The last time we were in Missoula we stayed at some friends house that had this puzzle on the counter. We took the bait and had a tough time with it. We persevered though and after wondering if they set this thing out to see if we would go crazy. The damn thing just had a dozen pieces but was difficult because each one just had one color while some had markings that did not run into others. So no matchups. I turned them all over and completed it rather quickly using the grain in the wood. Cheating, maybe, but I needed to move on.
Now we are moving and it’s all a big puzzle again. Just going through and throwing unnecessary stuff away takes time. I feel like we have been at this puzzle long enough and have started just tossing everything away. Moving into a smaller space us such a great purge. You only take what you need. You match up your lifestyle with the things you need to sustain it. Bikes, parts, and gear. Disregard everything else. Don’t look at the color but its function. It is apparent to me that I just need a bike and the internet.
I have an interesting idea. And this goes along with our goal to live a downsized life. Like those that live in tiny homes. We could go to the extreme. What about miniaturizing ourselves and everything we own? I think the rent on a mailbox is like so cheap, right? If We Shrunk Ourselves and lived in our own mailbox at the post office perhaps then that would be so economical. So that’s pretty extreme. And really, we haven’t figured out how to shrink ourselves yet. I might be wrong.
But that ties in with what I was thinking about today. The question from snuggles was, “what happens when we do a Costco run? ”
—pausing to learn. Can someone tell me how to punctuate quotes? ‘?”‘ or ‘”?”‘ — oh wait I am not done, how do I punctuate pausing?—
That is true. If our apartment is only 400 square feet then how the heck will we bring groceries in and not clutter up the place? This is why we are renting a storage unit. When we come back from the store we store things in the storage unit. And keep things simple in the apartment. Like a small warehouse. Makes us feel important to say that we need to check the warehouse.
I mean this is truly just another adventure. I have done Adventures like this and now I have a toolset for such undertakings. But the living in a 400 square foot tiny space… Bring It On. And bring on the sunny side of the pass.
Not much time to express me lately. I like taking photos and sharing experiences. And boy are we in an experience right now.
Purging and downsizing to live in a 400 square foot studio in downtown Livingston. At first, it is easy to throw away those tires you have been keeping. But then you start getting to the stuff like sentimental photos and trophies and stuff like that. And that’s okay too … I can throw that stuff away. But then you get down to five bikes. Three for Snuggles and two for me. Don’t get me wrong, I would find a use for at least 10 bikes. But getting it down to two was rough, and I think it’s working out. But now the purge down to a 400 square foot apartment means getting a storage unit just for the fat bikes maybe. And just, well, stuff like that.
So that’s what we’re doing now and we have a week to do it. Mo starts in Da Park next week and I’ll be on my own without a car for a little tiny bit. Then when she comes back we get our U-Haul and move out. So it’s up to me to get everything ready and in piles. Hopefully will be down to a bed and a desk and that is it. Oh yeah, and all the coffee making equipment we can fit into our 3×6 kitchen.
So yeah not much time to express lately. Not many photos and not many words come to mind when I sit down to do a Blog. So that is where we’re at and I’ll see you on the sunny side, what Livingstonites say to people from Bozeman. You see it’s much sunnier on the Livingston side. Yeah, maybe windy all the time. But definitely a step towards less winter. And that’s something I can live with.
All winter we have been working our way up Gallatin Canyon trying all the snowmobile routes. We bought a snowmobile pass … why not use it? Add to that our complete lack of what others call SPRING. Our last stab was Moose Creek and this time we set our eyes on Portal Creek up to the Windy Pass trailhead.
Since these days spring does rear its beautiful head every now and then we wondered if the trail was even being used any more. After some trouble figuring out where to park we discovered that the trail was still actively being used. So yippee. Although a lack of grooming meant huge fields of whoop-tee-doos. Which is fun in their own way while coming down. Think enduro doubles practice.
So far this year we have had good luck hitting these trails just after a groomer had set things up. This time, however, we were riding on pure snow machine pack. Down low it was not too bad, but when gaining altitude it got soft and slow. Did I mention gaining altitude? Yea, lots of climbing. Maybe in the summer, one wouldn’t think so but on fat bikes, it was “holy cow”.
The day was disappearing and we started to lag a bit when finally topping out at the trailhead. So really a great place to turn around. Plus it was pretty much where we would drop to the other valley anyway. The Windy Pass trail is absolutely banned for bikes, not that I care. But it was time to turn around and the big trailhead sign was in a snow well. Still, the snow is so freaking deep … it’s incredible.
A couple shots of our surroundings then it was time to bomb down the hill. We dropped our seats and pointed it down. Nothing happened. I shifted up. Damn, it looks like we’ll have to pedal out. By the time I started to wonder about our exit time the bike started to roll a bit and soon I was careening down the route from which we climbed.
I practiced doubles until I was exhausted. Well, what really happened is that I nearly landed one wrong and almost shot off a steep hillside. I calmed things down so we could leave this place without donating any blood.
A pretty uneventful day doing what we must to get through this damn long winter. Spring still not certain, and with us moving out soon … I wonder if we will even see the ground before we head to Livingston. It’s snowing out as I write this.
Our plump-tire escapade through Gallatin Canyon? Just our typical Saturday shenanigans. Me, chasing Mo’s shadow on a snowmobile trail—yeah, she’s surprisingly zippy on ABBA, her bike. Living it up, youth on our side, for now. Catching glimpses of those majestic cliffs, I sneak ahead, turning into a hide-and-seek champion, all to capture her in action. And off she zooms!
So, there I was, flipping through a series of snaps from what could only be dubbed “The Great Moose Creek Fat Bike Expedition.” Picture this: a bunch of adventurers (us, really) tackling the untamed wilderness on bikes that look like they’ve been hitting the gym way too hard. These aren’t your regular two-wheelers; oh no, these fat bikes are the monster trucks of the biking world, built to conquer anything from fluffy snow to squishy sand.
Each photo is like a postcard from Winter Wonderland, with trails that meander through a snowy forest that could easily double as a setting for a holiday movie—assuming the movie featured cyclists instead of sleighs. The scenery’s a knockout, with evergreens wearing snow caps like they’re going out of style and rocks peeking through like nature’s own sculptures. And the riders? From lone wolves navigating the trails to cozy clusters of bikes taking a snow nap, every shot tells a tale of chilly adventure.
Then there’s this one frame that’s pure mystery—a lone set of animal tracks crossing the path. No bike, no person, just the silent whisper of some unseen creature’s passage. And just when you think it couldn’t get any more Instagram-worthy, boom! The grand finale: a selfie that captures the essence of the day, with two grinning souls and their trusty steel steeds, all set against a backdrop that could make a mountain goat weep with joy.
Ah, the elegance of life’s simple joys. There’s Mo and I, basking in the glow of romance—our evening painted with the strokes of a sumptuous dinner, the whisper of wine, and the flicker of candles casting shadows that dance to the rhythm of our laughter. From the cozy confines of intimacy to the exhilarating freedom of the great outdoors, where the crisp air kisses our faces as we glide on fat bikes over a frost-kissed crust.
Imagine the delight of discovering a quaint local spot, where the aroma of freshly baked pizza fills the air, a prelude to tracing our own paths on a frozen lake. The bike tires spin, etching a story of adventure on the icy canvas beneath us.
Then, there’s strapping on skis, hand in hand with Mo, as we carve our way through untouched snow, each turn a discovery, each breath a treasure. Together, we explore, venturing into the heart of winter’s embrace, where trails await—unseen, untouched, and teeming with the promise of new memories.
And so, to the roads less traveled, to the trails that beckon with the mystery of the unknown. Here’s to the finer things—love, adventure, and the endless pursuit of moments that turn into memories, etched in the heart forever.
On this day in history, Back in the mystical land of ’04, I found myself perched on the edge of destiny, with the “2004 EFTA Race Schedule” in hand. Picture me, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to etch my name onto the unforgiving terrain of cycling lore..
We are not supposed to be here. Especially when you look at how this year has gone so far. Bikepack trips to cabins have been unsuccessful with no real big adventure outside of some trips locally. So it was no big surprise to wake up at 6 am yesterday to read about the winter weather warnings. Togwotee Pass expecting 3 days straight of heavy snowfall. And all the major passes were expected to close. High winds and drifting snow prompting officials to recommend staying at home this weekend. Still, we had to try.
Inside the lodge, it was cozy and warm.
I climb through the deep snow away from my bike propped against a huge bank alongside the highway. I am hiking away from the lodge. Away from comfort and warmth. I can barely see where I am going. I trudge on. I don’t know how far I want to go but I just want to get some intel on Snuggles. My hopes are high she is only 30 minutes at the most behind me. I am now hiking backward on the trail and decide to reach the next high point to access. I need to see if anyone else is going to make it. If Snuggles will make it.
So yea, obviously we set out anyway yesterday. We agreed that if we hit bad weather we would check the box of “trying” and turn around. Turn around and go home. AGAIN! It looked as though we would at least get to Enis and if we did we at least had Norris Hot Springs as a consolation prize. Arriving at Enis we could see the dark storm front to the South. Still, no drifts and the roads looked good so we trudged on. 5 miles out we hit the storm and the visibility went to zero.
The start of the race
Back to the moment at hand. I have finally reached the apex of the hill after a exhaustive wade through deep snow. I joined another who I assumed was a race official. In fact, she is someone doing what I was doing. Peering into the white distance for any trace of a fatbiker on the horizon. We saw nothing. She was also in constant contact with someone back at the lodge giving updates on anyone lucky enough to make it thus far. 3 small dots appeared. One was snuggles I think. I am so elated.
Yesterday around this time I was just looking for a turn around spot. Drifting snow across the road and the visibility was poor. We just kept the vehicle pointed in what looked like the least amount of resistance. Which is the road, without stopping and losing momentum. Things got a little better and we made it to the Quake Lake Junction. We pulled over and peered at the weather reports and highway maps on our phones. It looked like Island Park would be the worst but if we could get through it would be doable at least to Teton Pass. There we could stop in at friends and ask for a spot on their floor for the night. We went for it.
We want one of these
As little dots became fatbikers, or I should say fatbike pushers, it became apparent that snuggles may indeed be approaching. I got word that if she survived she could get second or third. We cheered them up the hill. I took a photo and then my smile started to flatten out. Something was not right. They crested the hill exhausted … it was not her. My eyes darted to the horizon. Nothing.
We should have never been here, should have never pushed over Island Park. At one time after an hour of white-knuckle driving, we were stopped for a bit. The highway temporarily closed because trucks could not make it up the hill from Ashton. Once in there, we were confident we had made it through the worst. The Idaho Highway Map put the route to Tetonia as dry and completly clear. 10 miles from Ashton we were hitting drifts as high as our headlamps. AGAIN, no choice but to bust forard and not loose momentium. It was a long journey through Idaho’s potatoe fields. With the help of other trucks ahead we all worked together. We finally made it to Tetonia. On to Teton Pass. Still, we did not think we would get to Togwotee not to mention Lava Mountain Lodge.
A rare appearance of the sun
And now standing on top of a hill in a complete whiteout fear was washing over me. My partner was out there in an unfamiliar place. A place that I was accustom to, maybe even yearned for. Trudging forward in a blizzard. The winds drifting in snow and covering all tracks 10 minutes after someone else had busted through. Icy winds that lashed out at exposed skin. Another fatbike pusher came by and stood there with us. I needed to go back but would wait as long as these other gracious people wanted to hang with me. I needed to organize a snowmobile rescue. Why were we here?
Yesterday cresting the Teton Pass behind a line of slow moving vehicles it became apparent that we might indeed make it to our destination, Lava Mountain Lodge. If we could just get there then we could hunker down and wait for the first opportunity to get back home. We were thinking 3 days. I would call work and tell them we were stranded. Not an excuse this time. Actually stranded. We were in this pattern. Make a pact to turn around, failing to do so, and then coming up with another pact. And this morning waking up to buried vehicle snuggles and I made another. Let’s just go to the lodge and see if they were going to still hold the race. At the very least we would see if the pass was still open and get intel. If things seemed bad we would just make it back to the lodge and wait out the storm. To make things even more possible the plow truck went by as we gazed out the window of the cabin while sipping coffee.
The slog about an hour into the race
“That biker down there is that a female”, I asked the person that had just showed up.
“Yes, we have been workg hard togehter but she just vanished behind me”, he stepped off the top and decended out of sight.
This morning we learned that the race was on but the it was a short out and back. Should just be a fun ride with frineds. We started by walking for a while. At one time I looked up and pointed out that the leaders were only “out there”. All attempts at riding didnt turn out well. On the downhills we were able to ride and a path started to form. I was used to having just a singletrack to ride so I rode more and more. By the turn around point, I had ridden 60% of the route. I was exhausted though and looked forward to getting back. Snuggles, only 15 minutes behind me as I started to bomb back. I had a tailwind and was excited to enjoy the downhill back to the lodge. 7 miles to go. When I passed her she looked like the back of a semi-truck that had just been through a storm. Her chest was crused white ice and could only muster “snuggles” but without a wavering focuse to the trail ahead. No stopping just a death stare.
Togwotee always has deep powder
The dot grew closer. I could tell it was slow going and finally, I could see the color of her coat. It was her this time. I was sure of it. Someone yelled, “she is running … holy shit”. To me, it looked like a survival technique. To stay warm against the deadly wind. To survive one must keep going. And most importantly keep warm. A run could keep the embers alive.
Earlier I figured she would make it because with the tailwind and … all downhill, easy, right? 4 miles out it all came crashing down. A wall of darkness enveloped me and one moment I was riding then another I plowed into deep snow. The wind picked up and I couldn’t see where I was going. No more riding. From here it was just finding the trail -marking poles one at a time. I joined a group of 5 and the saying was that together we could do this. The trail … it was down there somewhere. An hour later I stumbled into the lodge. A ghost-white figure with encrusted snow and ice. I sat down to peel off the layers and rejoice in the fact it was over.
Snuggles finishing strong
Snuggles was on the last climb but alone she struggled. It did not look like her. It was a survivor. No smiles. Only a wave as to stay that she was still alive. I couldn’t stay at the lodge when I knew she was out here. Shivering at the top of this climb I knew our journey was about over. And the joy, love, and happiness only made sense that we had done it together. The weekend was not another failure but an epic journey. When shesteppedd on top of the last climb we had successfully made it togehter.
“Meet you at the lodge, your doing great, yahooo …”, she dissapered into the trees.
We have a lot of history at Togwotee. Ever since we have been together, snuggles and I, we have attended this race. At the worst travel time of the year … and in the harshest wintery place in the lower 48. Togwotee Pass. If you know it you will know what I am saying. I have eeked out a win twice but this year may be more about survival. Snow is expected as well as cold temps with a slight wind.
2016: Spot Watching – As Mo climbs the hill I feel rushed. My partner climbs pretty quickly but today I was out front.
2013: Coming Soon – To a browser near you. I am moving my web site to a WordPress platform.
2012: More of this – The memories of this winter give clues to my summer’s plans.
2012: Head count – Ahhhhh, the sun. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take stock over my kingdom.
2011: New Turner for 2011 – I don’t know who started calling my coffee cup “Black Betty”.
2010: Spring Training – I interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you breaking news.
2008: Unattached From City Brew – Good morning. The weekend is finally here as well as rain, snow, and high winds.
2007: Cooking In The Dark – I was up this morning enjoying a cup of coffee and planning my day.
2006: Web Site Problems – FutureHosting.Biz is the company that hosts this site.
2006: Web Lodge Gets Free Rent – A curious entry with a hint of adventure and a dash of mystery.
2005: Back From Lolo Peak Ridge – Last Saturday my friend Alden and I took a snow shoe up the East Ridge of Lolo Peak.
2004: New Pictures From Mom – Heads up, readers! Mom’s latest photos are up in the “Buckey’s” section, found under “Life in Yuma.”
2004: New Batteries – My mom just got a new charger and I checked into it. It appears to be a great new technology.
2002: MTB at Brookfield Park Awesome – Hey there, long time no see – or, you know, long time no post! I’m still kickin’, just been swamped with bouncing back from pushing my limits a tad too much and gearing up for a big move.
All my life I have tried to get better at change. Specifically, the most brutal change that comes when a goal is not obtainable and the price is turning around. I call it ‘quitting’ but my partner says that it is just a decision. I guess we both agree that they are just setbacks. But what about multiple setbacks?
The first small mishap … errr … setback was a simple valentines dinner date. We were to go big, get sushi or something. But really all we wanted to do was take a pizza pie home and watch some Olympics. So we ordered and received our pie. We got the wrong one. Some kind of hot pepper nuclear one. A foreshadow of the weekend perhaps.
Our goal for the three day weekend was to do … what it is … we do. Fat bike into a cabin. And do it during a winter storm. A storm that promised to produce 30+ MPH winds and temperatures below zero. You know, dangerous-y-ish stuff. Needless to say, I got excited a bit.
Long approach
At one point we stopped and snuggles informed me that she was NOT comfortable with the conditions. High winds had windswept the grassland in sheer ice. My comfort level was good so we decided upon a “take a look at what is around the next corner” approach. As I went around that corner everything vanished. A black cloud scrapped over the ridge and snow started to dump like a Zamboni emptying out. Then the wind gust hit me and knocked me to the ground. I headed back.
The first set of doubts are established
As I approached my partner she knew there was going to be a setback. I told her that if we kept going we needed to succeed. If we didn’t it could turn pretty bad and we could be in grave danger. A mile from the cabin and I just had a bad feeling about it all. We headed back to the safety of our car.
Windy Ridge
And this is where the multiple setbacks start ramping up. I mean it is hard enough to pay for a cabin and then turn around on a three day weekend. Out $70 bucks! Not to mention all the costs of food and travel. As we approached our car it became apparent to me we were not going to be let off the hook so easily. Apparently, we parked on private land. Not just any private land … land owned by one of the top 5 landowners in Montana. Just google ‘Galt‘.
248,023 acres, The land is used for guided hunts and is mainly a cattle ranch. Ties to the MT Legistature. Flew the governor around to help craft some laws on wildlife and land management. A marriage to a heiress to Wellington Rankin’s vast Montana land holdings. On Zinkie’s staff.
Yikes, but are we stupid? Apparently so. We parked there to avoid getting stuck at where the Forest Service’s description of winter approach seemed to suggest. We choose a spot at a point in the road that was 4 lanes wide. Yes, the road was that wide at this junction. And I parked away from any gates … at least that was my goal. But in the ensuing events I learned I parked too close to a gate. Then enter a large front-end loader, like the ones you see in a mining operation. Take that with the mention that they have hauled off others.
And this behemoth was headed to our tiny car. Then enter a large hay hauler stopped in front of our element, blocking the road. After reaching our car we were told we endangered family members I think because of a blind hill. Lots of yelling. Lots of anger. I kept to myself and just wanted to get out of there before they pushed our car off of their land.
Soon we were on our way and headed home. I vowed to never leave the house again. We could no longer see to drive … and now this? We were stuck at the top of a hill in extreme whiteout conditions. I waited for the wind to push our car off the road and braced for the impact.
Couple hours later we arrived home. I figured things had turned around because we did not die.
The next morning the car was dead. The battery had drained and the negative 20 or so temps finished it off by freezing it.
Any more setbacks? I think we are done.
On this day in history, let’s dive into the captivating tales from my blog, each entry marking a unique snapshot of life’s adventures and musings:
2012: Little Bear Creek – An account of a challenging ride to Little Bear Creek, highlighting the unpredictable nature of adventure and the perseverance required to overcome obstacles.
2010: Rebecca In Town – Excitement brews in Missoula as Rebecca visits town, turning an ordinary event into an unforgettable gathering.
2010: Pipestone – Bill dedicates a post to his favorite photos of 2009, starting with “Pipestone,” a captivating image that speaks volumes about friendship and the road less traveled.
2009: Grand Ride in Bitterroots – Bill recounts a grand ride in the Bitterroots, weaving in themes of perseverance, nature’s beauty, and the joy of cycling.
2008: Its Off to Seeley Lake – A narrative about a spontaneous trip to Seeley Lake, reflecting on the excitement and unpredictability of pre-season riding.
2007: I’m No Fake – A candid exploration of authenticity and the complexities of human interaction, challenging readers to reflect on their own experiences.
2004: Pentagon to Cancel Comanche – A post discussing the Pentagon’s decision to cancel the Comanche helicopter program, offering insights into military procurement and policy.
2004: New Poem in Literature Menu – Bill shares a new poem dedicated to his mother, blending personal reflection with artistic expression.
2002: What’s Up In Plattsburgh? – A light-hearted investigation into the quiet happenings of Plattsburgh, showcasing Bill’s curiosity and engagement with his community.
2002: Psycho – A chilling recount of a late-night call from an ex-girlfriend, opening a window into the darker, more mysterious aspects of life and relationships.
A young tree has fallen. Kind of an accident. A creek has eroded the bank that this tree has put roots into. Going by the scene one can not help but root for it. Eventually, the outlook is bleak but you see the struggle and feel a connection. You identify with it. In the mists of a battle for life, it seems the creek itself is trying to finish it all off and bring the little starter down. Ice has formed and the current of the creek is now tugging the tree from the bank. I know it all fits together; Survival and destruction. The creek a bully, the tree it’s victim. Struggle against bullies. Go on adventures and live. Continue to struggle. Otherwise, the balance will be off. And the Bullies win.
Dive into these snapshots of life’s adventures, from musings on the simplicity of daily moments to the thrill of outdoor exploration. Each post is a testament to the journey of self-discovery and the ever-evolving adventure of life.
The man in black fled across the frozen valley, and the fatbiker followed.
Drifter
The valley was the culmination of all valleys, huge, standing to the sky for what looked like eternity in all directions. It was white, blinding, frozen, and without feature save for the small, rim of the mountains which drew themselves on the horizon. An occasional trail sign pointed the way, for once the drifted track that cut its way through the thick crust of snow had been a highway. Dog-walkers and hikers had followed it. This place had moved on since then. Everything emptied.
Benched
The fatbiker had been struck by a momentary dizziness, a kind of widened sensation that made the entire world seem fleeting, almost a thing that could be looked at from above. It passed and, like this place upon whose crust he rode, he moved on.
Into the sun
He passed the miles without passion, not hurrying, not slowly. A bag was slung in his frame like a bloated gym bag. It was full. He had progressed through this area over many years, and had reached perhaps another reality. Had he been a recognized fatbiker, he might not have even been cold. He could have watched his own body shiver with clinical, detached attention, warming its crevices and dark inner hollows only when his logic told him it must be done.
When the crust is at its best
He was not of society, however, nor a follower of the known famous, and considered himself in no way social. He was just an ordinary explorer, in other words, and all he could say with real certainty was that he was cold.
Riding crust in the evening
And even so, he had no particular urge to pull his puffy from the bag. In a vague way, all this pleased him. It was what the country required, it was a cold country, and he had in his long life been nothing if not adaptable.
Evening crust
Surrounding the frambag was his bike, carefully weighted to his liking. Flat pedals had been added to each side when they had come to him from his teacher, who had been lighter and not so tall. The tires had a low pressure of 3 pounds to provide maximum purchase. The bike on the snow made subtle crunching noises.
Practicing ratcheting on the ice hill
His pogies, black of night or soul, were open at the wrist, with an elastic rope dangling loosely in machine-punched eyelets. His helmet was gone. So was the cleats he had once worn; gone for years, now just big winter boots.
I need a valid social security card. What? Who has a valid social security card? Is that not the system that has allowed our identities to become so easy to steal?
Sunset
I remember as a kid when I was so proud of my new card. It meant I belonged. I was a part of the greater good. I was a grown up and with my number, I was going to do grown-up things. I proudly kept it in my wallet until so faded it was becoming a problem. Then when I went back to college I was told to destroy that thing because if it fell into the wrong hands I could lose my identity.
Up and over
I was also told to never put that number on any forms and not give it away lightly. So I have kept that number close. Only giving it up when I really needed to. I even went so far as to get an alternative identity card to mask my original. Now someone wants that social security card. Have we not evolved?
Have a seat
And here is the kicker. Anyone can make their own and forge one. How hard is it to open a graphics program and make yourself a social security card? I mean if I were to do that how in the F#$k will the people wanting a photocopy (really …. arg) know you didn’t just do a fake? They cant.
Tire adjustment
It’s illegal … haha. Yea right, they can’t even run the country let alone enforce laws, some ridiculous. I don’t follow laws … I follow my conscience. So f-off those, that care.
Love this, low consequence
I can’t wait until the millennials get into power and start running things. I am sick of living with the old cavemen. Only a matter of time. Tick-toc mother fudger.
The crust is primo right now. And I am not talking about the local pizza shop either. Since moving to Bozeman I have never had good crust this time of year. And usually, it is a spring fat bike adventure when I get to ride with ultimate freedom.
Sunshine in the trees
Of course one does not have to go far when there is ‘the good crust’. Just head out the door and go wherever you have never gone before. On the golf course. Through your neighbor’s yard. Just go … anywhere. But not us. We wanted to grab hold of the moment.
Mo takes a break
We decided upon North Cottonwood for its long approach and ease of climb. And the best of all the wide-open field at the end. This was going to be a hoot.
Contemplating the turnaround… we did not
About 10 minutes into the climb it was discovered that the approach climbs like hell. Combine really cold temperatures with tires inflated to like 5 and you have the ultimate resistance machine. Every incline is an extreme workout. And then you set these stupid goals like riding until you spin out. Well stupid, you have all the traction in the world.
Ruby sits with a mountainous backdrop
And to top it all off we ran out of crust as we went into North Cottonwood Canyon. Just powder. It would have been good to have skied at this point. But then where is the adventure in just turning around for a 5 minute run down some field.
Fisheye
We climbed. Crossed a bridge and really started climbing. The carrot on the end of the pole was that the trail was burned out and the traction was great. And the views … such dramatic views.
The view
We stopped on a huge drift atop a ridge. We could see the entire valley and we were apparently very high.
The trail going over to Johnson Trailhead
Continuing was not in the cards, not on the aspect in front of us. It was deep compressed snow. Maybe even avalanche danger. We snapped out of our adventure stupor and came to our senses.
Slog
“Time to go downhill”
Breaking out
“Yea, time I guess … so much for riding crust all day”
On this Valentines Day in history:
2017: Team MoBill Part 2 – The Investigation – The first in a series exploring the origins and adventures of Team MoBill, tracing back to cryptic posts and a story rooted in 2010.
2014: Meetup – A day filled with anticipation and preparation for a friend’s visit, likened to the excitement of a group ride.
2010: Half Ass – A day where plans fell through, leading to an unexpected dive into troubleshooting a Sports Tracks plugin.
2009: Ghost Town Idea – Proposing an adventurous bike ride through Montana’s ghost towns, combining history with the thrill of exploration.
2008: To Deer Creek and Back – An impromptu cycling and hiking adventure in Pattee Canyon, embracing the snowy landscape.
2008: Deer Creek Snow Sneak – Swapping traditional Valentine’s Day plans for a snowy bike ride up Deer Creek, seeking untouched trails and epic views.
2004: Mount Ellen Vermont – A solo venture into Mount Ellen’s wintry embrace, detailing a challenging hike amidst a Valentine’s Day whiteout.
2002: My Emotional Profile – A reflection on the quest for love and understanding, highlighting the importance of emotional connections and self-awareness.
Each post captures a moment in time, offering insights into my personal journeys, challenges, and the beauty of adventure. Enjoy delving into these snapshots of life’s rich tapestry.
I went to the library with my partner and while she was printing out shipping labels I wondered around. Why not check out some corners of the building that I haven’t seen? I walked to the end and looked out the window. Nothing but cold winter there, yuk. There were sloths staring at their computers. It was quiet down here. I went back and selected a random aisle. I went down it. It seems to just keep going. I noticed that the books were getting bigger and bigger … until they were the size of doors. What? I slid one out, it was on rollers and walked into it.
Oppression
First I had to get over my shock and confusion. But today I was in a special mood and was willing to go with just about anything. I stood in the snow somewhere by the interstate. I could hear the cars, that is why I know. Wait, this was this morning. Not dressed for this I stepped back. There I was back in my isle. I stepped into the book across the way. It said “This morning”.
Overcast with color
Again … winter. Again, I was here this morning. Riding my fat bike. I stepped back. I looked up and down the aisle. It was like looking at a mirror in a dressing room. Recursion made it look like infinity. But this really did go on seemly forever. I walked forward to a book that read JUNKIE, six years ago.
“I am jonesing man, I gotta have some stuff, I just can’t stand it”, I hear coming from what seems to be myself. I step back as I try to remember ever being addicted. Was I talking about adventure? Let’s try another book. I walk down the aisle further to COUCH CRASHING, seven years ago.
Bike Path
I was suddenly aware that I was riding my bike. It was cold and dark. And I was with my friend Jill. We stopped to part ways. It seems we were headed to our respective homes to crash. I looked at my bike computer and realized it was the middle of the night. Wow, I was a total freak. I took a step back and rejoined my present self in the library. I took a couple of steps and found the third book. Ten years ago, RESTED NOW SOUTH TO HAMILTON.
I was with my friends and we are preparing to go backcountry skiing. What? Did I really do this? Why am I a Scrooge now? Maybe to be with friends I did some unscrupulous things? I should do this again. I stepped back. I was in no way ready to go skiing. I went down the aisle more to find my fourth book. WEEPING WOMAN, twelve years ago.
I had been up late and was tired. Sitting in my living room I was posting photos and reminiscing about adventures past and future. I sure wanted to impress people. Embarrassed I stepped back into the present. Wandering down the aisle even further I went back sixteen years. I stepped through to DROPPING OUT OF SCHOOL.
The vibe was totally messed up. I felt tired and like I was being smothered. I was working at Sikorsky in Connecticut and trying to further my education. But I would not go any further. I was dropping out. And thus started the dreadful decline to where I just came from.
Wait a minute. My life now is awesome. I have progressed. I wanted to go back. I stepped, no jumped back.
“You ready to go”, a voice behind me said.
“Yea, totally … 5 books is enough”, as I turned around.
ON THIS DAY IN HISTORY:
Dive into these posts for a glimpse of history, from thrilling adventures to thoughtful musings!
Surgery is a weird invented and done well in western culture. Docs can put us back together after the most horrific mishap. we should have great faith in them. I mean they know squat about diet and disease but other than that they are miracle workers. Much like our adventures. We go in and are well adapted to the terrain and self-sufficiency. We know squat about the weather, conditions, and the general unknown. But that is the pull to adventure. The great unknown.
Mo makes her way over the snow shoe tracks.
But when I hear the words “routine” I get nervous. Sometimes these great doctors who can put a body back together mysteriously run into mishaps. People are lost going into the most routine things. Our adventure into Swan Creek reminded me of that. We thought a trail went along the creek but soon found out that we could not ride on a single set of post hole tracks. But then we found another route that turned out to be what the doctor ordered.
Trail up was good, trail down sucked thanks to snowmobiles, not saying there is anything wrong with that
So I hope that if the routine procedure goes awry the docs are good enough to recover with an alternative plan.
ON THIS DAY IN HISTORY
let’s take a stroll down memory lane with my captivating(lol) posts!
Boneshakerbike 