I open the door to River our trusty campervan as the early morning sun filters through the pines at our Pipestone campsite. Finally a day off with nothing but time. Been saving this ride all week. The sky’s that perfect Montana blue that practically demands an epic adventure.
I unload my trusty old mountain bike and check my gear one last time. Water bottle? Check. The map shows a few different routes, and I decide to start with the “Lunch Rock” loop to warm up properly.
The first section winds between towering granite formations, the sandy dirt crunching under my tires. After a few minutes, the trail opens up to this perfect little sanctuary between massive rock formations. So that’s Lunch Rock! The name makes perfect sense now… an enormous monolith standing like some ancient sentinel, its reddish surface catching the mid-morning light. There’s even a picnic table tucked into the shade.
After a quick water break, I notice the rr tracks heading toward what looks like a more adventitious section. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I follow them toward the old railroad bed that stretches toward Butte.
The trail suddenly opens into this incredible rocky corridor, like riding through some ancient gateway. Massive rock walls tower on both sides, with rusted railroad tracks cutting right down the middle. Something about abandoned railways always gives me the chills, but like, the good kind? My tires slip slightly on patches of mud alongside the wooden railroad ties. Gotta stay focused… one bad line and I’d be picking gravel out of my knees for days.
And then… holy freaking crap, the railway opens up to a trestle bridge that looks like something straight out of those “places you shouldn’t go but people do anyway” videos. The wooden ties stretch out in front of me, suspended over what has to be at least a hundred-foot drop. How old is this thing anyway? Early 1900s? Late 1800s? Whatever.
My heart’s pounding as I navigate between the rails. Don’t look down, don’t look down… I totally look down. Bad idea! The gaps between the wooden ties show glimpses of treetops WAY below. My palms are instantly sweaty. Halfway across and the wind picks up a little. Are you KIDDING me right now?? Not helpful, nature!
Somehow I make it across that death bridge and find myself approaching Butte. The sprawling town sits below like some industrial painting. But daylight’s doing that thing where it starts to slip away faster than you expect. Know that feeling? One minute you’ve got hours left, the next you’re calculating if you packed a headlamp. (Narrator: I did not pack a headlamp, obviously.)
Instead of heading straight back to Pipestone, I decide to take Upper Maude S trail toward the Lady of the Rockies statue at the top of the Continental Divide. The trail starts out mellow enough but quickly turns into this relentless climb. My legs are screaming at me about halfway up. Like, actual conversations with my quadriceps: “Hey buddy, remember those squats yesterday? WELL WE HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.” Rude.
The view though? Worth every burning muscle fiber. As I gain elevation, Butte unfolds below me, and beyond that… miles and miles of Montana wilderness. The trail gets narrower and rockier near the top. Couple sketchy switchbacks where I almost eat dirt, but somehow stay upright.
By the time I reach the ridge, I’m completely out of energy. I collapse against one of those weird rock formations that look like they were stacked by some ancient giant playing with building blocks. My legs feel like actual jello… not the firm kind either, but the super jiggly stuff your grandma brings to potlucks.
I check my water bottle… barely a sip left. Great planning there, genius. For a hot second, I seriously consider just setting up camp right here with the rocks. (By “setting up camp” I mean curling into a ball and hoping someone finds me before the mountain lions do.)
Somehow I drag my sorry butt back onto the bike. The fading light makes everything look different, kinda magical but also slightly terrifying? Shadows are longer, colors more intense. I swear that rock formation to the left looks exactly like a face watching me.
Finally, FINALLY, I reach that magic spot where gravity becomes my friend again. Once you hit these oddly-shaped boulders (seriously, they look like giant potatoes or something), it’s basically all downhill back to camp. Thank. Freaking. God.
The late afternoon light is hitting everything just right, turning those hills into a patchwork of gold and green. Dead trees mixed with living ones create this crazy pattern across the landscape. Montana showing off, as usual.
My bike’s making this weird clicking sound now. Something I should probably check, but… future me problem! The downhill starts gentle but quickly turns into the kind of descent that makes your forearms burn from braking.
Before the final push, I stop for one last photo. The whole basin stretches out below me like some ridiculous painting. Clouds catching the late day light, turning all dramatic and moody. Perfect Montana sky, so big it almost hurts to look at.
This whole trip was definitely NOT what I planned. Just a ride, I said. Few hours tops, I said. HA! But that trestle crossing alone was worth the pain my quads are gonna give me tomorrow.
Pipestone sure knows how to show a person who’s boss. And I’m 100% okay with that.
Time to finish this descent, collapse dramatically at camp, and tell everyone how I nearly died at least seven different times today. I mean, what’s the point of an epic adventure if you can’t exaggerate it just a little bit later?
I still have not moved to the new place. I move this Thursday. It has been stressful.
Boneshakerbike 