Author: Bill

Sorry everyone I will have to post a race report from last weekend on another day. Today it is important for me to remember something else.

My entire family and not many friends know about my 1 year stint with marriage. Back in 1987 I believe. It has been a long time, I have moved on, and forgotten most of it. I was just barely an adult legally but emotionally more like a child. Shit I WAS a child; and did childish things. The only reason I do remember this relationship is that every November 10th is a special day.

It was snowing heavily outside, a blizzard really. In fact I felt that when I called a cab in the middle of the night they would just laugh at me. But my wife Ronda and I made it to the hospital in Billings Montana and began a REAL long childbirth process. She did well and Melinda Kay Martin was born. I exited stage left by passed out cold due to not eating or sleeping for like 16 hours.

Within a years time there was a divorce and I tried like hell to win it all back. Didn’t work out. First there was visitation, then a weekly visit, to a monthly report, yearly update, and finally total disconnection. That’s the short ugly story but there is more to it. This is not the proper place for that because it takes away from my intentions to remember this special day.

I disclose this because I cant just say “Happy Birthday to my Daughter” without some explanation. Too many people would loose their jaw as it drops onto the floor. But I would like to say it. And I need to disclose some hidden things in order to move forward. After all this year I have learned to start opening up. And of course in case this post is discovered one day.

Happy birthday Mindy.

Today I am headed out to 25 Hours of Frog Hollow. I plan on trying to blog stuff during my trip but maybe not during the race but you never know. In any case follow my site, Twitter, or Facebook. The organizers are also going to post updates at http://www.facebook.com/Froghollow.races.

The past four months have been a rollercoaster. The Butte 100 reshaped my views on life and racing, leading to new connections and self-discovery, followed by a return to reality. Now, I’m reverting to my solo, racing-focused self: cold, calculating, and all about enduring pain.

Racing, to me, is a microcosm of life’s struggles. And this is just a prelude to sharing overdue photos from a pivotal race.

At Pierre’s Hole 100, I took a different approach by starting slow, only to be met with intense pain midway. A month before, a night of deep conversation with a friend left me restless and distracted. Despite feeling out of sorts, I was convinced to race the PH 100, showing up emotionally raw.

For three laps, I mechanically moved through the course until a moment of clarity forced me to a halt. Overwhelmed, I finally acknowledged my feelings out loud, a breakthrough after years of emotional detachment. This catharsis unleashed a surge of energy, leading me to finish strong and win a belt buckle. For once, I truly enjoyed the race, racing with all my heart.

This isn’t the start of a love story, but an insight into my recent shift. Life, however, has a way of dulling the new and exposing the harsh. I’m off to Utah for a 25-hour race we had planned to do together, but now, I’ll be alone.

Like with the PH 100, my heart’s not in it, but it feels necessary. This could be my final race. There’s something out there in the desert for me to discover. Whether I can embrace the pain and race solo again is uncertain, but I’ll give it my all.

“I’ll have the pumpkin,” I greeted the server at Big Dipper Ice Cream.

“Oh, that’s good dipped in chocolate,” Julie chimed in.

“Oh! Okay, yeah, let’s do that,” I muttered.

“I’ll have the eggnog,” Julie added.

We sat down and talked about plans for Saturday and some current events. Afterward, we went our separate ways, and I headed to do some grocery shopping.

Later, I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car. As I moved around to get my groceries, I was stopped in my tracks. I turned north, catching sight of a faint outline of a snowy peak in the distance. Above it, smiling down at me, was the Big Dipper. I looked away as soon as it came into focus. My phone was ringing.

It was a long conversation. Some key words were love, hate, sorry, disappointment, relationship, friends, and time. It ended after midnight, but it still felt too short for everything I needed to say. I heard things that made me feel good, that reopened some doors I thought were closed. The call ended abruptly, just as it had started. I didn’t get a chance to say what I wanted and stared at the phone with disappointment. Finally, I grabbed the grocery bags and went inside.

“I miss you,” I whispered into the frosty night air as I looked up at where the Big Dipper had been. It was gone, seemingly vanished. My words floated out in a misty cloud and faded into the darkness.

MITower is a section of the RMVQ in leg 4 and provides some of the steepest continuous grades in the ride.  These are the men and women of Missoula and how they deal with the steep grade of life. Thump … thummmmmmm.  Ok so envision that stupid TV show Law and Order (had to ask a co worker the name of it).

Last night the Missoula Thursday Night Ride went over to Turah and back via the Deer Creek Sneak. It was a great ride, long, and with multiple surfaces and terrains. Numerous times I was able to ride with others and even by myself with the lights off reflecting on current events, specifically events of the heart. It was one of the best TNR rides of the fall season.

During the ride there were multiple opportunities to confide in a god friend and got some great support and advice. The advice was remarkably simple. Don’t give up, keep an open mind, don’t sweat the small things, and don’t tackle everything at once. Great advice for most everything in life. Much like in leg 4 of the RMVQ last weekend.

Leg 4 starts at the Lincoln Hills parking area for the Jumbo trail system. IT runs up over Jumbo Saddle, MITower, around Woody, across the swinging bridge over the Blackfoot River, and down the horse path to Turah.

As I pulled into Aid station 3 and was dimming my lights I heard cheers. Lydia was the aid station director for this stop and she out did herself from the last one (where she took charge). Everything was laid out and when I stepped off the bike she immediately cleaned and lubed my chain. Lydia you are awesome! Also Norman was there after completing the first two legs and a personal PR. He still had enough left to come up and cheer me on and that is really cool in my books. Tom and Jason were there taking notes and photos for an upcoming article. It was awesome and I was impressed by the attendance on this crucial stop.

In front of me was a daunting task. I had just come off a leg that surprised me and left me frazzled. Just as I was feeling last night I was skeptical about whether I wanted to continue. But just like last night’s advice from Jill I headed off into the night refusing to give up.

I kept an open mind and didn’t think about the steep climb up MITower as I crested Jumbo and descended into Marshall Canyon. Then the climb began. First on logging roads which gave away to grassy pathway. As I crossed the stream at the bottom of the hard pitch to the top I started to recall all the small things that I needed to do before I topped out on the climb. I started to get that feeling of doom.

Again (see the theme here) like last nights advice I decided to not sweat the small things. So what if it got muddy and I had to walk. So what if the pitch got unbearable and I had to stop to catch my breath. So what if the top included loose rocks. For the moment I would tackle these small things one at a time. So I stopped thinking about all the obstacles and before I knew it I was on top.

I posted a Marcy photo on check point 9 and spun off to the East along the side of Woody Mountain. I stopped a moment to text in a tweet that I was about to descent into Bonner and head into Turah. After a exhilarating downhill I found myself at the Swinging bridge.

I got great advice from Jill last night and looking back to the RMVQ I had the tools inside me all along. Thanks Jill. Now I am off to contact someone in Seattle to let her know I am still here, thinking of her, when she needs it the most. Open mind and more adventure …o/o

In the quiet embrace of night, with the city of Missoula a distant glow on the horizon, there are moments that transcend the mere act of cycling, transforming into a profound journey of connection, challenge, and remembrance. Last night, as I glanced across the street, a familiar smile found its way to my face, ignited by the sight of a dear friend. This friend, unlike any other, has been a steadfast companion through the highs and lows, a silent witness to moments of heartbreak, decision-making, and triumph over fear. Simple yet profound, connected to nature, and embodying the originality and beauty that ties me to the very essence of what I love. This friend, in spirit, shares a bond with the Alaskan flag, symbolizing freedom, adventure, and the wild that calls to me.

Our latest rendezvous unfolded during the third leg of the RMVQ, an epic journey that promised more than just physical exertion—it was a pilgrimage to the heart of what it means to ride, to explore, and to honor. The Rattlesnake Trailhead was our meeting point, a congregation of familiar faces and kindred spirits like Alden, Sally, Julie, Laurie, Lydia, Tom, and others whose names escape me but whose presence was felt all the same.

Lydia, with her instinctive grace, tended to my bike and nourishment, becoming an anchor of support in a sea of exhaustion. Tom, camera in hand, captured the essence of our journey, discussing the merits of nocturnal ascents with a passion that mirrored my own. Julie, undeterred by a broken camera, borrowed mine to freeze a moment in time, a precursor to the challenge that lay ahead—a nocturnal date with Sheep Mountain, a test of will and endurance that had beckoned me all summer.

The ascent was immediate, a confrontation with the mountain that knocked me from my bike and set the tone for what was to become a battle not just against the terrain but against my own limits. The setting sun’s last rays on Sheep’s face were a missed appointment, a reminder of the shifting priorities that this ride demanded. My plan, to pace myself for the duration, fell away as Sheep called my hand, pulling me into a reckless expenditure of energy, riding with a vigor that belied the hours already spent in the saddle.

Pain became a constant companion as I misjudged a step and collided with my bike, a jarring reminder of the mountain’s unforgiving nature. The “real” climb, under the cloak of darkness, was a world apart, its menacing beauty a stark contrast to the daylight’s warmth. Every switchback, every attempt to ride, brought me closer not just to the summit but to an understanding of what this journey represented.

And then, there it was—my friend, the Big Dipper, hanging overhead, a beacon in the dark, a reminder of the constants in our lives amidst the chaos of our challenges. At the summit, I paid tribute to Marcy, leaving a part of her amidst the wilderness that had tested and taught me so much. The descent, a rapid flight through singletrack back towards the lights of Missoula, was a cathartic release, a final stretch that brought me closer to understanding the battle on Sheep Mountain.

It wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about the journey, the moments of connection with the land, the night sky, and the memory of those we carry in our hearts. Far from the aid stations, yet closer to my friend than ever before, I realized that the true victory lay in the experience, in the enduring bonds forged on the slopes of Sheep Mountain, and in the silent conversation with the stars that guide us through the night.

Jill and I had planned a outing that involved mountain bikes and Marshall Canyon. Dave had not responded to a earlier ride request so I pinged him again on my iPhone via a text message.

“I’ll be there” I got back almost instantly. And the plans were set. One more ride in Missoula for Dave and another chance to be with a good dude for us.

Jill, Dave, and I started up the Marshall Grade while I wanted to go deeper into Marshall Canyon.  We were headed to Three Larch and planned to have a optional ride in the Rattlesnake. As we climbed up Marshall Grade I was thinking back to leg 2 of the RMVQ.

Leg 2 is from a place called Kona Bridge and ends up at the main Rattlesnake parking lot. Most of the trails are in the Snow Bowl area and during training I have this loop called Smoking the Bowl.

The Kona Bridge aid station was staffed by Bob Skogly, Sally Wright, and Marta Shattuck. It was nice to see their smiling faces and hearing their cheers as I approached. Bob raised his arms in victory. They told me that the gang was only about 20 minutes up the road. I really wanted to catch up to Dave so I didn’t dally in the pit and took off in hot pursuit.

Climbing went well and soon I ran into Rich. He reportedly blew up trying to stay with Ed, Dave, and Aaron. I left Rich at a junction and he agreed to get through to Rattlesnake before he decided to throw in the towel.

I finally met up with the boys at the aframe on top of the Beargrass Highway. I approached Ed, Aaron, and Dave.

“I am going to miss you”, I mumbled and I gave Dave a man hug (the ones that are usually one arm and some sort of back pat). We chatted about what lies beyond the Rattlesnake and I wished them well and hoped that they would do the next leg.

I ripped the Beargrass Highway in like 7 minutes. Whizzing past Ross Brown who was ridden up snow bowl to meet up with all the RMVQ(ers). Next I was buzzing up to the Ravine Trailhead. I saw Rich’s support Marta and friends as I quickly started up the next climb. I stopped momentarily to tell them Riche’s situation and to root him on. Ravine didn’t take long and soon enough I was at the Main Rattlesnake parking lot.

And my day dream ended as we turned up a switchback and towards the top of Three Larch. Tonight was a perfect example of what I meant up there last weekend on top of the Beargrass Highway.

Another rider came into view as the sun started to set. It was Ed. Our group of 3 turned to 4 and we proceeded down the Three Larch Trail. We found and “re situated” the log across the trail. We finished the ride down the Sidewinder Family and hit the Bridge Pizza place. We talked late into the night, said our good byes, and dispersed home.

“How was your ride last night”, my boss asked as he gestured to the pile of clothes on my office floor. I quickly picked up the clothes. I had ditched all my work clothes last night to put on my cycling gear for a ride after work.

“Must have been pretty good … your late again”, he added.

“It was great. The ride turned out awesome. We went 15 miles up the Rattlesnake Corridor and back. Then we went to the pizza shop with mud on our faces and chain oil on our hands to enjoy a post ride reflection. It was ….”

“OK, we need to get some stuff done today”, cutting me off as I rambled on about my great evening.

I came back to reality. I am at work and need to focus to the day at hand. I came back to my desk and started the computer. As it booted up my mind drifts off.

Yesterday was rainy, real rainy for Missoula.  I figured it was a good day to do laundry and rebuild the Turner for the upcoming RMVQ. My friend Jill expressed interest in going for a ride. I was a little surprised. It was raining outside and rather heavily at times. I found myself excited for a ride in the rain and suggested the Rattlesnake Corridor. Plans to meet after work were made and at lunch I rode home to switch bikes and grab a bunch of cycling gear.

Rattlesnake corridor is the beginning of the hardest leg of the RMVQ. As Jill and I rode up and into the Rattlesnake Valley I remarked that what we were doing is the first part of the Sheep Mountain leg.  A good night ride up there could be beneficial to dial in my lights and get used to the rocky jeep trail at night.

It did not rain at all in fact the evening turned out perfect.  The corridor was filled with damp weather and low lying clouds but that made for a beautiful ride. It all felt so good. Crisp fall air, turning trees, and a new friend that didn’t mind lengthy rides in the rain. Not only that but Jill actually enjoys these types of rides.

We made it past the Franklyn Bridge and up to the Sheep Mountain Trail. We stopped to reflect on the effort it would take to climb up Sheep backwards in the evening. In fact when I enter into this trail this Saturday it might just be the same time of day. We talked about the challenge this would be and my past experience on this mountain. We both agreed it would be hard but without words knew it is what we wanted to do.  Jill is not able to do the ride this year but is thinking of next year.

“I would not mind going farther”, Jill said.

Music to my ears. We rode up the toughest pitch of the ride and stopped at the upper wet lands overlook. I shined my lights around in the fog to see if I could spot any large animals.  Nothing stirred. I put on my headlamp and we started blasting back down towards town. The valley was beautiful as the low clouds wrapped themselves around the canyon walls.

The ride back into town went way to fast.  Before we knew it we were riding the path along the river in town. I felt so relaxed and just wanted to be riding all night.  Unless … a stop at the Bridge Pizza is in order. And the evening ride ended with mud on our faces and chain oil on our hands munching down slices of pizza.

I hope there are more evenings after work like this. For now I must focus on the ride at hand. It is the 3rd RMVQ this weekend and tomorrow I have to have all the details worked out. It’s crunch time.

I apologize for my metaphors and vagueness over the past couple months but I wanted to focus on my journey through life and how my adventures mold them. I don’t want to focus on the who and what but the overall big picture. Dealing with deep emotional feelings and how friends and adventure can help overcome life’s difficulties.

This weekend I became centered. This is a set of short blogs (ramblings) that I did with my iPhone when I had a chance. Enjoy the photos 🙂

I spent the weekend up in the Tobacco Root Range with my friends. Our main goal was the  Curly Lake Highline trail.

This is the first time I have spent time there and I soon fell in love with it. It was a good place. A beautiful place. A place of healing. A place that puts things in perspective.

Saturday Morning, 6 a.m.

I cant sleep. I have been  up for an hour now and I have Seattle on my mind. I left my place of slumber for a walk outside in the crisp mountain air. The creek is rushing behind me. Rushing it’s way out of the 10,000 foot mountains that surround me. The silver moon is just enough light to illuminate the landscape.

My mind drifts to Seattle and my need to come to a understanding about my relationship with it. I know I will not permanently move to Seattle but do I continue to commit myself to it’s future? Do I try and step back to leave it as it was, a beautiful place that I could visit  … or not. To step back means to turn my back on it for a while until it just becomes another city again.

I can’t continue to stand here under the big dipper and look west. It’s not fair to myself and others.

Of course Seattle is just a metaphor for a person who lives there but it symbolizes the very thing that separates us.   It’s distance away and it’s established existence from where I stand. Under the stars in Big Sky Country.

Sunday Morning, 6 a.m.

Once again I am up early. Once again the Big Dipper is off my left shoulder. The creek is the prevalent sound and the 44 degree temperature bites into my fingers as I type this out with my thumbs on my iPhone. This time I feel much better and at the same time a little ragged from a weekend of mountain biking, campfires, and contemplation by the creek.

Yesterday’ ride on the Curley Lake Trail was the most spiritual and mental clearing ride I have ever taken. It is also the best loop I have ever ridden. This one ranks up there with the Fisher Creek Ride near Stanley Idaho.

After the ride the food was good. The Double Haul even better. The pivotal moment of the weekend happened by the stream as I relaxed. I was alone with the sounds of the creek clearing my mind and the visual stimulation of rushing, tumbling water soothing my soul. My mind was drifting to the two things that was ripping at my heart like scavengers do to a new carcass.

In the end I realized that I  am helpless against the forces of life and that the best course of action would be to just let go. Let go and stop feeling like I somehow have any power to control things. Like my friend Lucy says, “let go or be dragged”.

I released and drifted off. Thinking back to the ride earlier in the day. It started off climbing up this beautiful fall colored valley and continued to climb through diverse terrain. Much like the last couple months it had moments of beauty and moments of fun ripping downhill. Downhill which is fun but always a little chaotic.

I rode up and over high mountain passes that resembled my late summer highs. Being in such high places gives a person a different and sometimes overwhelming perspective.

It was beautiful and I fell in love with this place high in the Tobacco Root Mountains. In the last 10 plus years I have come to believe that I was not capable of love but the last few months have taught me otherwise.

I sat there by the creek almost nodding off now when a fury creature brushed up against my side. It was Sadie my friends dog. She looked into my startled eyes and re assured me that she understood. I hugged her and thought back to my last dog Marcy who next week I honor in the RMVQ.

My mind returns to the day’s ride. I climbed to 10,000 feet and stood looking out over the twenty other ten thousand foot peaks.  I have never been to 10,000 in my life until this year. I reflected upon my last stint at high altitude and new friends that I was with. “I wish you were here”, I whispered into the wind.

Sadie left my side and returned to the group at the campfire as I stayed, alone, and I drifted back to today’s ride. When I rode off the top of the mountain I was not aware that I was about to ride some of the best single track of my life. Through open alpine tundra and around scary switchbacks on the side of scree strewn cliffs. Twisty wooded trails and by numerous waterfalls. It was more then I could ever dream of in a trail.

The water rushing downstream refocused me to the present and as the consistent sound kept me in the moment I realized that from this weekend forward I could be in store for some of the best times in life. Just as today’s ride turned out.

I got up and returned to the group sitting around the campfire. Ready for a future that may hold some more of my greatest experiences. I am ready to let go and let life take it’s course. It will most likely turn out more then I expected.

Sunday Evening 1 p.m.

I was running in my new shoes and they were terrific.  I rounded switchbacks and stammered up climbs. I ran down and then up. Continuing up until I suddenly became aware that I had to be back at the trail head to get a ride back to my car. My friends and I climbed to an alpine lake. On the way back I felt I needed to run. Alone.

I ran back to the trailhead and then up Lost Cabin Trail. I lost track of time. I thought about what I had to do before the day ended. I had to pack and drive back home to Missoula. But that is not all. I needed to let someone know that I was stepping back and centering. Instead of obsessing over the things I can not change I need to let go. Let go of someone.

I stopped running and just stood there. I breathed deep and took in the forest which seemed to be giving me advice. I turned and ran back down the trail to catch my ride.

Now at my car I begin my journey homeward.  I have things to do.