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:
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…
Sometimes, while waiting, I see things. You know, those fleeting moments that stick to your memory like gum to a shoe. They’re like whispers of the world, showing you a secret, just for a second. And right then, during one of those moments, I realized I wanted to share it. Not just the sight, but the feeling. The whole shebang.
The sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds, and the air was filled with that crispness you only get in November. I wish I could bottle that air and open it when life gets too stuffy, you know?
In that moment, while waiting for… well, Sunggles, it hit me. It wasn’t just about the journey or the destination. It’s about these tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it moments. Like a puzzle piece of time, fitting right into my day, making it more than just a mundane sequence of hours and minutes.
So, here’s to the moments we appreciate, the ones that make us pause and feel… alive. It’s not just about where we’re going, but also about these little pit stops along the way. They deserve a nod, a smile, maybe even a photo.
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…
Mountain biking in the beautiful trails around Missoula, Montana, in the fall. The scenery is amazing, with vibrant fall colors and a cool, crisp air. I took my time to enjoy the ride and appreciate the beauty of nature.
I faced a dilemma when I realized that we were moving slower than usual. I didn’t want to spend the night out, so I suggested that we try to catch the sunset from a viewpoint ahead. This way, we could keep the spirit of the adventure alive while gently nudging ourselves towards a timely return.
Mountain biking is not just about the thrill of the downhill or testing your endurance. Sometimes, it’s about being in the moment, enjoying the company of friends, and appreciating the natural beauty around us.
Stay safe on the trails, and remember, whether it’s a race against time or a leisurely ride, it’s all about the experience and the memories you create.
Fall colors in the Rattlesnake are superb. We are finally moving towards the start of the climb up Sheep Mountain. It is slightly late because we felt that we needed to take a small break from yesterday’s push. So a great lazy morning at the tent felt great. It’s going to be a big day …
We used to call them “Bitches” but she does not like that term. And at first she really didn’t understand why. But as she pushed her fully loaded bike up the last of the three “Bitches”, a term a group of friends and I coined after our first Grave Range Growler, she let out a grunt.
“What was that”, I inquired.
“These B A S T A R D S … are hard … I hate them”
So now we call them the “Bastards”.
In the shadowed realm where whispers dance,
A question echoes, bold and askance.
“What, another adventure?” the night wind sighs,
Where mystery cloaks the starlit skies.
In the valley where the unseen tread,
Lurks a path not lightly led.
Through the thicket, sharp and sere,
Adventures beckon, close and near.
With a heart that thrills for the unseen,
Where shadows play and what-ifs preen,
Each step a story, veiled in dark,
A journey embarked on a dare’s lone spark.
In the darkness, a tale unfurls,
Twisting, turning, as the night whirls.
“What, another adventure?” so it goes,
In the place where the unknown glows.
With each whisper, a challenge born,
In the eerie calm before the morn.
For in the heart of the shadow’s weave,
Lies an adventure you must believe.
We once called them “Bitches,” a term disliked by her. Initially, she didn’t grasp why. However, as she struggled up the final steep hill, a term born from our initial Grave Range Growler experience, she grunted in frustration.
“What was that?” I asked.
“These BASTARDS… are tough… I despise them,” she replied.
And so, the name was changed. Regardless of the label, it’s fitting.
Continuing on with trying to make Day 1 of the RMVQ video I have run into some issues. Not necessarily with the video itself but fun stuff in life. Not to mention that I spent all last night traveling from Bozeman to Missoula in a freaking white out blizzard. Today I was in Hamilton at Red Barn Bikes were I enjoyed some snow biking up Ward Mountain and lots of new Salsa Fat Bike demoing. Kick in some hot stew and beer and you have a full day of distractions.
So no progress … come on snow, come to Missoula. Everyone has it but you.
Diving into the edit for the RMVQ video, I’ve got the visuals down. The challenge now? The soundtrack. Mainstream royalty-free sites are coming up short—nothing there hits the right note.
So, what’s the plan?I’m toying with a unique idea—collaborating with a buddy of mine. He’s a drummer, and I’m thinking, why not tailor-make the beats? Picture this: he watches the scenes unfold and lays down tracks that echo the rhythm of the ride. But hey, it’s a big ask. Is it fair to rope him into my creative escapade?
For now, as I mull over the music, here’s a sneak peek with a photo from the shoot. Sure, it might not have the dynamic energy of the video, but there’s something about a still shot—capturing a moment in time—that motion can’t quite grasp. At least, that’s my take.
Boneshakerbike 