Author: Bill

While the elk in Missoula “winter” on Mount Jumbo *I* winter at Pipestone. Why? Because I need to see, feel, and fall in dirt. Cheesy yes! Whatever. Pipestone is diverse and when I return from a successful mountain bike trip I cant help but think I have been in Arizona, Utah, and Idaho all in one ride. But by now I usually migrate with a friend to Boise to take part in the Barking Spider race.

Instead we hit my favorite wintering spot up for a ride. It was unusually cold for some reason and it caught me off guard. All I went with was bike shorts and short sleeve jersey.  Brrr. But thankfully for us *my* loop starts out with some brutal climbing.  I mean what do you expect when you sign up for a ride with Bill martin?  Right? Anyway I was feeling bad I talked my buddy out of a race that traditionally included a sun burn and warmer weather.

Topping out on the first of many climbs I reflected on the weekend and why we were here. With all my fatigue lately and my depression surrounding a certain hole in my normal routine (don’t ask) I announced last week that I was staying home.  I needed rest. So when my friend finally topped out and nearly passed out gasping so hard he nearly sucked up a rock I felt a bit better. Not that he was suffering, in some way I know that is why we do these climbs right? I knew that even though we didn’t go to the race we were getting the benefits of some lung stretches.

And we were missing nothing. Reports have come in that the Barking Spider was a total muddy quagmire.  So we actually benefited from a home-stay. The sounds of Pipestone were the same as the Boise atv area … rapping loud motorcycles ripping up and down the trails. Idaho terrain that was identical in many ways; even down to the wash-out toboggan run (you must know the Barking Spider). We got totally waisted and enjoyed a few “awesome downhill dude totally bitchen guy hug” moments. Best of all we spent another spring mountain ride together. The tradition continues.

I undertook another of my extended rides home from work, but this time, I heeded Askia’s advice to return a bit earlier than usual. My agenda was packed: starting with a core workout followed by a cycling session on Turner for a focused leg exercise. However, upon entering my apartment, I was warmly welcomed by all my dearest friends, and suddenly, the party commenced. After indulging in a substantial Porter, the idea of continuing my workout regimen was promptly abandoned.

When I mention my closest friends, I’m not referring to human companions. These friends have consistently been by my side, always prepared for an adventure. They are my constant companions during solitary moments, ensuring that every time is a good time.

It all started when I left work and wanted to just go home and take a nap. I am so tired. And just a side note this all makes sense 47 and tired. Is it finally here? Anyway I mounted my cross bike and headed across campus. Last time I was a student this kind of thing happened as well. I “thought” I was going to “just ride home”. So things have not changed; but yes they have.

Next thing I know I was taking the city trail to the Library, just a tiny detour on the way home. the sun was out and it felt like I should just fall onto the grass and stare at the clouds. Like in 2003 when a weekend trip to a state park across the border in new York turned into a mega hike.

When I got to the library I decided to go down by the Bozeman Brewing Company. Again just a little longer way home. But it was nice out. Like that birthday I had in Connecticut when i turned 38. Instead of going to work I ended up instead at a local park taking photos with my new camera. I am starting to see a pattern here.

And just as expected I am biking past the BBC and under I90 heading to the Gallatin Park North of town. Zipping along on my cross bike I forgot that I was on the edge of “old”. Amazing how I even got here, going the long way home. In 2005 I moved to Missoula after a bout with getting lost, wondering out of New England.

Cycling now around the pond at North Gallatin Park (I think that is what it’s called) I was officially AWOL from just going home to take a nap. I mean a man of my age shouldn’t be out on a cross bike in his sneakers busting through fields and frolicking like a boy. In 2006 I transitioned from the love of photos back to cycling. And it seems now I have never turned back.

A little while after I completed my ride around the pond I was taking a right turn and into a wildlife refuge, now a little way out-of-town.  Apparently today was a full-out “riding home the log way”. But I didn’t care. I felt good and the air was full of spring smells. I decided stop acting my age and just go as far as I wanted. As I spun through the open fields I thought back to my friends in Missoula who also acted their age.

When I came to a junction where turning right would take me home and continuing on would mean riding West towards Belgrade the light turned red. This gave me an opportunity to make a decision. Go home now or see whats up the road. Just like last year I decided to take the plunge and see whats up the road. I am 47 and still going.

By the time I got the rear wheel fixed the sun was low on the horizon. The rest of the ride I was super nervous that my injured tire would explode. It all happened on a rocky decent at Pipestone Sunday. I hit a sharp rock head on and it shredded my rear tire immediately  I used an Action Wipe and it’s package to cover the holes. The tube seemed to stay inside the tire and up the climb I went.

My last stop was Ringing Rocks a big pile of big rocks that sound like bells when you hit them with a solid object. The cruise back to the car topped off a much-needed ride … alone. Even with all the exhaustion my time on the dusty trails was refreshing.  I came to vistas that brought me back to a place I remember   Hours of spinning along did something as well. Healed maybe. I am not sure. There is so much you can still do … even with a big hole in your life.

I am currently planning on returning with friends maybe next this upcoming weekend.

OMG I am tired. But I had a great weekend. But I am so tired. In fact I am about to fall asleep on the keyboard. I visited with my brother Paul in Butte, had a fabulous mountain bike ride with Ed and Laurie, hiked with Paul, and visited or schemed with my friend Ross. And then I stopped at pipestone for a ride. Just got back. spent some serious time in the saddle wearing a hole in my ass. Zzzzzzz.

It was almost time to turn around. Today I wanted to catch up with some work outs and a couple 30 minute running intervals should do the trick. Furthermore I could run this, the Foothills Trail, and see how the spring is progressing. But now torn between running along the tiny sliver of land on the edge of the snow and a side-slipping snow scramble. I hung to the sliver of muddy trail. But the conditions were not enough to tun me around.

It was actually getting late. And I needed to get to Kenyon Nobel before it closed to get washing machine hoses. I finally got a washing machine, yes, but feel like I signed away my free self.  Before everything I owned could fit in my beetle ready to relocate. I felt free and unencumbered.  No I need a truck or something to move. Am I trapped. yes, it was late. But the waning time was not enough to turn me around.

A storm was ripping through the Bozeman Valley and I could feel it’s cold wind pick up and rake across the back of my neck. The thought of freezing temps and cold drenching rain splashed across my thoughts. Before I was thinking how just the day before I was hiking this very same trail with my best friend. My best friend now gone … away to Texas. And now I face weekends of finding stuff to do on my own. I would be back to the way I was. Doing stuff alone. Unencumbered and free. Free to keep going. And possibly never return. Should I just keep going?

The storm now closer was not enough to turn me around. But I did. This time. For no other reason but to see how fast I could run back to the car. And pick up some new washing machine hoses. And pack the car to travel once again to Missoula. To visit another best friend. And plan a race in Boise next weekend with another. And to go riding with other great friends.  I had stuff to do.

Just as I dive back into the blogging sea, I manage to throw a wrench in the works. Last week, in a moment of clarity (or perhaps madness), I decided to jump ship from Windows to Apple. But don’t panic! Thanks to a boatload of RAM and a quad-core processor, I can host virtual parties on Apple’s Unix OS, inviting everyone from Windows and Linux, to, well, Apple itself. So, I’m buzzing with excitement to snap some pics and give the new rig a whirl.

Why do “people” need reassured?  I don’t even know if I am asking the question right. Here is the scenario. Someone is proud of something. And for some reason they “NEED” reaffirmed that what they are proud of is legit.

I am guilty I think. Yesterday I embarked on an adventure. It included hiking over Jumbo Mountain and into town.  Then I rode my bike and did some stuff in town. After that I abandon the bike and hiked the North Hills Trail System all the way back to Carriage Way. On top of Jumbo I snapped a twitter photo. Later in the adventure around hour 5 I snapped off another. Eventually I will post the GPS track as well. So here I am saying, “Look at me and what I did”.  Why do I do that?

But in my mind, and by the way I write this for myself, I am good with that. What irritates me is when others ask you for affirmation that you have read or seen what it is that they are proud of.  Or maybe they have jumped off the cliff with the other lemmings and what to bring you with them. Did you see so and so’s blah blah accomplishment?

So then do we all have micro jobs to every day go in and pat everyone on the back. Be it Facebook or Twitter. Scour the channels to say, “good job”. Or, “that is a beautiful puppy”. Or maybe, “that was a great decision”.

I think it is deeper. “I feel bad or uncomfortable about this event but I must back it. Because maybe I feel guilty if I don’t do like the OTHERS. And in doing so I must feel backed by everyone. So you should all do that same. So I don’t feel worse. So I don’t feel like a loser or out-of-place. Please. Like what I like. Like what I have done. Like the things I like. Back me on this.”

So did everyone see my twitter feed yesterday?  Did everyone see that Beat finished the thousand mile Idida Sport?

It was determined that today for the first time we, as a household unit, would go for a hike.  And we choose the Wallman Trail of the Rattlesnake Recreation Area as the destination. This was the first time I have been on an outing with my usual hiking partner’s roommates   And it was fun. I was able to do my usual 4 X 15 minute zone 3 efforts off the front and later join them for a hike back to the car.  And by that time had expired some 3.5 hours later I was froze to the bone. And what does one do when they are frozen. They go to the Big Dipper Ice Cream Shop and the Bridge Pizza for recovery.

Today I embark on the Trans Missoula Triplica Run Bike Beast where I run over Jumbo, bike trough urban Missoula and run back to camp via the North Hills. Hopefully a 5 hour adventure.

It amazes me how we as humans and some more than others tend to analyse life to the point that it becomes unrecognizable. I mean look at the mountains. As soon as you pull them apart and classify its elements. Grey rocks built upon some magical fairy dust with this much oxygen per cubic measure-o-meter. Blah blah. Holy fuck folks.

No! It is simply beautiful. If we can just stop thinking about it and just take it in. Just allow the beauty to talk to us. And allow the wind to whisper to us.  Maybe we are not as grand, us humans, as we think we are. Maybe we don’t know a freaking thing.

The mountains maybe know more. Nature is there to be experienced and tested.  Not analyzed   So the next time you feel like you are analyzing your situation just freaking stop. Go to the Mountains and see what they says.

Recently a hiking partner and I set forth to hit the summit of Baldy Mountain here in Bozeman. But what got in our way was the day in general. Brilliant sunshine coming into a apartment window can make the mornings preparations slow. I took numerous coffee breaks sitting on the deck in the sunshine.

Then stopping in for “supplies” got out of hand with tantalizing selections at the local food CoOp. We were not at the trail head until like 3pm.

Then we simply forgot the effort involved. I mean I am all in when it comes to efforts but it takes time to climb 3,000 feet in like a mile and a half. After hiking straight up for a couple hours were were on the ridge. But the day was old and summiting would mean a night decent.

So we turned around. Life is romantic when you see it on paper. The path before you looks fun and easy enough. Just wait till you try and live it. Turning around was the best choice on that day. Bacon curry pizza best choice.

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.

Ah, the eternal inner dialogue: “WHAT! AGAIN?” Yes, indeed. But as I meandered through my morning commute, an epiphany struck amidst the hum of the engine—cue the dramatic soundtrack. And now, as my other half incredulously inquires, “WTF… Drive?”, I plead for silence. Let’s lay out the canvas of my reasoning, shall we?

Firstly, the dreaded car journey was a necessary evil due to my tardy awakening. The agenda post-work demands a session of indoor perspiration—yes, a workout. So, to the voice in my head bemoaning this choice, I say, “Go smooch a kite”—eloquence in defense of my schedule.

Now, to the crux of my reasoning that emerged as dawn broke: Friday beckons with the promise of adventure. Awaiting the arrival of my bumper, courtesy of Fed Ex, marks the beginning. Ah, the bumper—a victim of a Bozeman snow bank’s wrath—is finally on its way to redemption.

Once the mechanical steed is whole again, why not whisk my Turner to Pipestone for a swift dance with the dirt? And given the proximity, Missoula whispers my name, suggesting a visit. A fool, you query? Nay, an adventurer at heart, caught in the web of logistics and longing for the open road and trails. So, to my other self, doubting and debating—let’s embrace the journey. Am I a fool, or simply a soul yearning for the call of the wild, wrapped in the practicalities of modern life? Only the road ahead holds the answers.

I would be lying if I said I just got back from the Togwotee Winter Classic. I actually got back a couple of days ago.  I have struggled to come up with stuff to post about. Life is good but my ambition is stormy. like these photos.  I have photos from this weekend but I am so buried in previous photos that it will be years before I can get to the pretty Jackson Hole photos.

So today I decided to go rifling through my photos from a snow bike trip to the Big Hole. And I came up with these shots of angry skies. Kind of unsettling but good stuff to post while I try to settle my issues with life and get back on track. Looking at these shots it seems that mother nature was settling some issues of her own.

Today I hope to get back to training with one of my favorite regimens. Core!  So much fun.  NOT! Maybe I am just procrastinating my way out of training again.  No, if I learned one thing this weekend it is to get into shape.  I got totally schooled in the bike race.

But no worries. I will get back into shape  And I will find my way again.  If this blog shows anything. I have been down this path before.