To ride a snow bike for 27 miles in 2 hours, a few things are crucial.
Avoid Missoula – too much snow or slush. Instead, head to Bozeman where sunny skies and strong winds dry out the roads. Hope for a break in Bozeman’s usual high winds. Keep your bike tires at 10 pounds of pressure; any more, and you’ll go too far. Finally, be in a “tempo” training mode to push yourself for those two hours.
Leverich Canyon, usually a canvas for adrenaline-pumping descents, served up a different kind of thrill today: a slow-motion tumble that tested my balance and vocabulary. It all started innocently enough – a training ride, a casual stop… and then gravity decided to play some tricks.
Leaning the wrong way, I discovered with startling immediacy that the earth wasn’t quite where I expected it to be. Downhill, as it turned out. A frantic search for a safe landing zone revealed only a landscape of ice and rock – not exactly the softest options. So, I improvised, taking a tentative step towards what I hoped would be terra firma. Wrong again. More ouch-inducing obstacles awaited.
With no graceful dismount in sight, I surrendered to the inevitable. I tumbled down the unforgiving slope, a ragdoll at the mercy of gravity. The 140-foot descent seemed to take an eternity, each roll adding its own unwelcome momentum. Finally, my “self-arrest” technique kicked in (think spread eagle into a friendly stump) and I came to a somewhat unceremonious stop.
A symphony of choice words erupted from my lips, a fitting soundtrack to the throbbing in my chest and the stinging scratches decorating my clothes courtesy of the scree. Yes, it was a 5mph crash, the kind that defies logic and leaves you questioning the laws of physics. But hey, slow and steady wins the race, right? Or maybe not. In this case, gravity won, hands down.
The aftermath was predictable – a gingerly uphill hike to my bike, a possible broken rib (the jury’s still out), and a newfound respect for the deceptiveness of even the gentlest slopes. Leverich Canyon might have gotten the better of me this time, but I’ll be back. Next time, though, I’ll pack some extra padding, just in case.
Cozied up in bed, I was ready for sleep after a busy day. But my brain wouldn’t stop spinning with thoughts of the day’s hustle.
From Missoula to Bozeman, work, unloading a car, to an hour of core workouts and foam rolling. My day was packed with calls, texts, blogs, and training plans. I just wanted to be out on my bike, enjoying the simplicity.
Lying there, I couldn’t help but think about tomorrow’s ride. Which route to take? Even at night, the excitement of biking kept me awake.
It hit me then. Life can get too crowded. These quiet night moments remind us what matters. For me, it’s the joy of biking. Just me, my bike, and the open trail. That simplicity brings peace in life’s chaos.
“Where do I live?” This question popped into my head as I was navigating the icy and narrow boot trail along the Kim Williams Trail. It was one of those typical Missoula days – cold, but full of adventure. I stopped to capture the moment with my cell phone, a quick snap of the frosty trail ahead, and shared it with the world on Twitter.
My journey for the day was set to take 5 hours, not because of the distance or the terrain, but simply because my training plan said so. It’s funny how we let these little digital schedules dictate our lives, isn’t it?
Earlier, I rode into town with my friend Mo. We stopped to help our friend Karen with her ‘Keep Missoula Warm’ project on Higgins Bridge. “We are calling it ‘Keep Missoula Warm’ … ” Karen explained. She’s a local artist and came up with this heartwarming idea with her boyfriend, Arlan.
After lending a hand, I left the group and rode East. A predetermined turnaround time prompted me to stop for another Twitter post. After the social act (or as the kids call it, ‘twittering’), I turned my trusty Mukluk around to head back and pick up Mo, who wanted to ride the rest of the day with me.
As I climbed back aboard my Mukluk, a realization hit me. Most of my outdoor daylight hours are spent in Missoula. You can’t count hours spent working indoors because you are not living. The only time you are living is when you are outdoors, breathing the air, and taking in your surroundings as we were meant to be as animals … er … humans.
You can’t count night hours either because you are not living. You’re just blindly following a light beam around. To live is to take in life. Seeing life. Breathing life. Most of my outdoor daylight hours are spent in Missoula. So I guess you can say I live in Missoula and work in Bozeman. Maybe someday we will move to Bozeman. That would be cool, wouldn’t it?
“Have you taken the safety meeting?” The race organizer’s words echoed in my ears as we arrived late to the event. We walked away, a little disappointed. I mean, when was the last time I heard about a required safety meeting? Wait… I never had to be in a safety meeting before!
As we headed to the car, we dropped into the shooting range. A kind soul showed our friend Karen how to shoot. That qualified her to race, and she did. Seeing how easy it was, I took the safety meeting myself. Suddenly, I realized I was having fun. I mean, who wouldn’t? I had never raced in an event that included shooting rifles before. Enter biathlon, Seeley Lake style. I have to admit, post-race, this was KICK ASS.
The race started off in pursuit style, 30 seconds apart. We had to do a 3k loop. After you rip your lungs out of your chest and render your legs spaghetti, you are given a rifle and a clip of 5 bullets. Pow click klak, pow click klak, pow click klak, pow click klak, pow click klak. I got 3 out of 5 prone and heard Bill Schultz yell, “Good shootin’ Bill,” in the distance. I thought back to when I used to watch the World Cup biathlon in Lake Placid. It would be exciting to watch now that I know what is going on.
For each missed shot, you must do a penalty loop. In the end, I did 6 penalty loops and managed to clean up my skating style to finish in about 45 minutes. It’s amazing when you become part of someone else’s life, the things you get exposed to. I have to admit, I was not excited to do a biathlon, but after doing it, I’m glad I did.
Mountain Biking Adventure: The Unexpected Journey to Missoula
As an avid mountain biker, sometimes the journey to the trailhead is as adventurous as the ride itself. This was the case when I decided to brave a reported storm of the century and head to Missoula, Montana. It was a quest not just for trails, but for a personal rendezvous that made my heart race faster than a downhill sprint.
I had taken a half day off, my mind filled with cautionary tales of 18 inches of snow in Missoula and a whopping 24 in Turah. My car, equipped with tires that had seen better days, seemed like an unlikely steed for such a quest. But there I was, on I90, pushing the speedometer as far as I dared, racing against nature’s clock.
The term ‘Bike-Pouting’ came to mind, usually reserved for those days when the trails are too muddy, and you’re stuck cleaning your gears instead of shredding them. But here I was, ‘Car-Pouting,’ fretting about snow-packed roads and whether I’d have to turn back, the trails of Mount Sentinel just a dream in my rearview mirror.
But as the miles ticked by, what I found was nothing short of a miracle. The roads were in great condition, and I could feel the sun warming my skin through the car window. It was a beautiful day, and I was making good time, my fears of a winter debacle melting away like the snow under the afternoon sun.
I passed Whitehall, feeling the heat in the car. It was an unexpected twist, and I found myself shedding layers, a stark contrast to the heavy jacket and gloves I had packed, expecting the worst. I made a call to my parents to pass the time, sharing my surprise at the weather and the excitement of my impending arrival in Missoula.
The journey continued, and as I approached Drummond, the roads grew wet but remained passable. My pace remained unchallenged, and I couldn’t help but smile at the irony – here I was, worried about snow, and yet the journey had been as smooth as a freshly groomed trail.
I arrived in Missoula by midday, the city greeting me with open arms. The feeling was surreal. It was a reminder that sometimes, the trails we fear to tread are the ones that lead us to unexpected joys. And as I met up with the person I had journeyed to see, I realized the truth in the old adage – you never know until you go.
In the end, this trip wasn’t just about braving the elements or even mountain biking. It was about taking chances, about venturing into the unknown, and about the warm reception that awaits at the end of a long journey.
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My headlamp is minimal but only because I use it to look at my heart rate monitor. I was wishing I brought my powerful lamp. When I turned to look down slope all I could see was dark. I knew if I slipped I would fall all the way to the bottom of the canyon and the journey could result in some busted bones. I also wished I would of posted a tweet or something where I was going to ride my Mukluk tonight. If I fell and needed help no one would come. In fact there would be no one up here. It was too dangerous.
Suddenly the rear tire of my bike slid off the ledge and my toe hold in the wind crusted snow bank started to strain. I was off the bike and trying to walk it but now it seemed that it had decided to give up and jump off the cliff … and take me with it. I struggled to slowly pull it back up and by holding onto the top tube. I needed another toe hold fast and I glanced around. Nothing but ice.
What was I doing up here and why did I have to push so far past the comfort zone? With all of life’s responsibilities I was struggling to keep up a good training plan and I was not even supposed to be out here. The workout I did on my lunch break would have been enough and I would be at home right now talking to my girlfriend on the phone. I made a mental note to text her if I ever got to safety.
Just as I started to shout out loud my disappointment at the seasonal conditions I spotted a clump of dirt extruding out of the icy ledge. As I started to calculate how much jumping force was needed to reach the oasis my foothold gave way so I lurched towards it. I didn’t have enough leverage and came up short just above the perch on a glare ice section. My foot slide immediately towards the abyss but caught the dirt clump on its way. Suddenly I felt it hold and I put all my faith onto it. It seemed solid so I looked around for another foothold.
I repeated this process for 5 more minutes until I was finally across icy slope. I looked at my training device and realized I still has 3 minutes remaining in my interval. I jumped back on to get my heart rate back up and started to climb to the next ridge. I raced up the climb stepping off the bike one more time and falling flat on the ice for like the 13th time. Finally my interval was over and I stopped for a swig of Carbo Rocket and to contemplate my next move. I needed to turn around and face that dangerous slope of ice and snow again but in the opposite direction.
I got out my cell phone and text-ed, “Out riding, got carried away having fun, will be a little late for tonight’s call”.
Today I have been at MSU for 6 months. What does this mean? Well it means I now have something like 60 hours vacation time and 40 hours sick leave. I am a full fledged MSU employee. So for starters I decided to take a big lunch and go on a training mission.
Since I started training for the 2012 season I have been totally overwhelmed. If I am not working I am training. That used to be ok. But now I travel to Missoula every weekend to be with someone special. So add 40 hours of work plus 20 hours of training and then throw in 6 hours of travel. What this comes out to is burn out. I feel the burn out coming on.
So I am contemplating decisions. The very thing that allows me to free my mind is one thing on the chopping block. While training I am able to clear my mind and think about what is important. So what should go. Training and racing? Quit this fabulous job and get something in Missoula? End my trips to Missoula?
So far ending the trips to Missoula is out of the question but cycling is so important I would change if I gave that up. So this very flexible job is on the cutting board for now but don’t worry. I am hoping that time will expose the correct path. I just have to keep on slogging along.
So after work I am off for workout #2 which includes 3 tempo intervals. After that I need to go home and do a core workout in the pain lab.
As tomorrow approaches I must wax my skate skis for some mid-day intervals up Bozeman Creek. Hold on. When will I have time to wax the skis? They are in grave need because our last skate ski at Lolo Pass was painful with skis that wont slide.
Funny thing is. I am overwhelmed by all good stuff. None of this is bad. It is all good. I am pinching myself every day about how well things are going. But yes … you can have too much of a good thing.
Skate Skiing: My Unexpected Core Workout in the Snow
Last week, I found myself in a snowy wonderland with nothing but my skate skis. Far from my usual gym setup, I faced a dilemma: how to keep up with my race training? Refusing to let a little snow stop me, I turned this into an opportunity for an improvised outdoor core workout. Let me tell you, it was an adventure!
Skate skiing, for those unfamiliar, is like the love child of cross-country skiing and ice skating. You glide over snow, pushing off each ski in a V-shape. Not only is it a fantastic full-body workout, but it also particularly targets your core, legs, and arms. I experimented with different techniques:
I played around with intervals, mixing up speed, intensity, and duration. Picture me there, in a landscape of pristine snow, pushing myself in what felt like a “pain lab with a view”. I took breaks, not just to catch my breath, but to soak in the breathtaking scenery and snap a few memories.
By day’s end, I was a delightful mix of exhausted and exhilarated. I had conquered a full-body workout in the most unexpected of gyms. Then off I went to Missoula, rewarding myself with a foam roller session and a much-needed hot shower.
This snowy escapade taught me a crucial lesson: training isn’t about the perfect conditions or equipment. It’s about making the most of what you have, wherever you are. And sometimes, it leads to the most rewarding experiences.
If you are interested in learning more about skate skiing, core workouts, or race training, here are some useful resources that I recommend:
It was an epic match-up in the Bitterroots: me on my trusty fat bike (“Fatty”) and Mo on her sleek skate skis (“Slider”). Our battleground? The Moose Loop at Lolo Pass, graced with just a skiff of snow atop groomed trails. The weather played nice too, adding to the day’s perfection.
As we set off, Slider initially left Fatty in the snow dust. But it was early, and in the world of endurance, anything could happen. Sure enough, Fatty’s rear tire dug deep into the snow, forcing a bit of a walkabout.
Mo, graceful as ever, glided around the Moose Loop.
But the tables turned over the first pass. Fatty, channeling some hidden mojo, slid ahead of Slider.
In the next valley, the two of us found ourselves neck and neck – a perfect tie. Side by side, we traversed the Bitterroots, enjoying the camaraderie as much as the competition.
Climbing the next pass, Fatty unexpectedly pulled ahead. It seemed Fatty had been holding back, conserving energy for this moment. At the top, I pulled over, waiting for Mo to catch up.
As she reached the peak, we both realized something – our shared love for adventure trumped any rivalry. Fatty, ever the thrill-seeker, decided to push on for an extra 10-mile jaunt to Lolo Hot Springs.
At the hot springs, Slider and Fatty reunited. Over burgers, we reflected on the day’s adventure. The verdict? Both Fatty and Slider are champions of the long, wintry journey.
Imagine a perfect summer day, the kind that’s just begging for an adventure. That was our goal on January 15, 2012, when our lodge dreams at Lolo Hot Springs got rerouted, landing us a cozy Sunday cabin instead. But hey, when life hands you detours, you make them epic, right? And so began our Missoula Adventures.
We set our sights on the Rattlesnake Recreation Area, bikes in tow. Me? I was astride my trusty Mukluk, eager for some snow-covered trails. But what awaited us was something out of an April playbook – tall grass and MUD. Loads of it. And there went our plan, slipping and sliding into a muddy mess. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans…
Bike cleaning was definitely on the agenda, but surprise, surprise – my Mukluk was as clean as a whistle when we got back. That’s the thing about these beasts; they tread lighter than your average skinny, even when the trail turns into a muk-fest.
The highlight? Taking the Mukluk up Turkey Run, but in reverse. If you’ve never seen a Mukluk in action, let me tell you, it climbs like it’s got a grudge against gravity. We frolicked through the day, conquering mud and mountains, before pedaling back home.
The perfect end to our impromptu adventure? A classic barbeque and some serious poolside lounging, soaking up the sun and trading stories of our mud-splattered escapades.
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So there you have it – a day that started with plans gone awry but ended with unforgettable memories. Whether you’re biking through mud or just chilling by the pool, it’s all about making the most of every moment. Here’s to many more adventures, whether they go as planned or take a delightful turn into the unexpected! 🚴♂️🌞🍖
Sitting in a friends kitchen at 6 in the morning I realized that I am different. Everyone else is tucked away in their dreamland human comas but I am alone with my thoughts and this little voice that says, “your not normal”. Oh hush, self.
I cant sleep. Maybe it is because I really do only need 5 hours of sleep. Maybe my brain doesn’t know what sleep requirements are and waks me up at 5 to start thinking of what adventure to do today. After an hour of going through the possibilities, riding the Mukluk on the Moose Loop at Lolo Pass, backcountry skiing Crystal Theater, or skate skiing Elk Meadows, I decided to come upstairs. Now here I sit with a bowl of granola.
“Maybe shoot out a blog”, I say to myself and search for ideas. Maybe a blog about a photo. But I have run out of photos and the nocturnal training produces minimal photos during the winter. Maybe I’ll blog about past years and the journey to where I sit now on designer stools in a huge house on Carriage Way in Missoula. Maybe about my trip to Missoula and the big party that followed. Is that why I have a headache?
I read some blogs from Jill Homer but that only adds to my anxiety because she posted a really good one. And with that I decide to give up on writting that award winning blog and just start typing.
But now I am sleepy, tired from all this wonder. I think I’ll go downstairs and snuggle up for a tiny nap. I think I am human after all.
There’s something about the wee hours of the morning that brings clarity. This morning, at 4 AM, I found myself up and at ’em, powering through a core workout. Why? Because today, I’m off to see my sweetheart. But as I pushed through each sit-up and plank, a realization dawned on me – this isn’t something I can commit to every day.
I know, I know. Everyone’s been hyped about my training for this year’s world championships. But here’s the truth: my heart’s not in it. Not like it used to be. There’s a shift in priorities, and I’m here to tell you that it’s okay to change course.
Sorry to disappoint the folks who’ve been following my training journey. The thing is, there are bigger trails to travel in life, trails that lead to happiness and love, not just medals and accolades. So, I’m choosing a different path, one that leads straight to my sweetheart’s door.
Sometimes, love trumps ambition. And that’s a race worth running every single day.
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Today’s tale is a mix of winter wonder, a dash of misadventure, and a sprinkle of human kindness, all set against the backdrop of Bozeman Creek’s picturesque trails. Let’s glide into the story!
The day promised perfection for skiing – the kind of conditions that make you feel like you’re floating on powdered sugar. So, there I was, skis in tow, ready to conquer the groomed trails, but not without a little prelude. As I navigated my way up the canyon, my attention split between the road and the pile of car parts occupying my front seat – remnants of my Beetle’s recent encounter with a bit of roadside trouble.
Then it happened. Just a moment’s lapse in concentration was all it took. Before I knew it, my car lost traction, skidding towards a frozen wall of ice just feet from the parking lot. The impact left my Beetle cozily wedged in a ditch, its front a jumble of light and mangled plastic. But that was it – the only hiccup in what was about to be an otherwise splendid day.
Once freed from the icy embrace (thanks to a kind stranger), I hit the trails. Under the brilliant sun, surrounded by a winter wonderland, my worries melted away. The crisp air, the rhythmic swoosh of skis on snow, the breathtaking scenery – it was therapeutic, a balm for the earlier mishap.
About an hour later, fate had a little twist in store. I crossed paths with the man who had pulled me out of the ditch. “Thanks again,” I said, grateful for his earlier help. His reply was a nugget of wisdom, “Hey, no problem… don’t you wish everything was that easy?” Indeed, wouldn’t that be something?
In the end, despite the rocky start, the day was a win. The trails delivered their promised beauty and peace, and a stranger’s kindness reminded me of the simple joys of human connection. It was a day of contrasts, where a little bump in the road led to hours of smooth skiing under a wide-open Montana sky.
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There I was, in the midst of a blizzard, when I spotted a moose out of his element. The poor creature, more accustomed to soft bogs and willow branches, found itself on a highway, slipping on the icy surface. The road, blanketed with eight inches of snow, seemed to have caught the moose off guard. With visibility near zero, it struggled in front of my car’s headlights.
This scene took me back to a memory in Zion Park, where the footprints in the sand made me think about how our paths, so natural to us, might be alien to the rest of the planet. Yet, here we were, our paths crossing unexpectedly.
Texture
Earlier that day, I was pushing through deep snow on my Mukluk, trying to keep my heart rate in zone 3. The challenge wasn’t just the snow but the icy, rutted conditions underneath. My descent was cautious, marked by sliding sideways and veering off the trail. Each time I went off the beaten path, the deep snow engulfed me, triggering a brief panic. I’ve always had a fear of being buried in snow.
In Zion Park, I had once looked at rock formations resembling drifting snow. I realized then why I’m drawn to dirt and rocks – they pose no threat of drowning, unless, of course, you’ve crossed the mob.
Curves
Two hours into my blizzard journey, my tracks had vanished. The realization hit me late, wrapped in a calm anxiety, like a child who knows they’ve done something wrong. In the open area, I could only guess I was near the last junction above where I’d parked my car. But the relentless snow made it impossible to see. I rotated my 2000-lumen headlamp in every direction, searching for a path, but all I saw was a blur.
This reminded me of a photo I once took in Zion Park. It wasn’t sharp or detailed, but it captured the area’s beauty and colors, much like my current, blurry situation. I remember thinking, “this is a keeper.”
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Continuing on from the post about our accent on Angels Landing today I have some images from a side trip to some kind of pools. Not an ordinary side trip, not for me anyway. Think there was the words reflection or something cool like that in the names. I cant remember but what is so important about names and labels anyway? Specially since this place dosent even exist.
On our journey to Angles landing I noticed a side route and upon coming back down from our jaunt I was leaning towards checking it out. Once down the trail the scenery started to change and as I looked back realized we had stepped into another dimension. Was there really even a path there to begin with? I don’t know but curiosity got the best of me and I didn’t tell my hiking partners of my discovery.
No one noticed that our world had changed and I kept it all to myself. Even when I was taking photos and noticing large reptiles the size of box vans in the valley below. I just directed everyone’s attention to the beautiful foliage until I could get this thing figured out.
The colors were distorted and everything green had become red. Browns became yellow. Like someone colorblind. I didn’t say a word and started to hatch a plan to get us back to our cars … back in another time. I suggested we turn around and with that we headed back to where we began. I feared that when we got back we wouldn’t find the portal.
Suddenly I figured it out and suggested they walk ahead while I get some evening shots. I took my time even while creatures started to reach from the bushes and grope at my ankles. The world was starting to come alive and I had a small chance before we were devoured by this entity. I tried to time my move to the exact spot we had come through the portal. When the time was right I blasted down the trail. I was right, all physics were suspended and my gate quickened until I was traveling at the speed of light. I saw my friends in the distance and my timing was perfect. As I came to them I broke the sound barrier and we stumbled back to our dimension. They noticed nothing and it appeared to them that I tripped and fell. What did I find out? That the perfect speed is being there.
We decided to explore something new on skate skis and since the map at the Bridge Ski Foundation showed a 15 mile loop that would be groomed for skating we planned for a full out assault. My training plan had me doing anything I wanted, including eating bon bons on the sofa. Problem was that a loop this demanding with icy conditions would require the party to begin at the latest noon. We got to one of the access points like around 4ish so our hopes of completing this thing was questionable at best. It was pretty icy but pretty cool and doable considering other places in Montana were looking at dirt and weeds instead of snow.
I am learning that Bozeman has lots of cross country ski opportunity. We got a little off track and ended up at the dam in which we had to use our adventure skills to traverse. Once on the Wet side of the big loop, and back on the course, we zipped down to the car in the darkness (our attempted route). Following up this type of adventure with a soak in the Bozeman Hot Springs is totally mandatory. And that is what we did.
What happens when you mix a 25-hour race with a spontaneous trip to Zion National Park? Pure, unforgettable adventure. That’s exactly what Mo, Jill, and I found ourselves embroiled in. Picture this – sore muscles, relentless enthusiasm, and the majestic Angels Landing ahead of us.
Our pace might have been a tad slower than usual, thanks to the weekend’s biking saga, but the spirit was unyielding. Angels Landing isn’t just a hike; it’s an odyssey. Every step up the massive rock ridge brought new vistas, each more breathtaking than the last. The drama of the landscape unfolded like a nature’s theatre, with us as its humble audience.
Climbing higher, I felt a mix of awe and a tiny bit of terror. The “helper chain” became my best friend, turning my knuckles white. But the views! Each glance back was a reward, a panoramic spectacle showcasing the ridge’s raw beauty.
Remember that tiny speck we saw from above? That was our breakfast… or lunch spot. A little gem that served a meal as memorable as the views. And then, there was ol’ number 99, nonchalantly braving the heights. Wayne Gretzky, is that you in spirit?
Mr. Snowman seemed to relish the scenery too. Who knew snowmen vacationed in Zion? The quirky sights along the way were a reminder of the park’s diverse allure.
Thank goodness for those helper chains, despite their occasional gaps that led to some unexpected tree hugging. The descent was a different kind of drama, akin to getting off a ski lift but with more adrenaline.
A locked potty halfway down? That was a bit of a predicament. The Forest Service might need to tick off some maintenance chores on their list.
The coolest part of the descent? The fridge sections – nature’s own air conditioning. But if I were to pick a favorite, it would undoubtedly be the company. The winding trail etched into the cliff was incredible, sure, but nothing beats sharing these moments with friends.
Zion left an imprint on my heart. It wasn’t just about conquering a trail; it was about the laughter, the challenges, and the shared experience. That’s the essence of adventure – it’s not just where you go, it’s who you’re with and the memories you create along the way.
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Boneshakerbike 