There I was, a mountain biker by passion, threading through the snaking check-in line at the airport. My backpack bore the scars of brambles and my boots, the dust of a hundred trails. The terminal buzzed with the usual hum of departures and arrivals, but today, something unusual caught my eye.
It was the check-in bot, sleek and efficient, a marvel of modern travel. Yet, what made me pause wasn’t its flashing LEDs or the robotic arm skillfully sliding passports. It was the single daisy, incongruously wedged in its earpiece—a silent rebellion in this world of metal and motion.
As I approached the counter, a mischievous idea took root. I plucked a small cluster of wildflowers from my bag, remnants of the open fields from my last ride. “Fancy a date?” I asked the bot, presenting the bouquet. “Ever seen the stars away from the city lights?”
The bot, programmed for pleasantries, emitted a sound resembling a giggle. “I am designed for assistance, not escapades,” it replied, the screen flashing an emoji wink.
Behind me, a ripple of chuckles spread through the weary travelers. It was a fleeting connection, but within the sterile confines of the airport, our laughter made it feel almost cozy.
Leaving the flowers in a cup by the bot, I walked away, my heart light. I had come to the airport to fly to new heights, but little did I know, I’d leave behind a tale that grounded me, reminding me that moments of joy can be as simple as a daisy in the grip of a robot.
I woke to a bright sunny day. I was sipping my morning coffee when I felt someone walk up behind me. It was my partner who just recently started waking up earlier which cuts into “Bill Time”.
“What should we do today”?
“Well, X marks the spot”, I motioned to the sky over Twin Lakes. She looked over and immediately noticed to what I was referring to. Then her eyes dropped to the lake and a grin spread across her face.
“Let’s go exploring”.
“On the bikes”?
“Yea, let’s go around the lake”.
So that is what we did. And more. It pays to poke around the edges of a lake. Specially on fat bikes. Unless you have a water craft in the summer it is hard to access the shore the way a fat bike can. Sure you can snow shoe or ski. But really, that takes so much work. And it is slow and arduous. This way, on a fat bike, is a truly cool experience. And in the winter a water craft will get you didly-squat.
And it was this “poking around” that lead to a ride up a tributary to the lake. Probably the coolest experience I have had. Darn I love fat bikes.
Who would of though that you could ride up a creek that contributed to a lake? That kind of unexpected “find” sparks new optimism for explorations.
“Let’s go down the road we came up … and find other places to explore, like that one turn off …”
We returned to the cabin totally wiped and ready for some brats and possibly a porter or two. Which may I add only led to a night criterium around the camp ground on our fat bikes sporting booties and pajamas.
I just woke up. It’s dark and -10 degrees outside. Last night, after a day full of adventure, I must have fallen asleep almost immediately after work. While I rested, the world seems to have moved on. I do remember having an awesome dream, though.
In my dream, I was geared up for an extreme bike ride up to Miller Peak. Suddenly, I started hearing voices. “Bill… come… come hike with us, Bill…”
“What the?”
“Come to Cherry Street and hike with us, Bill.”
I recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I headed over to Cherry Street. My studded tires crunched over the icy streets as I made my way to the trailhead at Jumbo Mountain. There, I saw a familiar figure stepping out of her car. I waved and went to lock up my bike. Wait, lock up my bike? For what?
“I didn’t know we could bring boys,” one of the girls said, a hint of irritation in her voice. I began to wonder what I was doing here. But the voices…
“What, I was just… and a voice told me to come hike…” I couldn’t find the words to explain, so I stopped and breathed in the frigid five-degree night air. Why was I here? Four angelic figures approached me – the Dirt Girls, a group of Missoula women mountain bikers. Never before had a “dude” infiltrated the Dirt Girls. And now, here I was, surrounded by this Missoula legend.
The leader of the group explained that she had called me to join them. It dawned on me that I was about to hike with them. Frolicking with the Dirt Girls, I thought I must have died on a big bike ride and now stood at the gates of Heaven. Hey, I didn’t even believe in heaven, but here I was, with angels of the night, passing through a gate. Yep, I must have died.
We climbed into the heavens on the backbone of Jumbo Mountain. I tried to turn back a couple of times, but they gestured for me to continue. I felt like I was being escorted to another place, beyond the world I knew before “the event” that ended my life. I wondered what had killed me. The Dean Stone climb on Sunday? The blizzard on Miller Peak on Monday?
When we reached the top, I pushed away these thoughts as one of the angels swooped up behind me. Surely, they were angels because no one could hike so quietly and swiftly.
“You failed your mission on earth. You tried to find love in a place where love does not exist,” one of them said. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“She hates me.”
“And SHE… killed you. You have a choice now. You can go back; this doesn’t have to be the end. There are others who care about you, and you’ve let them down. You’ve taken chances, giving nature the opportunity to devour you. Do you want to continue?” the Dirt Girl explained.
“Do you know if I will ever find…” I started.
“No, it is not our place to know such things. We are just a bunch of women who love mountain biking. It was your inner wish to be taken to heaven by us… when you left Earth.”
“No, no. I don’t want it to end here. I do want to go back. I’ll allow the people who really care in. I think I’ve learned something here.”
We hiked back down Jumbo, and upon reaching my bike, I suddenly felt cold again. I was feeling. Throughout the entire trip up the mountain, I had been unaware of the cold, sharp wind and extreme conditions. I stood at the trailhead parking lot, shivering, all alone, and cold. I jumped on my bike and rode to a friend’s house. I wanted to be around the very people who loved me, those who had to endure years of worrying whether I would return from the woods.
A dream? Maybe, more like a message. In any case, it’s time for work, and I must check my emails. One catches my eye – a friend. I quickly read it because I’m almost late for work. They were worried about me last night…
I grilled some fish and had a salad, then approached the cupboard. Unsatisfied, I realized Seinfeld would be on in 30 minutes, and I needed a comfort item: a scone and coffee. So, I set to work on batch v2 of my scones.
I brewed some decaf (still good, made with my stove-top espresso maker). I took out some nut milk for the brew and found my recipe: almond butter, arrowroot, sea salt (Brad Keys style), an egg, honey, and said nut milk. I stirred it all together and folded in some blueberries.
The new cooking apparatus this time was a glass cooking bowl, about the size I wanted. I added some olive oil to it and heated it up. Scooping in the batter, I thought, “Voilà!”
I just put in workout #2 in preparation for the Freezer Burn Half Marathon in two weeks. But not before a cup of Big Ring Coffee by 53X11 a local company (visit the web site). I won this coffee at the State Cyclocross Championship. This is good coffee folks and given my form tonight it is just the ticket for a winters night workout. The coffee smells great and has a good taste as well.
Tonight I ran with Marcy up the Treasure Trail for about 4.5 miles. I know, far cry from 13 but baby steps first. I know the fitness is there because I can ski up a mountain for 4 hours without rest pretty easily. Tonight I felt good and did not feel like it was hard. No body I know is going to do the Freezer Burn yet but hopefully someone will see the benefit in freezing their ass off.
Good morning! It’s back to work, and I’m wrestling with the urge to pick up the phone and declare, “I quit! I’ve decided not to work anymore; instead, I’m just going to exist.” Ah, Mondays… they can be so brutal. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling a bit off-kilter today.
This morning, I was tending to the blisters I got from tele skiing twice over the weekend. I think I clocked in about 12 hours on the slopes. So, as I was prepping a bandage (they stick better on clean skin), I reached for a new bottle of rubbing alcohol and… surprise! There was a “protective seal” to break. Really?
What in the world survives in rubbing alcohol? If anything, I’d use this solution to clean something contaminated. It’s not like I drink this stuff. This is akin to our government’s “protective” measures with homeland security. Yeah, sure!
Well, it’s back to work for me, and there’s also the nightly decision about exercise. I’m thinking a 4-mile run to prep for the half marathon in two weeks. This weekend, maybe I’ll hit Lantern Ridge. Any takers?
Tonight, me and Marcy hit the trails, zigzagging up to Mount Sentinel. As we’re coming back, we duck into what I like to call Midtown Gulch, squeezed between Mount Sentinel’s big twin peaks.
The climb up was all sunshine and good vibes, but then the wind decided to join the party, getting all up in my business and probably giving my shoulder a frostbite badge. The view? Pure magic. The Rattlesnake Wilderness mountains were showing off their new snow coats, looking all majestic under the evening sun. That light turned everything crazy beautiful, like the mountains and sky were competing to see who could look more stunning. Down below, the lands were basking in gold, and just as the sun decided to call it a day, the sky went all dramatic on us with pinks and reds. Seriously, this place is why my heart’s stuck here.
Heading down, the deer decided to crash our party. Ran into four whole herds of them. They were checking us out just as much as we were admiring them, even watched Marcy and me racing each other like a couple of kids. And the adventure didn’t stop there; almost home, and bam, there’s a deer just chilling, walking through town like he owns the place. Turned out to be a hefty four-year-old buck, smart enough to dodge this year’s hunters.
Where have I been? What have I done? Good questions. But I have decided to not answer them.
I am in the process of making a change at work. I have decided to blog today because tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
I wish all a good one.
I plan to go to Plattsburgh. Isn’t it funny that everyone wants to leave CT as soon as possible when they get time off. The roads are already congested this morning. CT … BLA!
Boneshakerbike 