Month: September 2013

First pick two of the coolest people in town. They must be cyclists first. To also confirm they are cool make note of their announcement. If it is a website called thelastbestwedding.com then you are all set. You have enough evidence to get all dulled up for the event. It must be casual and you MUST coordinate your outfit with your gift.

Ok, this event will have a bunch of touchy feely type of stuff so go with it and take lots of photos. Bikes are a good subject.

The couple will be cool enough to select the best setting for the event. Usually up in the mountains.

Don’t be alarmed when the bride and groom try to escape via bike.  Remember why you like them so much … THEY BIKE.

And if the couple is really cool they will not mind you blogging about it like a couple of months afterward. Belated congratulations to Josh and Sarah. Thanks for having Mo and I to your event.

The reservoir is now behind me. Much like bread, sugar, and all that yucky stuff. I look at it and it does not seem like food. I look at the dam in my rear view mirror and it just does not look like nature. Sure we built it and it has been there forever. But that does not mean it fits in with nature well. Much like 99.9% of all the food in our stores.

Traveling from this beautiful place to my home in Bozeman is not entirely a chore. I mean just look out the window. As I leave the front I pass Castle Reef. An absolutely stunning visual sight. This reminds me of a grass-fed bison steak I once grilled up. The most stunning stuff I have ever put into my mouth. I am salivating as I write. Sure I can stop at the local bar and get a juicy bacon burger but that does not mean it fits in with my taste buds. I crank up my speed; I cant wait to get home to eat some meat.

Being human these days means trying to figure out the fastest most convenient way to do things. And it will be our undoing. Just because I can drive home from the front in 3 hours doesn’t mean it is good. Maybe biking home would be more fun.

I was up at the crack of dawn. Today I was going to leave the front. But first I wanted to squeeze in one more ride. A quickie! But it was not quick. Just as I started passing weird paw prints in the mud my front tire flatted. Then I realized I had mis-calculated the distance through a drainage. And mis-calculated the climb, decent, and ride back to camp.

The moral of the story? Well, maybe it is to stop and take in the sights. Never feel rushed. You get back when you get back. Right?

It was already hot when we started out. After consulting the Forest Service maps we decided on the Norwegian Gulch Trail. The first section was around some cliffs. And the trail got so narrow I could not keep track of whether or not my partner was behind me. So I just went on faith everything was all right.

Thankfully no horse people met, no headers off a cliff, and certain catastrophes were adverted. Once back on a road we only needed to ride up some gravel for about 5 miles. I tend to ride away from my partner during these long stretches but no matter. She seems to enjoy solitude much like myself. Funny how you can ride with someone and totally be alone.

I arrived early at the junction where we planned to turn. No worries on my part; I found myself busy checking out the local flora.

We rode past the sign marking our turn. The trail started out jeep like and once across the creek went skyward. We paused a bit before the climb to have snacks and chat. These breaks are nice to catch up on earlier legs of biking.

“Did you see that moose”, she asked me.  I had not … to busy hammering up the road.

Soon I was climbing alone guessing my partner was back down the trail hike-a-biking. Me, I found great challenges in trying to make a climb without putting my foot down. Once the climb gets the best of me I increment my “dab” count and try again. When I reached a vista near the top of the climb I had counted well over a half-dozen dabs. I waited for my partner on a rock outcrop looking at the healthiest forest I have seen in a long time.

I thought how I was like a tree in a forest. I stand alone, because often not at the same pace as my adventure partners. But at the same time part of a bigger picture. Was my forest healthy? Am I surrounded by sick and deceased? Or am I a part of a healthy forest?

As my partner caught up to me my solo rock spot became a bench for two. Certainly my forest, or the forest I am in, seems healthy. We sat there and the wind brushed through us. We were trees high on a ridge.

Now we were bombing down the other side. I mean in between stops to take in the scenery to not crash while gawking.

Coming out of Norwegian Gulch my partner caught me many times while I stopped in a gawking fest or taking a photo.

“So how was the decent for you”?

“Ok, I crashed once …”, she started to report.

Another great ride with my adventure partner.

“Tour de Front … daeee”.

“Ha ha ha … yea, that is what we should call it for sure”.

“Yea … What do you want for breakfast”?

I have trouble explaining things. Usually my attempts end with total frustration between myself and who I am talking to. Out on the trail the only thing I need to explain is why I get back so late. Instead I take photos, to share mostly, explaining my path. Signs are made for direction … I was not.

Do I really need to get things out? And why do I feel I need to explain anything? I like dams, they hold a lot of stuff. I am like a dam sometimes. Things I can not explain I just keep in the reservoir. To be explained later as I write.

Going to the Blacktail Trail was extremely beautiful and the trail was superb … and mountain biking allowed to. At least I did not see any signs. When the trail got narrow I hoped to not meet horse people. I hate explaining what I am doing out on the trails. I just am.

Once on the trail I breathed a sign of relief. Now I was heading up the Blacktail Valley … enough land for all trail users. And I was alone. No one to explain why I was alone. I just was.

I spent just a couple of hours busting up the valley and most of it relaxed. Eyes wide to capture all the beauty … and bears. I didn’t have my bear spray with me. Please don’t ask me to explain why, I just was.

The ground was clay and once hard was like cement. When horse people go riding in the mud during wet conditions they create post holes in the trail. It can be rough on us mountain bikers once hardened. Almost impossible. Sometimes even walking was necessary. Why would I ride something so rough and seemly not fun? I can’t explain. I just do.

I got to Gibson Reservoir pretty late to meet with my partner and camp. After walking the campgrounds in the dark we settled upon a spot and sacked out for the night. The next day I awoke pretty tired due to nightmares about my travel schedule. When my partner woke up we decided that the only way to make it all worth while would be to do an epic mountain bike ride. Right?

Soon we were climbing up the valley on the Mortimer Gulch Trail. It was rocky and loose due to heavy horse traffic. At no time did we see any signs that mountain bikes were not welcome so we assumed all was well. More on this later.

The air seemed thin and we took many breaks gasping for air. Were we really that out of shape? We broke over a ridge into Big George Gulch. The ride turned seductive. I mean it was all downhill so just keep going, right? At some point it is just too much to go back and we went to the end of trail 259. After being lost for almost an hour we picked up trail 251 which led us right back down to the Gibson Reservoir.

At no time did we meet any signage about trail usage. And we were giddy with all the spectacular downhill. Bear tracks confirmed that we were close to the Bob Marshall. All signs were good for a spectacular day.

The trail back to camp was beautiful and as far as we knew a hidden gem. A gem to be visited again in the future.

It was getting late in the day as we rode on. From the trail spectacular views of the lake spread out before our eyes like a silver blanket. Even the trail itself turned spectacular. I couldn’t believe it. It was so cool.

It wrapped around a cliff overlooking sheer drops to the lake. Was this a fantasy or a dream? … check … check … pinch … pinch!

I had to stop and document this fabulous trail. I thought to myself that this would be my most favorite place to go mountain biking. And still no signs of trail usage information. Nothing … nothing but glorious trail.

“How cool is this”?

“Very cool, I mean what do we do if we meet horses”?

“Good point, maybe just get off the bike and walk to a wide section I guess”.

As we exited the trail a single sign was attached to the info board. My brain refused to process what I was seeing. Searching my brain for past details I remembered that the trail up Mortimer Gulch Trail was legit to Mountain Bikes. We checked. Even our recreation maps offered no information that matched this sign. And when we encountered all intersections there were no signs … until now. Shame on you Forest Service for botching the trail usage in this area.

My house is mad at me. When I try and go back home it growls and gets more angry. Every time I leave to travel away I am scared to come back. Once the dream home it now threatens to kill me. And then I have an idea. I would just run away. But the house must read my mind and locks the doors. I scream and start to try and pound my way out.

Suddenly I am awakened. I am in a tent near the Rocky Mountain Front. 300 miles from home, it is dark and cold. I can not even see the lake I am camped at. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Surprises

After a “near death nearly freezing and dying from lightening” day my sleep was pretty good. I awoke the next day with no expectations. The data pointed to my partner and I packing up and leaving the cabin to try to get a jump on the up and coming work week. Maybe I could ask to ride my bike out of the valley to get in an extra workout. I was shocked to hear that maybe we should hike the ridge towards Sawtooth Peak.

But that was the beginning of a long string of surprises.

“How about we ride up that trail”, she said pointing to a Z-shaped jeep trail. “Then we could ditch the bikes and hike up there”, pointing now to some gargoyle like rock formations at the top of the ridge.

“I’m in”

Now when I describe the trail as a jeep trail I am probably really giving jeeps too much credit. I can not imagine anything that could climb that steep of a grade. I say this because I tried to climb it only to find myself waking up near the first switch back having passed out from breathing too hard. The fist thing that came into vision is my partner hiking her bike up to me looking so exhausted I felt concerned.

I fully expected to hear that we should just ditch this idea but instead I got none of it. She just walked right past me with fierce determination to hike the bike completely to the top of the ridge. Which I may add is kind of, shall I say, not bright. I mean the only riding we would be doing is to ride back down and I knew it was too steep to even enjoy that. I jumped back on my bike a gave chase.

Then another surprise. Which was we should keep going. At least this time on foot. We ditched the bikes and started up. And up. And up.

Cool features kept us thirsty for more adventure. Like goblin-like rocks along the way.

Even when we past that cut off time, the time we allowed to get back in time to pack up and get out before dark, we kept hiking up.

But soon an approaching storm made us check our senses and we started discussing going back down. Surprise we didn’t, instead we determined we could “play it by ear” and go to that next false summit.

Eventually common sense got the better of my partner and she turned back. Me, I decided to go for it. Try and reach the second 10,000 foot peak of the weekend.

False summit after false summit gave way to another. I looked back to my partner now a tiny speck back down the ridge. She was almost back to the bikes. I had to far to go and thoughts of turning back started to become a reality. I bargained and promised myself to turn around in 5 minutes.

Surprisingly I got a burst of energy and made it up in 4 minutes. I ran back to my partner and we ended the weekend. Not surprisingly another keeper.

Oh Hail

After finally climbing to the top of a mountain peak, something that has eluded me for about two years, I felt a new lease on adventure. I caught the bug again so to speak. So the next morning I was more than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was outta there, Antone Cabin, and on my bike.

I headed up again to the saddle just North of Antone Peak. And over that saddle into unknown territory. The morning dew was washing down my tires while mother earth was supplying the clay dirt. This resulted in my tires rolling up the planet like a giant ball of string … but only muddy dirt. Much like my readings of the tour-dividers in the Centennial Valley just South of here. It was so impossible to ride like this.

So I found myself many times stopping to scrape off excess mud. Insanely during a beautiful summer morning. So the lesson this morning was that you do not need a rain storm to produce bike disabling mud. Just a heavy morning dew. A few hours later mid-day when I go to the cabin to join my partner in bike ride 2.0 the trails would become popcorn fart dry.

Dry … until a huge hail storm hit half way around the feature ride of the day. It was no silly hail storm. It started out as a rain storm and we huddled under a pine tree. 30 minutes later, cooling down by the minute, we saw it start to hail. Then it hailed harder … then harder … then harder. About an hour later with temperatures in the low 40s we bolted around the second half of the loop. We frantically wanted to warm up and at times hints of an “emergency situation” popped into my head. Why on earth would I bring my beloved partner  out here? Involving her in one of “MY” adventures eventually killing her off?

The answer came near the end of the ride. We were warm again and watched the last of the storm rip over Antone Peak out of sight.  We were together at the end of an adventure. Survivors witnessing the beauty of nature unfold throughout the day. Yea, life was good … again.  Additionally, which … maybe the most important factor, a campfire, porter, and brats awaiting us at the cabin.

The Arrival

The original plan was foiled when my partner got a new job. Lucky for us though she started early enough to gain a couple of days off. So when she emerged from the forests of Glacier Nation Park I drug her out to do our much-anticipated bike pack trip of the summer. Except instead of bike-packing from Dillon we decided to drive the focus wagon.

And good thing. I mean the driving part. Initial plans had us riding to Antone Cabin which is nestled between the Snowcrest Range and the Gravely Range. It is good we drove because we would have spent the entire weekend riding to the cabin just to turn around and head back to Dillon. Almost 50 miles of dirt road. That is 100 miles round -trip. And did I mention that our time had been cut short by a couple of days? So we decided to drive.  And after a dusty but gorgeous drive we were piling out of the car to take a look around the cabin.

My partner in crime bolted to the nearest ridge. Flowers, peaks, trees, rocks, and animals in wild abundance. She seemed set free like a child in a toy store. Me? I couldn’t wait to grill up some brats. Ahhh … home!

Point Six is an old friend of mine.  Tonight as I spun up the last segment I was thinking about the friends that I have climbed it with.  The last time I was up here Jill and I were riding together. But I am not going to blog about specific friends and their specific qualities.  That would only land me in complete trouble.

Tonight it was Mo and I taking on the 4,000 foot climb. I can equate each item I like about this mountain with each of my friends. As for my current climbing companion I have been sworn to secrecy. She has however, decided to stand in as bike model, mountain Sherpa (hint:: she carries all the crap), and creative consultant.

It’s the colors that struck me the most tonight. Like my most colorful friends who without could render my life completely bland. It is the colorful friends that spice up life.

I spent only moments on top of the monolith tonight but managed to snap off a couple images. The smoke in the valley was thick but couldn’t hide the beautiful bowls in the rattlesnake.  Some of my friends are like that. It seems that through all diversity they are always maintaining their best side.

And then there are the ones who I consistently give shit to for being late. When in fact they make it “OK” to take off on journeys “later in the day”. So I will just come out and say that it is I who is always running “un motivated”.  But this is why I see the most beautiful things.

So many times I have descended this mountain late. Like the time a friend turned to me and explained that it was fabulous to “feel alive” just moments after announcing her fingers were frozen. Which could have been adverted if my damn soup I carried through the snow late that night would have been warm.  But now the sunset was warming my heart as I rocketed back down the mountain.

Speaking of descending. This mountain is a consistent grade.  So much that you can expect your ass to feel like it is going to fall off on the climb.  But point the knobbies down and it is a hour long speed fest.

I can remember some descents I have had that were not so much fun. Like that time when a friend and I descended in pouring rain.  I thought for sure I was going to die from hypothermia. This mountain can be a cold bastard.  Tonight is was a warm friend.

Yea, the one thing I really miss about Missoula is the Point Six Climb.

We were done hiking and my friend wanted to show me something interesting on top of Mount Tam.

“This would be a cool place for a cross race”, I announced. “I mean, look at all the obsticles, pavement, and there is a cool run up over there”, I pointed to a dirt mound. It could of been a bunker back in the day. The place had been leveled.  At one time this part of the dual peaks was the higest part of Mt Tamalpais. But it got shaved off to build a military installation.  Now it was abandon. “We could call it MicroTrash Cross”.

I turned and looked across the bay. I was taken away by the golden dry grass in the foreground and the blue backdrop of San Francisco.  I wondered to myself what my partner was doing, probably shuttling old cycling farts around down below.  I sure missed her.

But that was a week or so ago and now I am headed out the office door to go see her.  It is Missoula or bust.

I was plucked from the San Fran streets. I was found eating butter somewhere on Scott Street. Soon I was in Marin having a awesome coffee with awesome people discussing what to do next.  It was determined that e would climb Mount Tamalpais in a car and then do a small loop near the summit.

I was feeling uneasy all of a sudden and quickly noticed the feeling as car sickness.  I mentioned how we had to pull over the day before to let my partner “almost puke”.  The roads in main County are brutally windy.  Super awesome on a road bike but windy in a car. It was announced that the road we were going up was even more “turney”.  Oh no!

Yea … I almost puked but managed to hold on until we were finally parked.  We proceeded to go an a awesome hike including multiple forests and terrain types. Sure … I was missing my partner in crime but good friends always come to the rescue with fun things to do.  And the hike that day was fun. Sometimes you feel like puking and sometimes you have fun. Thanks Leah and Cameron…o/o

Tonight I went for a ride to only have it end a little sooner then I thought (got a king of the hill). What did I do?  So I kept going.  Then an adventure happened. Today’s photos are from last Sunday. My partner and I arrived at a place called Sports Base in San Fran.  I knew instantly I should leave. And just like that I was solo in San Fran.  What happened next?  An adventure happened.

I was walking aimlessly along the beach.  It was just like in the movies.  I was sad, lonely, and I was walking thee beach with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. I chuckled to myself how corny my surroundings were. I looked around for something interesting and spotted a crowd and some interesting Greek like buildings.

I didn’t feel like a crowd and slipped into a more … um …. un-crowded area and pulled out my camera.

I was transformed to Greece and I had been taken there by a time machine.  I was the only one around and I had the place to myself.  This was fun … and it kept my mind off of my burning heart.

My adventure in Greece ended when I stumbled upon a security guard. The entire place had been rented for a wedding.  Like a wedding between some country royalty or something.  And the scruff of my neck was joined by a strong hand and thee next thing I knew I was onto adventure number two.  My friends were on there was to rescue me and take me hiking but the morning was really quite exciting … what I needed.