I swear the world was spinning faster than usual. Felt like I’d gone ten rounds with a six-pack of Cold Smokes. By the time I stumbled through the door, my head was on a merry-go-round, and my stomach was the ticket collector, eagerly waiting to show me the exit. Trust me, if I dare to stand, I’m just a ticking time bomb ready to redecorate the apartment in ‘Eau de Lunch.’
Hence, this blog entry’s gonna be short and not-so-sweet. Picture me, battling something wickedly akin to vertigo, the kind that usually hits me on sky-high mountain ridges, leaving me feeling like I’m duct-taped to the side of the Grand Teton. So, here I am, sending out an SOS from the floor. Somebody, throw me a lifeline—or at least, pass the bucket.
This is part 10 in a series of blog posts that I am dedication to my favorite photos of 2009. Today’s inductee and now a resident in my “Animals” photo album is “Canmore Elk“. I took this photo July 28th, 2009 at 11:43 AM some just down the street from where I was staying in Canmore Alberta. This one I took with my Canon EOS10D SLR.
Canmore Alberta Elk
I was so sick after the race because of a severe sinus infection that I was not feeling like doing anything but lay around. It took me until 11 to get out of bed but I knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get out and do some sightseeing which was not possible before the race.
The crew was gone and I forced myself to go out and take some photos so that when I did feel better I could enjoy the beauty I was surrounded by. I did a all afternoon jaunt that the helpful desk attendant and I conjured up. Looking back now as I sit here on the verge of the weekend I am enjoying and wishing for a road trip. That will come I suppose.
Last night’s training spin quickly morphed into an epic saga of man versus nature. Dive into the map of my route to see just how the adventure unfolded. Not long after leaving the comfort of town, my rear wheel began its own rebellion, threatening to end the journey before it truly began. Yet, against the whispering of common sense, I pressed on, a decision that would later haunt me as night fell.
Do take a moment to check out my ordeal in technicolor in the Picasa Web Albums, especially the “March 4th, 2008 – The Hell Ride” album.
Riding through Blue Mountain was like willingly diving into a cold, wet embrace. The idea of cutting the ride short danced in my thoughts, especially after a downhill section left me shivering and my bike beginning to resemble an ice sculpture. Despite having the perfect opportunity to call it quits at the Mullan Road intersection, I stubbornly decided to soldier on towards Frenchtown. It wasn’t long before my heart rate monitor and cycle-computer gave up the ghost.
In an adventurous (or perhaps foolish) spirit, I took a detour down Deschamps Lane, a path I’d always been curious about, leading to Roller Coaster and eventually, home. This decision, however, did little to stave off the cold.
By the time I was making my way back to Missoula, the cold had seeped into my very bones. Attempts to eat for warmth were futile; my face was too frozen to chew. My bike and I became one with the ice.
Oh, Missoula, you’re a tricky one. Where innocent rides suddenly morph into epic sagas of survival against a backdrop of blinding blizzards. It’s like Mother Nature’s version of a plot twist nobody asked for.
Upon finally arriving home, I stripped off my icy armor and sought refuge in a hot bath, which quickly turned into a chilly soak thanks to my subzero body temperature. I was a human popsicle. But the night pressed on—warming up, bike maintenance, laundry, and then, finally, bed. The paltry 4.5 hours of sleep I managed to snag should be hitting me any moment now, hence the brevity of this blog. Do check out the photos; they’re quite the frozen spectacle.
Rolled back into town from Idaho last night and practically crash-landed straight into bed. The car’s still packed, and my place is a testament to my absence. Got some juicy news tucked up my sleeve, but I’m keeping that card close to my chest for just a bit longer. Let’s just say, the trip? Pretty darn fantastic.
But oh, how quickly the tides turn when Monday rears its ugly head. Work’s gone back to its old tricks, stirring up a storm that’s got me reminiscing about the days I nearly threw in the towel. It’s like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round of chaos, and it’s dawning on me that jumping ship might just be the only way to keep my sanity intact.
So here’s the lowdown: Idaho was a blast, and work’s a bust. I’ll spill the beans on the good stuff eventually, but for now, I need to marinate in my little victory and catch some Z’s. Tomorrow, I’ll come out swinging, but tonight’s agenda? Sign off, unwind with a solid flick, and let the world wait.
Last night was rough; I was sick, but Excedrin helped this morning. Today’s plan? A hike up Mormon Peak and North Ridge of Lolo Peak with Marcy. We’re starting at 9 AM. Check out the map for more details: See map for details.
The Week in Review: Caught up with family last week. Had lunch with Aunt Paula, Wanda, and my uncles at a place called 3Ds or 4Ds. Enjoyed a massive mushroom burger and received a gigantic care package from Aunt Wanda. It’s so much food, I’m thinking of saving up for a haircut, car wash, or gas. The possibilities are endless!
This Friday, my photos caught some attention, especially after sharing with The Friends of Lolo, who then spread the word to the media. This led to a frenzy of requests for photos and my take on the events.
Official Statement: Alden and I were snowshoeing when stopped by Tom Mclain’s crew, who advised us to seek permission next time. We noticed a snow grooming machine and logging activity on National Forest Service lands. Captured it all in photos. That’s all there is to it!
It’s been one heck of a week, that’s for sure. I’ve been pedaling like a madman, racking up 171 miles on my bike. Might as well have been chasing the horizon, for all the good it did to my tired legs. Then there’s the Senior Seminar class—oh boy, that’s a whole other marathon. Between the endless readings and the heated discussions, it’s been a mental Tour de France.
As if juggling those two wasn’t enough of a circus act, the flu decided to crash my party. Because, you know, life apparently thought I needed a little extra challenge. And just for the fun of it, let’s throw in not one, but two presentations due this week. Great, right? Now I’m here, crossing everything crossable and hoping to high heaven I don’t end up with strep throat on top of everything. Because, honestly, that would just be the icing on a very unwelcome cake. Here’s to hoping my voice sticks it out long enough to wow them with my presentations. Fingers crossed, and flu be damned.
Boneshakerbike 