Day: April 3, 2024

Today, I turned 58, and it’s not exactly a bouquet of roses. Mo gave me an unexpected gift for my birthday—COVID. So, I’m taking it easy, laughing through the sniffles.

It all commenced with the spark of life in 1966, a beginning marked by wonder and the infinite potential of the canvas of life. My birth into this odyssey, “Born into an Odyssey: Layers of April 3rd, 1966”, laid the foundation for a journey characterized by a relentless pursuit of adventure and self-discovery.

As I ventured into adulthood, the digital dawn of the 21st century found me at 36, navigating a world “No Internet or TV” offered, an era echoing with the simplicity and complexities of a life less connected, yet full of untapped possibilities.

At 37, amidst the whirlwind of life’s demands, “I am 37: why so busy?”, I pondered the essence of my busyness, a reflection on the eternal human quandary of balancing being with doing, of cycling through life’s urgencies without losing sight of its wonders.

The year I turned 40, “I am 40: On the road again”, marked a return to the road, to the joy of cycling, a metaphor for life’s constant motion, its cycles of renewal, and the freedom found in the journey, not just the destination.

By 42, crafting my path took on a literal form as I built my custom rig, “I am 42: Building a rig”, symbolizing the deliberate construction of a life through choices, challenges, and the joy of creation.

Turning 43, gratitude took center stage in “I am 43: Thanks Neuvation Cycling”, a moment that underscored the importance of support, community, and the unexpected connections that enrich our journey.

At 44, inspired by “Jonathan Livingston Seagull,” “I Am 44” reflected a quest for self-perfection, a reminder that our flights of discovery and self-realization are bound only by the horizons we dare to chase.

46 brought with it a new chapter, “I am 46: Going on a 50”, embarking on adventures with Gonzo, my Salsa bike, embracing new challenges and the exhilaration of exploring uncharted paths.

At 47, a ride up the road turned into a journey of introspection, “I am 47: Up the road”, contemplating the cycles of energy, age, and the quest for what lies beyond the familiar pavement.

The whimsy of a Vegas walkabout at 48, “I am 48: Vegas walkabout”, embodied the spirit of adventure, the joy of stepping into the unknown, and the delights that await when we venture off the beaten path.

By 54, the world had shifted beneath our wheels. “I’m 54” found me reflecting on a pandemic’s pause, a stark reminder of our shared vulnerability and the resilience required to navigate through unforeseen storms.

At 55, “I am 55: 2 Weeks of Psychological Warfare”, I faced a Kafkaesque dance with life’s absurdities, a testament to the endurance of spirit required to face the inexplicable complexities of our existence.

Today, as I stand at the precipice of 58, the narrative takes an unexpected turn. “Happy Birthday! Though it seems the universe has a rather twisted sense of humor…”

COVID, an uninvited guest, has dictated a pause, a moment to reflect rather than race. This year, instead of a celebratory ride, I’m reminded of life’s fragile balance and the importance of heeding its call to rest, to recover, and to perhaps, find a deeper appreciation for the journey itself.

Just before COVID-19 became a thing we were going forth and moving from adventure to adventure.

Like camping at Carabella and moving out to explore Rock Creek. It was the exact opposite of the shelter in place. Which is where we are now. And it is what we tell the elders. “Don’t you think you should just shelter in place now”? Where are you?

It’s my birthday and I am 48. I bought a movie for myself called Summits of my life and plan to watch it tonight. And maybe get inspired to try something new. Who knows.

Last weekend I did try something new, although not as extreme. I walked through “the strip” in Las Vegas.

I went with 3 other Bills. Actually my partner’s dad and brother are both Bill. I kind of see a trend for her but that is another story. So we all set forth on the adventure from our casino Circus Circus, which is a weird city in and of itself with a creepy clown out front. We hit up the Monorail which zipped us to the Bally’s & Paris Station. After navigating throughout the required casino exposure we popped out across the street from the Bellagio.

As soon as we crossed over the street the fountains started spraying water and music suddenly came out of these hanging plants. Pretty cool stuff and actually it didn’t surprise me at all. in fact we were expecting to see it. It was not as grad as others have told me but it was cool. Probably 3 out of 5 stars cool. Check out video 1 and video 2.

Other things in the same area were cool. Mostly because the probability of me wanting to visit the actual Paris is minimal. I mean there are mountain ranges out there in line first. So since I will never go there seeing the miniature Eiffel Tower was nifty. Nifty for photos too.

My partner and I split up with her family to extend our adventures south down the strip some more. We walked by futuristic skylines and into the New York New York casino property. My big goal of the evening was to walk across the little Brooklyn Bridge. I was disappointed and will probably go to NY to do the actual thing. Then there was “da statue” and an evening ending visit to a cafe decked out with rain forestie stuff. The sounds were pretty annoying. Who wants to sip coffees with a baboon screaming in your ear?

Feeling old we hopped on the Monorail back home to complete the evening. Looking back it was a old thing to do … go to Vegas. I really have to get out for a real adventure tonight.

It all started when I left work and wanted to just go home and take a nap. I am so tired. And just a side note this all makes sense 47 and tired. Is it finally here? Anyway I mounted my cross bike and headed across campus. Last time I was a student this kind of thing happened as well. I “thought” I was going to “just ride home”. So things have not changed; but yes they have.

Next thing I know I was taking the city trail to the Library, just a tiny detour on the way home. the sun was out and it felt like I should just fall onto the grass and stare at the clouds. Like in 2003 when a weekend trip to a state park across the border in new York turned into a mega hike.

When I got to the library I decided to go down by the Bozeman Brewing Company. Again just a little longer way home. But it was nice out. Like that birthday I had in Connecticut when i turned 38. Instead of going to work I ended up instead at a local park taking photos with my new camera. I am starting to see a pattern here.

And just as expected I am biking past the BBC and under I90 heading to the Gallatin Park North of town. Zipping along on my cross bike I forgot that I was on the edge of “old”. Amazing how I even got here, going the long way home. In 2005 I moved to Missoula after a bout with getting lost, wondering out of New England.

Cycling now around the pond at North Gallatin Park (I think that is what it’s called) I was officially AWOL from just going home to take a nap. I mean a man of my age shouldn’t be out on a cross bike in his sneakers busting through fields and frolicking like a boy. In 2006 I transitioned from the love of photos back to cycling. And it seems now I have never turned back.

A little while after I completed my ride around the pond I was taking a right turn and into a wildlife refuge, now a little way out-of-town.  Apparently today was a full-out “riding home the log way”. But I didn’t care. I felt good and the air was full of spring smells. I decided stop acting my age and just go as far as I wanted. As I spun through the open fields I thought back to my friends in Missoula who also acted their age.

When I came to a junction where turning right would take me home and continuing on would mean riding West towards Belgrade the light turned red. This gave me an opportunity to make a decision. Go home now or see whats up the road. Just like last year I decided to take the plunge and see whats up the road. I am 47 and still going.

Yesterday marked the inaugural ride on my new Salsa bike, affectionately nicknamed Gonzales—Gonzo, for short. So, Gonzo and I took a brief jaunt around the urban trails, where I also tackled an isolated leg workout. This exercise proves invaluable for acquainting oneself with a new bike. Trust me, when you’re pedaling up a single-track climb with one leg, you quickly learn the most efficient body positioning. Overall, Gonzo impressed me with its solidity, agility, and speed on descents. Climbing wasn’t as challenging as I had anticipated, though it still doesn’t compare to riding a snow bike.

Our second outing tonight was more intense. We covered 50 miles, visiting every trailhead on the western slopes of the Bridger Range. The details of what transpired during the four hours we were out will remain a secret shared only between Gonzo and me. That bike thrives on adventure, seemingly urging one to embark on hundreds of miles of journeying. I’m not sure I’m quite up to taming this beast yet.

As for now, it’s time to rest. Despite the excitement of the new bike, I’m not yet in a state of bliss. Traveling to Missoula has left me sleep-deprived, my apartment is in disarray with belongings yet to be unpacked, and my training plan demands another 5.5 hours of effort tomorrow. To add to the pile, my new camera arrived, and I simply haven’t had the moment to explore it as I’d like. Oh, and today I turned 46.

“Good morning, world! It’s my birthday today! Who am I? Richard Bach might know, or at least he has written the perfect depiction of who I am, what I stand for, and what I’m all about. ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull‘ is a fable about a seagull learning about life, flight, and the pursuit of self-perfection.

Paul Bardis and Lucy Limberis are the ones who recommended this story to me. After reading the book, I was astounded and nearly moved to tears because I finally found a description that resonates with the passion burning inside me.”

I want to start by mentioning how impressed I am with Neuvation Cycling’s customer service. Just five minutes after I emailed them at http://neuvationcycling.com about my rear wheel issue, I was informed that a new wheel is already on its way, along with a return postage label for the old one. Their customer support is exceptional. Although I used to email John directly, I now contact them through customerservice@, but the service remains outstanding.

Last night, I broke the wheel during hill sprints up Marshal Canyon Road.

Today is my birthday, and I want to express my gratitude to everyone who has sent me birthday wishes. This morning, I went for a training ride on my Trek MTB, only to remember that I had removed its brakes last weekend. I ended up running through the first stop sign I encountered – that was a close call! Additionally, when I arrived at work, I realized I had forgotten to pack my regular clothes. Fortunately, thanks to Action Wipes and an extra pair of riding shorts I had, the situation was somewhat salvaged. Close one!

And yes, I am 43 today!

Ah, greetings from Missoula, Montana, where the sun has decided to grace us with its presence, albeit a tad shyly. Despite the thermometer flirting with the thirties, it seems we’ve got a snowstorm rolling in to spice up the weekend. So, there’s a solid chance my plans to hit the road for a race might get snowed out—again. It’s like Mother Nature herself is plotting against my cycling calendar, having already thrown a wrench in the works for some high school sports that are usually in full swing by now.

Last evening, instead of painting the town red, I opted for a cozy night in. The agenda? Some R&R and tinkering with a new cleat position. Gotta say, it’s not every day you find joy in adjusting bike cleats, but here we are. Managed to sneak in a bit of extra prep on my race beast, gearing up for what I hope will be a smashing time at the Devil’s Slide in Lewiston, Idaho, next weekend. Fingers crossed the weather gods are on our side this time.

Oh, and speaking of good times, tonight’s the shindig over at Missoula Bike Works. We’re bringing our TNR (Tuesday Night Ride) crew there. How about it? Fancy joining a bunch of bike enthusiasts for an evening of tales and trails? Come on, it’ll be fun!

Speedwagon Classic Next

Matt Seeley in Polson, MT, is hosting the inaugural Speedwagon Classic Bike Race this Saturday at 10 AM, and I strongly encourage everyone to participate and enjoy themselves. He promises it will be a memorable ride, and best of all, it’s free! Racing without a fee – that’s exactly what I’m excited about. Below are the details and the map.

The race begins at 10 AM, with a barbecue to follow at 5 PM.

It feels good being back in the saddle on my road bike this spring. While it hasn’t been a long cold winter, I do feel like it’s time for spring. Cycling is my life; it’s what my soul craves when I’m not doing it. I love riding all day and then lying around unable to muster enough energy to do anything else. I laid around all weekend when I wasn’t in the saddle. It was mentally and financially draining after last weekend’s race in Lewiston, Idaho.

The Devil’s Slide: Last weekend, I decided on Saturday to go to a race in Idaho. I hastily threw all my gear together and split around 1 pm. The drive was beautiful, even though it was treacherous due to a big rainstorm that pounded me all the way through Idaho. When I arrived, I found the campground that I had called earlier closed to tent sites (RVs only). Then, every time I decided to go for a pre-ride, it started downpouring.

Frustrated from not getting a ride in, I set up my tent in an RV spot and didn’t fill out the campground slip because there was no way I was paying for an RV spot when I was given bad information on the phone about tent space availability. I got it all set up in the pouring rain, and all that was left to do was to quickly throw in the bedding without getting it too wet. I searched the entire car and couldn’t find my sleeping bag. I had forgotten it.

Right then, I decided to drive back home and abandon the entire weekend. I drove around town for quite a while in a daze; my brain was fried. I finally stopped at the worst place ever… Burger King. Now thoroughly disgusted, I headed home.

I passed the Super 8 on highway 12 going back to Missoula and remembered that my friends were staying there. I decided to go and leave them a message about my disappearance. For some reason, I gave up the ghost and decided to use my credit card to spend the night there. I was absolutely done trying to navigate my emotions and the daunting task of driving 4 hours straight back home.

My friends showed up later that night, and we went out for some food. At that point, things started to look up. I decided to stick around the next day and watch them race.

The next day, the sun was out, and it was absolutely beautiful. I decided I wanted to ride. After riding the course, I decided that I wanted to race and headed to the registration table to spend the next week’s grocery money. My friends had saved my weekend, and with their help, I was able to race. The day before was a mess; I shouldn’t have gone to the race as I don’t have money to burn, and it seemed as though it would bite me in the ass. It didn’t, and the weekend turned out fantastic. I got 3rd place, as well as two of my other friends.

Week of Rest: It took a week of resting before cycling had re-entered my soul. All I could think about was getting on my bike and riding all day. I planned some future races and was glad to find out that there was a Montana Series in the works this year. This weekend, I went road riding both days and laid around the house when it was hailing, raining, or nighttime. Yesterday, I went out for a great 67-mile ride to the Nine Mile Valley and back. The entire ride took me 4 hours, and after, I laid in the sun in the front yard. What a weekend! That is what life is all about.

So now it’s back to the grind. There is a race next weekend that I want to do, but I don’t have the cash for it yet. But I don’t care; it’s spring and a new riding season. Isn’t that exciting?

I’ve been extremely busy lately, and I’m not sure why. Yesterday, I went road biking and ended up so exhausted that I went straight to bed instead of balancing the books. I definitely need to address this issue tonight.

All is well on my end, just battling a bit of a cold. I’m still waiting on getting internet and TV set up at my place – no luck yet, but my landlady finally agreed to let us have it installed. In the meantime, you can catch up on all my biking adventures by visiting my mountain biking blog/website. Just check the journal section for the latest news on my racing. Can’t wait to get fully settled in and share more updates with you all!

Ah, the woven tales of our kiddie years, they really reveal a lot about us, don’t they? Here I am, gazing at this old blanket dotted with circus critters, peering into my childhood’s very own magic carpet. You know, the sort that you swear could have captured the innocent chuckles and starry-eyed amazement of a young one soaking in their first taste of the universe.

But let’s face it—not every yarn begins (or for that matter, unravels) with a sprinkle of fairy dust, huh? My grand entrance wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect moment you’d slap on a Hallmark card. Popping into existence via the stark, clinical doorway of a cesarean section, my debut was less “welcome hug in a snuggly blanket” and more “surprise! Welcome to the dazzling glare of an OR.”

And this blanket? It wasn’t just a cozy hug; it was a clue in the grand mystery of genes and upbringing. Those intertwined fibers could’ve been the setting for a little brain already marching to the beat of its own drum, crafting a viewpoint that didn’t quite line up with the usual suspects.

Whether it was the circuitry in my mom’s noggin that tinkered with mine, or perhaps the other way ’round, this wasn’t your garden-variety tale of hitting developmental markers. It was a saga of slowly uncovering that my psyche’s hues and patterns weren’t poured from the common cookie cutter.

It’s a hoot, isn’t it, how our starts can diverge so wildly below the surface, even though we all kick off cocooned in a blankie? My stint in that soft, kaleidoscopic baby wrap was just the opening act to a life destined to zigzag its own quirky trail, a nudge reminding me that our life’s fabric is never a simple pattern or texture, but a rich, shifting mosaic.