Day: April 14, 2024

I’m up early and nothing much to see here. Only disgruntles with their loud pickups driving the streets looking to run down violators. I’m too fast for them. Slipping in and out of alleys.

I make it to the tracks were Honkie, our friendly engineer honker, lays on the horn to wake up Livingston. I put my head down and march up Park Street. I turn the corner to the home stretch and compare the bank signs. One says 28 degrees and the other is reporting 30. Wow … we will be in the 30s today? I sprint for the front door and duck inside. I made it today. I made it.

The forecast called for a rainy mix. Kind of miserable for riding the cross bike and way to mucky for the fat bike. The trails around these parts are no where near open yet for mountain biking. I hit the zoom link on the weather site and zoomed out. Ah ha!

Pipestone was sunny and 60. Perfect. So we loaded up the bikes and headed out. Within 30 minutes we were parked and I was charging up trail 9.

Soon my partner charged by me beating me to the top. She on her really light mountain bike and I on my “fatty”. Still though I almost caught her. After taking in the view we rode to the Ringing Rocks and off the other side of the ridge. I took the lead and showed off some of Pipestone’s gems and then stopped at a old cabin to enjoy some sunshine. Near the end of the ride I gave a pretty bad school on broken chain repair but all attendees got the gist.

So after a such a great time what would any great ride planner try to squeeze in? A soak in some natural hot springs, of course. After some long dirt road adventures we found a secluded spot along the Jefferson River. And then caught the sunset before returning back home.

A LOT better then “rainy mix”.

Oh, life’s got this funny way of piling on, doesn’t it? Last night, I bit off way more than I could chew: cramming in a half-day of work, squeezing in a date, then zipping off to Boise, Idaho for a race. Seriously, what was I thinking? Clearly, not with the part of my brain that stops to smell the roses—or appreciate a sunset, for that matter. It’s wild how life can be a tangled mess one minute and a masterpiece of beauty the next.

Fast forward to hitting the road, and who do I start missing? My partner in crime, that’s who. Shoutout for the awesome dinner date—truly the calm before the storm. Now, onto the next adventure: race, race, and race back home. Talk about a whirlwind. Life’s complicated, folks.

The Race – Day 2

If there’s an upside to hypothermia, it’s the eternal nap you slide into—no alarm clock needed. Last Saturday, I nearly checked out permanently when suddenly, a voice broke through my frosty slumber: “Wanna hit up town for breakfast?” That invitation yanked me back to the land of the living—or at least, those of us pretending to be awake.

With the others still lost in dreamland, I seized my chance for a scenic latrine tour. The first stop was a frozen wonder, where any contributions simply perched atop the ice. I slapped a Butte 100 poster there and moved on. By the end of my circuit, four posters adorned the facilities of Hemingway Butte Recreation Area, marking my mission complete. Time to hit town.

In Melba, we stumbled upon the Melba Valley Market—a charming hybrid of hardware store, grocery, and café. As we entered, the local eyes sized us up, probably wondering about these odd early birds invading their nest. The place screamed “hardware,” but a warm welcome with coffee and smiles soon had us feeling right at home.

Post-breakfast, we returned to the venue, my stomach bravely bearing hash browns and salsa, hoping it wouldn’t make a comeback mid-race. The wind kicked up fiercely, almost sending our tent flying—an ominous sign for the day.

Geared up for a pre-ride, I was flying on the course, flaunting speed to some youngsters, when my back tire surrendered to a flat—thanks to a skirmish with a rogue goat head. After a grueling repair session, it was clear: surviving the race on mere tubes and patches was a fool’s errand. Resigned, I chose to cheer from the sidelines instead of battling the inevitable.

As the pros took off, I couldn’t help but fantasize about being in that elite group of twenty. Instead, I found myself amidst a sea of eager riders, the start a chaotic free-for-all reminiscent of the Boston Marathon. Once the race began in earnest, I managed to navigate through the pack, dodging missteps and mechanical mishaps alike.

The course threw challenges our way, with climbs and tricky rollers. Following some swift riders, disaster struck when the guy ahead botched a gear change. To avoid a pile-up, I took a detour through the weeds. Despite this setback, I clawed back towards the lead, exploiting a wide stretch of track to overtake a good chunk of the field.

However, my comeback was cut short by a collision that sent me sprawling, with visions of hospitals dancing in my head. Yet, with a spirit unwilling to quit, I realigned my twisted handlebars and continued, the pain in my neck a fiery reminder of the fall.

Throughout the race, I kept overtaking wherever possible, channeling my frustrations into conquering climbs that others shied away from. The final laps were about endurance, sticking close to competitors who matched my pace.

In a twist of fate, a missed turn on the last lap cost me dearly. Unaware that we were racing 2.5 laps, not 3, I lost my lead. The irony? I had overtaken everyone without even realizing it. If only I’d attended that racer’s meeting! Comparing times later, I could have clinched fourth overall—a bittersweet revelation.

Still, I snagged second in my age group. Throughout the ordeal, one thought kept me pedaling: “I haven’t flatted yet.” Call it luck or sheer grit, but finishing was the real victory. Just another good day in the dirt.

Morning! I’m starting the day with a bit of a headache—spring’s knocking, and my window’s wide open for that fresh air charm, even though I can feel summer lurking just around the corner. Despite treating my body like it’s a rental this weekend, I’m feeling surprisingly spry. Check out the pics!

Lewiston, Idaho was scorching, believe it or not. Chatted with the race director who swears they barely see a flake of snow all winter. The blooming flowers and budding trees were proof enough—it was a full-on summer preview with the mercury hitting the 80s.

We hit town for the Devil’s Slide Mountain Bike Race, a killer warm-up for the upcoming Sea Otter Classic. Picture this: a bone-dry course with one beast of a climb and a nail-bitingly steep downhill dubbed Devil’s Slide. The bulk of the ride? Twisting single-tracks and dusty equestrian trails. The race kicked off with a climb so brutal, a bunch of us resorted to the walk of shame.

I absolutely adore this race! This year, I snagged the top spot in the expert category and managed a respectable third with the pros. My buddy Garland pulled a solid third in his first expert gig, and his kid? Smashed it in his racing debut, taking the lead among the vets. And Ross? Snagged second in the sport class, with his daughters cleaning up in the junior expert and beginner categories.

My stint was a breezy three laps, but distinguishing between the pros and us mere mortals was a bit of a head-scratcher. My game plan? Hit the ground running and cling to the leaders like glue, hoping to edge out a win in my category since we were a mix of about five pros.

Initially, I toyed with signing up for the open class to mingle with the pros, but the organizer nixed that, blending us into a three-lap free-for-all instead. Ended up finishing third overall but clinched first among the experts.

From the get-go, I was part of a trio that broke away early, setting a punishing pace (got the photo to prove it!). After conquering the first climb, it was clear we were the podium contenders.

Descending was a thrill, especially latched onto the wheel of a Leperrier from Spokane. Had to shake off some jitters from a past tumble (that gnarly crash at Whiteface Mtn, NY, remember?). But my trusty, tweaked fork from Hippietech Suspension boosted my confidence, and I zoomed down, keeping pace with the leaders.

By the second lap, I was glued to the front-runner’s wheel, surviving what I now realize was a sneaky tactical “move”. As the big climb loomed, I powered ahead, briefly tempted to break away.

Yet, self-doubt kept my foot off the gas, and I just kept spinning hard. They caught up, and we played cat-and-mouse for the whole lap.

Nearing the start/finish climb, I found myself ahead again and held steady, passing on another chance to surge forward. Thought to myself, “Keep spinning, maybe attack at the crest…”

But alas, conservative riding let the pros slip right back. I didn’t know they were on my tail until it was too late. In a moment of defensive panic, I let them overtake. Caught in their slipstream, I waited for their next move.

It came all too quickly. I was too generous letting them lead into the slide. The second-placer bogged down the pace, allowing the leader to break away on the tricky trails.

By the time I maneuvered around, the leader had a solid lead, and I hammered the final climbs in desperation, closing the gap to a mere 100 feet in a slicing headwind. The guy drafting behind me then darted past, effectively blocking my every attempt to reclaim my position.

The race ended on a narrow track, with him successfully boxing me out of second place. A bit gutted, but hey, I dominated the expert class. Would’ve loved a shot at duking it out with the leader, though. Guess I just didn’t play my cards right!

This year, I tackled a shorter loop than usual. After camping at Lake Como and enjoying a ride at Fletcher Pass, things got a bit tough. My mountain bike fork was messed up by a local bike shop. Compromising, I cut my pass ride to two hours to fit in a dirt road ride near our camp.

The ride was good overall. I felt strong, managing some sprints up the pass. I took a side route on East Fork road past Sula, a path I’m keen to explore more. There are so many great spots to ride in Montana!

Post-ride, we savored a tasty meal of spaghetti and garlic bread, lovingly prepared by friends.

So here I am, just sitting and waiting. If the attendant’s itching to lock up, well, that’s just too bad for them. I’m stuck running yet another load of laundry when normally I’d be in the Zen zone of folding. Why the laundry encore, making me late for my ritualistic grocery run? Let me spill the beans.

Everything was ticking along fine. I tossed in a load and sauntered over to the Big Dipper for a double scoop of huckleberry ice cream dunked in chocolate—decadence at its best. Now, I bet you’re conjuring images of me, perhaps splattering ice cream on unsuspecting bystanders, or maybe dodging a rogue vehicle only to require an emergency wash to rinse off the gore. Hold your horses! It’s not that cinematic, but it sure did ruffle my feathers.

I sauntered back to the Green Hanger right as my laundry cycle was supposed to end. I lifted the lid only to discover a watery abyss—no laundry nirvana in sight. The blasted machine had given up the ghost, leaving my clothes swimming in limbo. So there I was, fishing out my soggy wardrobe. Much to the horror of onlookers, I schlepped my dripping mess across the floor to another machine.

And here I sit, somewhat pacified that I could vent about my ordeal via a blog post on my Palm while I wait out round two of this washing saga. Time to check on that. Hope your weekend goes smoother than mine!

Last night’s ride almost got washed out by rain, but as I rolled up to the Crazy Canyon trailhead, it was clear that spring fever was in full force. Despite the gloomy skies, a solid crew of eight showed up, all pumped and ready to hit the trails. Sure enough, the rain kicked in, threatening to soak us through, but it barely made a dent in our spirits. Before long, it stopped being a bother, eventually stopping altogether.

We took on Crazy Canyon Road, pushing all the way to the top of Mount Sentinel. The view up there? Absolutely worth it, though we did lose one rider who decided the climb was a bit too ambitious and headed home.

The descent was where the real fun began, especially hitting a stretch of single track. That’s when I felt something off with my bike – it was handling weirdly, probably because the front shock was so blown out, riding it was borderline reckless. And the mud – oh, the mud. It was like nothing we’d faced before, especially for me, being used to the drier conditions out West.

Coming down to the parking lot, I had to speed past some slower riders because my back brakes were practically non-existent, and I was done burning rubber trying to maintain a polite distance. But with the muddy conditions, that tactic quickly turned into a sliding spree. In an attempt to keep upright, I eventually lost the battle, sliding out and going over the bars straight towards a stump.

After a graceful slide into a stump and a generous helping of mud, I managed to pop back up and finish off the ride. This morning? A souvenir in the form of a sore hand, but all in all, I’d say I got off pretty lightly. The bike’s another story – needs a headset rebuild and a new set of back brakes.

All told, we were out there for about an hour and 20, with plenty of breaks to catch our breath. Next adventure? We’re setting off from Lincoln Hills Drive Trailhead. Can’t wait.

I currently work for Work Force Inc. which has me at M.A.R.S. Stout Inc doing XSLT and XML using PHP work. I am hoping to become an employee at M.A.R.S. Stout Inc but in the meantime I am working on other projects in return for asistance in paying my bills.

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