As the golden hues of fall give way to the looming gray skies of winter, there’s a fire that keeps burning within us—the fire to keep moving. Up here on my favorite hill in Missoula, I’m not just chasing the last of the autumn sun; I’m racing against the quiet whispers of winter.
Wheel against the wild, breath fogging the crisp air, I tackle sprints that are more than just a workout. They’re a rebellion against the shorter days and the long nights ahead. It’s here, on this very hill, where the pedal meets the mettle.
So before the snowflakes stake their claim, let’s get out and claim the terrain. The summer sun might be taking its final bow, but our spirits refuse to go down with it. We ride not just for the thrill, but to remember: every sprint, every climb, is a promise to ourselves that not even winter can freeze our zest for life.
Boneshakerbike 
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