Ah, the trek from Bozeman to Missoula! There’s this gem called Pipestone tucked away. Picture it: a spot so parched, you’d think it’s been borrowing the weather from a desert – even in the clutch of winter, it’s all dust and whispers of tumbleweed. Yet, here we are, tiptoeing into spring, and suddenly, Pipestone feels more like a slice of Utah than Montana. It’s like nature’s own plot twist.
So today, on a whim, I decided to pull over with Ol’ Turner in tow. We had ourselves a grand adventure, frolicking in the dirt like we were auditioning for the next big wilderness reality show. Then, dusting ourselves off, we hit the road again, bound for Missoula with our spirits a tad lighter and our shoes a whole lot dustier.
Boneshakerbike 
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