Day: March 11, 2025

The evening air bit with that familiar Montana chill, not quite spring despite what the calendar insisted. Missoula’s seasons have always played by their own rules… one day you’re scraping frost off your windshield, the next you’re scrambling for the AC. I pedaled up the Inez trail with stubborn determination, my mountain bike rolling over patches of lingering mud and half-melted snow. Didn’t get far. Tried Miller Creek road next, legs pushing against the resistance. Didn’t get far there either. Little Park Creek called out with promise of better conditions, but the seasonal mess of early spring had other ideas. Three attempts, three dead ends.

The web feels thickest this time of year. It’s like some cosmic joke that repeats annually. This claustrophobic sensation that wraps around my chest when I stare at the calendar. Summer seems impossibly distant, a mirage of freedom where I can hop on my bike and point it anywhere, trails opening endlessly before me like chapters in a favorite book. But now? Now there’s nowhere to go, nowhere that isn’t soggy or snowy or simply impassable. The sticky strands of this web catch me every year around this time, this haunting realization that maybe I’ve chosen the wrong place to put down roots. The thought loops back on itself… I’m stuck, I’m stuck, I’m stuck, echoing with each spin of my wheels against unsuitable terrain.

I finally surrendered to reality and rolled back to my truck. Tossed the mud-spattered bike in the back without the usual post-ride satisfaction, just going through the motions. As I drove back toward town, buildings began to materialize and then disappear past my window, concrete markers of civilization blurring together. And that’s when I felt it. Just the faintest spark, a glimmer of something like happiness. Not the full-blown euphoria of a summer descent down a perfect singletrack, but something quieter and no less important. I’d gotten out. Left the four walls of my house behind. Pushed against the boundaries, even if they hadn’t yielded much.

Sometimes freedom isn’t about conquering mountains or hitting epic trails. Sometimes it’s just about refusing to surrender completely to the web, yanking back just enough slack in the line to remind yourself that you’re still moving. The truck hummed beneath me as I headed home, and I realized that while I might be temporarily trapped by season and circumstance, I wasn’t truly stuck at all. The glimmer wasn’t just happiness… it was a promise from spring that summer’s liberation was already on its way.

My coworker catches a glimpse of a scene so chaotic, they’re halfway through dialing 911 before they realize—hold up, it’s just Bill having another one of his “Survival Mondays.”

At first, the scene’s a mess—looks like a garage sale after a tornado. But then it hits me: this isn’t the aftermath of some catastrophic crash. Nope, it’s just Bill Martin doing his best impression of a bear hibernating through winter—or, in his case, the horrors of Monday.

It’s like someone slapped a grunge filter over everything, giving it that “I’ve seen some things, man” vibe, which is peak Bill. Far from being a disaster zone, it turns out to be the cozy, albeit chaotic, interior of his trusty campervan. It’s his little fortress of solitude, shielding him from the Monday mayhem outside.

Peeking through the clutter, I can almost picture Bill in there, probably catching Zs to sidestep any unnecessary Monday drama. His game plan? Fly under the radar, keep it down, and let Monday sort itself out while he’s off the grid. Come Wednesday, the storm’s blown over, and Bill can emerge from his cocoon, rejuvenated and ready to tackle the rest of the week with gusto. It’s a quirky strategy for sure, but hey, Bill’s practically a Zen master of dodging Monday madness at this point.

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

The morning mist hangs low, The water calm and still, Two fishermen on the bay above, Their nets with shellfish fill.

The sea, serene and gray, Reflects the sky above, A peaceful start to the day, For those who fish and love.

Their boats on silent glide, Through the early morning light, As they pull in their nets with pride, And savor the catch in sight.

A tranquil scene, this bay, In black and white serene, Nature’s beauty on full display, In this Pacific Northwest scene.

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

Last July I was also exploring the Gallatin on my bike ….

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

So there I was, updating my social sphere with, “Almost hitting the pavement. Wouldn’t say no to hitching a ride,” on both Twitter and Facebook. Lo and behold, within the span of a quick coffee break, a Ford Focus rolled up. Behind the wheel? Only the most charming lady you could imagine, greeting me like we were long-lost friends. Sure, I might’ve made it back on my own steam, but let’s be real – when I fired off that update, my knee was throwing a tantrum, and I was bracing myself for what felt like an epic trek back, capped off with a cautious bike ride home. The drama? Courtesy of this morning’s misadventure up on the ridge.

Mission: Baldy Mountain

The day’s agenda was straightforward: pedal from my doorstep to conquer Baldy Mountain. It turned out to be a rollercoaster of emotions. One minute, I’m all gung-ho about summiting, the next, it’s looking grim. The turning point came when optimism was at an all-time low. I hit a peak, gazed over at the Baldy ridgeline, and… yeah, not happening. The only way forward was to wade through neck-deep snow for a good quarter mile to reach the clearer ridge, followed by a lengthy traverse. But, plot twist: I forgot my snowshoes. Classic me. So, I turned tail.

Stony Retreat

Then, as if scripted by Murphy himself, disaster struck. My foot crashed through the snow, burying itself up to the shin, and all my weight shifted forward. The snow crust might as well have been concrete, giving my leg a jolt that screamed “something’s wrong.” Luckily, I managed to clamber up to the ridge and hobble down its stony backbone with all the grace of a newborn deer.

Trek over the North Bridgers to Hylite

The ridge, swept by the wind, spared me from some of the snow, but as I neared my snow bike’s hiding spot, I was breaking through the surface left and right. My knee began to voice its displeasure, and I took a few unscheduled dives. My leg was definitely not on board, shocked and weak, utterly indifferent to the stunning day or the breathtaking view of the Hyalite region, with Baldy taunting me in the background. Nope, my leg was staging a full-on protest, embodying the essence of “angry leg.”

Reflecting on it, that social media shout-out did snag me a lift home, but all things considered, it was a solid day. Guess it’s time to take “angry leg” out for another whirl this arvo – wish us luck!

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

Welcome to the latest slice of my 2009 photo anthology, folks! We’re diving into part 16, where I shine a spotlight on another gem, affectionately dubbed “Master.” Picture this: it’s a sunny July 28th, 2009, at 11:30 AM, and yours truly is behind the lens of my trusty Canon EOS 10D, a beast of a camera that’s seen more action than a summer blockbuster.

This hulking mass of nature, the star of today’s post, stood as a beacon throughout our adventure in Canmore. Not only did it catch our eye, but it also captured the hearts of the locals, serving as a silent yet imposing guardian of the town. This rock wasn’t just a rock; it was the unsung hero, the master of ceremonies at the World Solo Championships, immortalized in my snaps, various videos, and even a 24 Sports documentary.

Fast forward to today, and the echoes of the championship are about to reverberate through Missoula. The town’s gearing up to welcome none other than Rebecca Rusch, the World Solo Champion herself, and Bob Waggoner, a fellow titleholder. They’re bringing the spirit of the WSC right to our doorstep! And if that wasn’t enough, tonight’s screening of “Race Across the Sky” promises to sprinkle a little stardust, with Reba basking in her well-earned fame and Bob armed with an arsenal of Butte 100 posters.

Now, let’s keep it real for a moment. Watching “Race Across the Sky” might light a fire under you, sparking dreams of conquering the Leadville 100. A word to the wise: pump the brakes on that thought. The odds are stacked against newcomers hoping to snag a spot. But fear not! The Butte 100 is your silver lining, offering a challenging yet rewarding alternative with its bounty of single track — a course that veterans whisper is a tougher nut to crack than Leadville.

For those itching to be part of the action, the movie night at the Roxy is the place to be. Snag your tickets at the pre-party hosted by Big Sky Bikes in their swanky new location. But hurry – word on the street is tickets are flying faster than a cyclist down a hill.

In essence, this chapter of my 2009 photo saga, peppered with the excitement of the World Solo Championships and the allure of mountain biking tales, serves as a reminder of the adventures and stories that lie waiting in the great outdoors. It’s a testament to the enduring spirit of community, challenge, and the pursuit of passion. So, lace up your adventure boots, folks – there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored.

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

The sun eventually made its comeback, completely transforming the day. The only souvenir from the earlier chill is my frozen fingers. Tonight’s ride took me up Miller Creek Road, which is quickly becoming my favorite. The photos really say it all. Covered about 26.1 miles, with 40% of it on dirt.

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014

Ah, Mondays. They sneak up on us like a cat on a mission to spill your coffee, don’t they? Especially after a weekend that zipped by so fast, you’d swear it was trying to set a new land speed record. So here I am, lumbering into the new week, yet there’s this little spark of anticipation for what lies ahead, like finding an unexpected onion ring in your fries.

I’ve just spruced up my schedule on the ol’ web (sneak a peek right here: schedule). It’s sort of my way of saying, “Hey, I’m trying to keep you in the loop here!” because, honestly, trying to follow my day-to-day is like trying to thread a needle while riding a rollercoaster – thrilling but slightly hazardous.

And for my next act? I’ll be plunging headfirst into the digital abyss to breathe some life into our new mountain bike page. Imagine me, decked out with nothing but a sense of bravado and a cup of coffee that’s seen better days, squaring off against the wilds of web design. It’s shaping up to be a showdown worthy of an old western, minus the tumbleweeds and with more pixels.

Keep those eyes peeled, my fellow adventurers and internet wanderers. If fortune smiles upon us, we’ll soon have a spiffy new page to ogle at. And if not, hey, Tuesday’s just around the corner, ready to give us a do-over.

“I don’t know, I am spitting up blood and have asthma …”

— Rebecca Rush 2014