Some things do reflect and come into the center stage when a blanket is thrown over our waking existence. Go out at night and you will see these stars. And since they are the only things in view there are no other distractions.
Distractions like our new bike. Or other people. Or a beautiful scene with many visually pleasurable elements.
Nope, all you see is these twinkling little stars. Look close enough and you can see inside yourself. Like a mirror. For some, it may be blank. But for me, I see endless opportunities.
Tonight I am mesmerized. That is until I fumble the camera and it falls on the bridge of my nose. Ouch!
Before the stay at home order. Who are these fools, living in their van. Having fun. Go home! We’ll just close the parks and trail-heads. We will fix you. Having fun.
Oh, this collage is like a love letter to Mother Nature’s wild side, peppered with snapshots of daring souls hiking and biking across snow-kissed landscapes and jaw-dropping mountain scenes. It’s as if these images are whispering (or maybe shouting), “Adventure is out there!” nudging us to picture ourselves swapping our cozy slippers for some rugged boots and diving headfirst into the great outdoors.
We could dive into the mesmerizing dance between the raw, untamed wilderness and the graceful silhouettes of adventurers carving their paths through it. It’s like watching a ballet where the dancers and the stage are in a constant, thrilling tug-of-war. Or maybe we should chat about the mood lighting provided courtesy of the natural world—how the shadows play hide and seek and the clouds above stage their own drama, setting the scene with those brooding skies and snow-draped peaks. It’s all a bit like the setting of an epic fantasy novel, isn’t it?
This mash-up screams “hunker down mode: activated” – like wrapping yourself in a quilt of the most soul-hugging homemade pizza, the kind of muffins that make you forget the world outside exists, and a path so snow-kissed it could be a holiday card. It’s a visual feast that whispers (or maybe shouts, if you’re hungry) about finding that sweet spot of comfort and indulgence when the great outdoors feels more like a scene from a dramatic survival movie.
You can almost feel the warmth radiating from the vibrant hues and rustic textures of the feast before you, a stark contrast to the serene, almost magical solitude of a path blanketed in snow. It’s the essence of “hunkering down” – that art of cocooning yourself away, be it from a physical blizzard or the stormy weathers of life, in search of those golden nuggets of joy and rejuvenation.
This collage isn’t just easy on the eyes; it’s a deep dive into our collective craving for warmth, sustenance, and a touch of connection, even when circumstances try to play the villain. It’s an open invitation to hit pause, relish in those bite-sized moments of bliss, and cozy up in the sanctuary of our own making.
We’ve been experiencing the Livingston springtime, characterized by its cold weather, wind, and lack of visible ground. One might think that sheltering in place would be the best way to “enjoy” spring here. Yet, we venture outside to see if we can find what we’re searching for. Even though we often return empty-handed, we always come back with huge grins. Cracking open a beer, we’re filled with a sense of happiness. So, what are we doing now? The same thing. What about you?
Just before COVID-19 became a thing we were going forth and moving from adventure to adventure.
Like camping at Carabella and moving out to explore Rock Creek. It was the exact opposite of the shelter in place. Which is where we are now. And it is what we tell the elders. “Don’t you think you should just shelter in place now”? Where are you?
Okay, yeah, I’m gonna say it again. Livingston is whacked in the weather department. So this morning’s walk was in seven degrees and it is April 2nd. Happy birthday, right? OK. I agree. I might bitch a little too much about the weather and then I should change my situation and believe me we are going to. With COVID-19 I should feel lucky to have anything. No, that is just my childhood voice saying it is all my fault and I should always feel ashamed. Screw my childhood.
Just have to get it off my chest. And maybe I’m grouchy because I was up all night thinking about the COVID-19 outbreak.
How many people are supposed to die? It’s crazy. It’s almost like we’re sitting here waiting for death to knock on the door. And then I think about other people that are not as healthy as us. That scares me even more.
I guess to make a coffee then make the most of today.
And be consistently aware of everything that comes in and out of the apartment.
Even if your place is nothing but a winter hell. Making the most of Livingston Montana before the big lockdown of covid19 photos added at https://photos.app.goo.gl/NbvTXTi6a8uSdu7x6
Free boondocking For the one looking For social distancing To keep from intermingling But whoa is me We cannot leave Stuck at home I’d rather be churned loam
Born and raised in Roundup Montana I thought that implied knowledge of winter. But now living in Livingston we are consistently scouring the map to see where the warmest and dries places in Montana are. Many times we find out that Roundup is the warmest and dryest place in the state. What?
So after leaving my birthplace, I went to Billings Montana. Same as above, meaning warm and dry. But even more sometimes. Now keep in mind living in Montana winters are inherently long.
Then I went to upstate New York. While living and racing my mountain bike I considered the winter’s cold but short. Everybody around me thought they were horrible. I found them to last very short. In fact like a month or two. Other than that, it was always in transition and the summers were amazing. Awesome fall in that part of the country.
Although a little bit humid, Connecticut was the same as Plattsburgh but even better. I was able to ride my bike year-round.
But … That’s when my decisions making started to turn for the worse. I decided to move back to Montana. I chose Missoula. Not only because of its art and culture but because along with the Bitterroot corridor it looked, and I was told, to always be the warmer place in Montana. And it was next to the mountains. Mountains are very very important to me. I cannot live anywhere without mountains and so Missoula seems to be the best place.
But then I started to get a little grouchy in Missoula because of the winters. It seemed to be a little bit longer than New England. The worst thing was inversion and clouds. Then I lost track of everything. I moved to Bozeman. Like … what was I thinking?
I soon realized this was the coldest place I have ever lived. The winters seemed to last two to three months longer than even in Missoula. I mean, you only had like three months of summer and even then it wasn’t that warm. We escaped over the pass to Livingston two years ago.
Frolicking up Mill Creek
“Welcome to the sunny side”, was the first and most welcome greeting we got upon arriving in downtown. From there I thought I was in heaven. The summers were hot and the population was low. This little town seemed to be a lot like Missoula.
Then it happened. The winter hit, and at first, it seemed okay. A couple of snowstorms but it melted right away and the whole winter up to March was dry. I thought holy cow this is it. The most awesome place although windy sometimes, haha.
Now after surviving, well, I have to say I haven’t survived the second winter yet and this is the big problem. This year after a couple of early-season snowstorms indeed everything dried off. It was just cold and windy. Which in itself means winter and my body feels weathered to justify.
And then as you go into March you think oh my god Spring is almost here and then it hits it snows every day in March. And if this year is like last year, it will snow until June. So yeah, Livingston seems to be okay until you hit March, but then it’s winters are offset into what other places would be experiencing spring.
I’ll stop right there and say that I am thankful for the people of Livingston. I am thankful for all the sun. And the gravel. I just want to stop the trend. Of moving to messed-up-environments. Maybe go nomad. Like be in sunny and dry during a SHORT winter but then come north to friends and good times.
Well, here’s a bitch for ya. Maybe it is more appreciation than bitch or even a bitchy appreciation. So I’m sitting here doing my daily constitutional as a bluebird sings outside. And I think to myself how much I appreciate spring. The returning birds … Robbins, Bluebirds, and the like.
Here it is. Wow, how nice spring is. How nice? Nice enough that I can’t help but appreciate it. And now I want to savor every tiny second of this moment. But then I think to myself about how last year I was able to appreciate every moment and every second. Seriously, I can remember every second. There weren’t many I admit. But I do remember. I remember warmer bird singing weather and count them on my cold freezing digits.
OK, what’s the rub? As much as I would like to appreciate spring. I know spring is only a moment. The majority of the year is hell winter. Rainy and angry. Mother nature hating the human population. Don’t get me started how she is now going to set things right.
Wow. I wish there was much more appreciation than these tiny precious seconds of happiness. I do appreciate though.
Our #photoalbum over at https://photos.app.goo.gl/NbvTXTi6a8uSdu7x6 is bursting at the seams with snapshots of our wild escapades right here in Livingston, Montana. We’ve got the whole #teammobill crew getting up to all sorts of shenanigans, all documented pre #covid_19. It’s like a treasure trove of “What were we thinking?” moments, immortalized online for eternity.
It’s like I’ve wandered into a scene straight out of a snow globe, except this one’s missing the usual hustle and bustle. Thanks to COVID-19, Livingston, Montana, has transformed into a #ghosttown, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow. I checked out the Instagram link, and let me tell you, those snow-covered streets are both haunting and stunningly picturesque, as if Mother Nature decided to tuck the town in for a long winter’s nap.
Born and raised in Roundup Montan. I thought that was winter. But now as we have lived in Livingston, and in our consistently scouring the map to see where the warmest and driest places in Montana are. We keep finding out that Roundup is the warmest and dryest place in the state.
Billings Montana. Same as above. But even more warm sometimes.
Upstate New York. While living there and racing my mountain bike I was in heaven. I considered the winter’s cold but short. Everybody around me thought they were horrible. I found them to last very short. So short in fact like a month or two. Other than that, it was always in transition and the summers were absolutely amazing. well, except for the humidity and ice.
Connecticut. Same as above but even better. I was able to ride my bike year-round. That’s when things started to turn for the worse. I decided to move back to Montana. I chose Missoula. Not only because of its art and culture but because along with the flathead corridor and the Bitterroots, it seemed to always be the warmer place in Montana. And most importantly next to the mountains. You know mountains are very very important to me. I cannot live anywhere without mountains and so Missoula seems to be the best place. And indeed the winters were not as short as New England, but MAYBE doable.
But then I started to get a little grouchy in Missoula because of the winters. YES, they were a little bit longer than New England, but the worst thing was inversion and clouds. I thought this place was not for me and then I lost track of everything. I moved to Bozeman.
I realized that was the coldest place I have ever lived. The winters seemed to last two to three months longer than even in Missoula. I mean, you only had like three months of summer and even then it wasn’t that warm. We escaped over the pass to Livingston two years ago.
And I thought I was in heaven. The summers are hot and the population was low. And this little town seems to be a lot like Missoula. But when the first winter hit it first seemed okay. A couple of snowstorms but it melted right away and the whole winter all the way up to March it was dry. I thought holy cow this is it.
This is awesome. The only problem was the wind. Now after surviving two. Well, I have to say I haven’t survived the second winter yet and this is the big problem. After a couple of early seasons snow storms indeed everything dried off. It was just cold and windy. Which in itself means winter and my body feels like it wintered.
And then as you go into March you think oh my god Spring is almost here and then it hits and it snows every day throughout the month and into April and May. And if this year is like last year, it will snow until June. So yeah. Livingston seems to be okay until you hit March, but then it’s winters are offset into when normal people would be experiencing spring.
My body’s very messed up. I need to be near the desert but in the mountains. This is not sounding like Montana at all.
Adventure starts with small seeds of curiosity. And maybe a sunny day.
“I wonder if we could get over there?”
She was pointing to the other side of the bay. Supposedly it was state lands, a state park. The bay looked frozen and we had our fat bikes. All the items necessary to go investigate. Four hours later we went on a wonderful adventure.
Just to ensure a respectable amount of energy to pedal a bike with massive tires we put down a couple of really strong coffees and then set ou.
That is when we left Montana. The bays were private so it seemed as if we were marooned on an island. Well, except for the snow and Ice. Other times we were biking the ice chunks of Lake Superior.
Then a crossing of the high plains to end the day. Followed by removing numerous cactus from our tires.
It’s all there folks. Just a little curiosity and sunshine. happens every time.
We arrived mid-day and found a lovely spot. After a much-needed project in the van, I decided to test it out by getting the bikes out of the back. We needed to go for a ride. The wind grabbed the back door and swung it around, smashing it into a picnic table. When I saw the dent I slammed the door shut and cussed my way back to the front. I jumped inside and Mo wondered what was the matter.
“I killed our baby”
The horror flushed over me, our brand new van, big dent, all my fault. I started the van and we pulled out of there. We needed a change of scenery.
We found a nice spot that in hindsight was better than the first. Better yet it was out of the wind.
The day got late and the depression increased. Mo knew I needed to get outside and work it out. We went out to survey the damage.
“It’s not so bad”
I knew she was just trying to make me feel better. I started to walk. And walk. Made it to the end of the peninsula and into a frozen bay. It was the sunset that brought relief. As soon and instinct kicked in. To reach into my pocket to grab the camera. To document the beauty or uniqueness. To share. And to appreciate with Mo the sunset. And I forgot.
Maybe I took a step back to see the big picture. The killing of our baby became a speckle. The world was right again.
What do I think about our trip into the desert for Christmas? It was great.
But really photos describe it better. Now that I’m looking through them and posting them I have to say I’m really impressed.
They just embody the word Adventure where there’s something different around Each corner and with each step. So check them out. They can be found over at my photo album 2019.
On this day in history, let’s take a stroll down memory lane with my captivating blog posts:
Boneshakerbike 