Year: 2012

The sky had that look. You know the one. It’s as if the heavens are brewing a storm, daring you to challenge its might. That’s how it looked on December 5, 2012, when Mo, a determined white female, and I decided to brave the elements. Our destination? The legendary Snow Bowl a-frame.

Our journey wasn’t just a climb. It was a testament to our spirit. The kind of spirit that looks at an angry sky and says, “Bring it on.” As we trekked upwards, the air turned brisk, the wind whispered threats, and the clouds? Oh, they were like an artist’s chaotic palette, swirling with grays and whites.

Mo, ever the adventurer, led the way. Her steps were confident, her eyes alight with a mixture of excitement and defiance. There’s something about being up against nature that brings out the rawest part of us. It strips away the facade and reveals who we truly are. Mo was unyielding, a force as formidable as the sky we were about to meet.

As we reached the a-frame, the world seemed to pause. There we were, two tiny figures against a vast, turbulent sky. It was a moment of awe, a slice of time where everything seemed both insignificant and monumental.

But here’s the kicker: the journey wasn’t about conquering the mountain or the sky. It was about pushing on. About moving forward despite the odds, about finding strength in the face of adversity. It’s a metaphor, really. For life, for challenges, for those moments when the sky looks down and dares you to blink.

We didn’t blink. We pushed on. And in that moment, we weren’t just climbers. We were storytellers, writing our tale on the canvas of the Snow Bowl. And let me tell you, it was one heck of a story.

Okay, you caught me. I’ve been lazy, and a lot’s been going on, actually. Work projects are stressing me out, so it’s all I can do to post a little something each day. Since I haven’t gotten to my RMVQ video yet, at least I have these photos.

The sun peeked out for just a moment as we enjoyed our only paved section we’d see for two days.

It took us a couple hours to cycle across the Missoula Valley. We came from The Grave Creek Range and was heading to th Snow Bowl Aframe. Today’s goal was to make it to the Ratlesnake BBQ put on by our friend julie. But forst we needed to go up an over Snow Bowl and then Ravine. A long way to go. First while we are here we might as well stop for breakfast.  I remember the fields and the dark skies. I love the golden contrast. My daydream ended when the lever clicked off. My car was filled with feul and I needed to continue my trek to Bozeman. It was fun dreaming back to the RMVQ though.  Monda Monday.

This year, Kona Bridge was a little different. The sun wasn’t out; instead, it was cold and grey. Mo wasn’t waiting for me as usual; she was right behind me. We stopped for a break. I needed to go down to the river to wash my glasses, and Mo needed to exchange her muddy and cold gear for something warm. It would be another hour or so before we stopped for breakfast at the Crossroads Truck Stop. Last year was warmer, and I was solo. This year, I was part of a team.

Today’s RMVQ adventure began under the threat of rain. Day 2 kicked off with a chilling descent into the heart of the town. The intriguing part? Absolutely nothing was amiss. Autumn was in full swing, its vibrant colors exploding around us, painting a breathtaking scene. So, yeah… there was absolutely nothing wrong. Just me, careening down the hill, surrounded by this unexpected beauty.

Hi! I’m Abe. I’ve been swinging from Bill’s handlebars since the days of Fitzy Barn. I’ve witnessed everything – from the exciting RMVQ to that memorable winter bike retreat with Mo. You’re wondering how I know what’s coming next? Well, I can’t spill all my secrets. We’ve just wrapped up the RMVQ, and now we’re gearing up for an adventurous fat bike retreat this winter. It’s happening soon. My favorite thing? Just hanging around, enjoying the ride. So, let’s keep it at that, no more questions, please!

We arrived at the summit of Sheep Mountain late in the afternoon. The essence of this entire effort, the RMVQ, is to celebrate Marcy’s spirit. Staying up there to post a photo and searching for the remnants of ashes I spread two years ago left us with no light as we began our descent from Sheep Mountain.

Rarely do I (yup, Mo is guest blogging) summit mountains; I’m often just shy of the top. Maybe it’s the noon or 3 PM starts that lead to these turn-arounds? But this time, we summited. For me, the joy of being outside isn’t usually about the destination but the process and the journey. And, yes, sometimes it’s about the need to get from one place to another. On this day, we reached the summit and then needed to find a camp for the night. A little darkness and rain at the end of the day, but we rested well into the night.

Top Ten Tips for Climbing Sheep Mountain Backwards:

1. Do not tell your traveling partner, “Just relax and let the pedals do the work.”
2. Single track should be renamed “tightrope,” and biking it requires a stint in Cirque du Soleil.
3. Don’t start the climb at 3 PM in the afternoon.
4. The climb is longer than you think.
5. No one does this backwards, and you should ask yourself why you want to.
6. There are no coffee shacks or brew pubs along the way.
7. If you can’t pick up your bike, then turn around and go back to where you came from.
8. Don’t take someone you are trying to date for the first time.
9. Don’t drink out of the streams.
10. Don’t forget your camera.

Honorable mention by Mo: “Biking is good training for roller derby (see photo).”

Mo had succumbed to walking entirely, abandoning any pretense of enduring further climbing. My own burden was beginning to weigh heavily upon me as well, but as you know, I’m one to suffer until I drop. And so, I continued my slow, arduous ascent, while Mo followed behind at a leisurely pace.

We were now traversing the “kulump de dump” section of the trail, a moss-covered and rain-soaked expanse where riding down required a constant lurching of the bike over roots, producing a distinctive “kaulmp de dump” sound with each maneuver.

Sometimes, in the grand scheme of things, you find yourself waiting for landmarks. It’s like playing a game of mental hopscotch where each small goal becomes a stepping stone to endure the bigger picture. So there I was, fixated on reaching the “creek crossing.” It was more than just a point on the map; it symbolized our halfway mark. Yet, with the whisper of the creek in the background, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we still had a long, long way to go…

Finally, we’re on “the climb,” and it’s time for our first breather. Mo reports that the climb is tough. For me, it’s super tough. The large bike, burdened with our load, is succumbing to gravity. I don’t have the heart to tell Mo how much further we have to go…

So it has been decided that we should stop for lunch before the big climb. I just bide my time until we are on “the climb.” It is there I will be at home. I wonder how hard it will be on my body?

Finally, at Franklin Bridge, we have stopped to filter water. Lollygagging usually uses up the day’s water supply. For me, it’s a chance to take some photos. Still, a big day lies ahead…