So there I was, chugging along towards Clinton, Montana, when my car decided to throw a fit. The darn thing sputtered, and I knew right then – the Thursday Night Ride in Missoula was a no-go for me. I was hammering down I90, and boy, did I guzzle more gas than a thirsty camel. This unexpected pit stop for some juice (the petroleum kind, obviously) was gonna make me tardy for the party. As the gas pump did its thing, I shot Norm a quick text, giving him the heads up that I was running behind schedule but would hustle to catch up. Dashed into the convenience store, grabbed a couple of water bottles, filled ’em up, and hit the road again.
Fast forward two hours, and there I was, standing tall on Blue Point, surrounded by the usual suspects. We’re all taking swigs from our bottles, shooting the breeze about rides yet to come. Yep, I was back in the saddle with the Thursday Night Crew. The ride up was the same old thrill – only this time, I nailed two sections that usually have me eating dirt. Ended the night back at the car, engulfed in darkness. Felt good to be back with the gang.
Boneshakerbike 
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