Author: Bill

At this morning’s breakfast meeting it was decided that since yesterday was nearly 30 miles of pretty technical terrain we would embark today on an “easy ride”. Pardon me … “easy loop”. Like a shorty 10 mile loop. Enter a nice trail up to the base of Crown Mountain and back down the adjoining drainage. With a “modest” climb.

And it did seem pretty easy for the first hour. We had climbed up some really easy switchbacks to a gate. As I was closing it something started crashing through the brush towards us. My partner started announcing our position. Me, I raised my bike above my head. Not to throw the bike at a charging grizzly but to appear larger. And we waited.

Then a cow stuck her head through the brush and stared at us in amazement. We were just as surprised, standing there white as ghosts ready to be eaten. Suddenly we were the ones on the top of the food chain. After that things were a bit relaxed after that.

We had lunch by a stream and decide to continue around our loop. Earlier we decided that we would go to the first junction and make a decision. This would make sure that the day would be “light”.

3 hours later I was waiting at the edge of the Bob Marshall Wilderness at the next junction which would lead us to another trail going back to the car via the next drainage over. I was breathing heavily. I tried to climb most of the trail but it got the best of me. I had walked nearly all of it. We saw two freshly eaten deer carcasses as well. And then I wondered if I should have waited up more for my partner. My anxiety grew as time passed waiting.

Then she appeared looking quite frazzled and discombobled.

“Wow! That was tough”

We discussed going back but that seemed a little hairy. We decided to continue around the loop for no other reason but in hopes the trail would turn out better. And at first it seemed it did not matter as thunder and lightning starting crashing down on the mountain ridge high above us. We scurried across the base of Crown Mountain and over the saddle.

And things changed in an instant. The trail was heavenly. Smooth as butter and the scenery was astounding. And to make things even more cool the storm that was brewing stayed in the basin that we just left. It seemed as though it would be smooth sailing back. Given the amount of descending though I was still pretty skeptical.

Every switch back I gave thanks for the kick ass trail I just bombed down. It was all icing on the cake for me. I wanted to savor every ounce of trail before it turned to hell like the trail that we had climbed earlier. But that did not happen. The more I let go of the brakes and screamed down the trail the better it got. We plummeted down through at least three eco zones and I started to lose track of time. After a really cool wooded section I stopped to wait for my partner.

Again I grew uneasy. My anxiety grew as time passed waiting. I wondered how long I had blacked out in my orgasm of descending. Given, I can ascend pretty fast but I didn’t think I got that far out in front. Or did I? What if she crashed or worse yet run into a griz.

Just then she came screaming past me.

“Yeee hawwww … this is so coooool”, her voice trailing off as she disappeared down the trail.

The trail was bike-able but only 3 feet wide. On the right side was a sheer drop off, to the left a rock wall. To ride a mountain bike through a tight canyon is pretty intense in these conditions. All the reason to keep focused on the task at hand which was riding the dam bike without incident. When I could I would stop. Not to only rest my nerves but to take a look around. I know … sub standard mountain biking, right? This is when I discovered the first water fall.

So I went a little further and stopped. Sure enough another waterfall, even more beautiful than the other. I mean I feel sub expert when I have to stop. The goal is to ride without dabs. Without wussing out so to speak. But this time it was all paying off.

Even though the trail turned manageable and the wish to let go of the brakes with a shout for joy was immense I decided to stop again … just to gawk off the edge. Again another waterfall. All within a mile. Like three levels of water falls. What a beautiful trail. What a great decent.

How many times have you gone through life without stopping in fear that your “progress” is not up to par?

She stopped there waiting for me to ride down a technical section of single-track which may I add seemed to just hang off a rocky cliff. She herself standing upon a hand-built rock bridge. I don’t even know if she realized it.

The trail was, um, kind of dangerous. We decided to take turns riding down the technical parts. Ok, let me clarify. While I rode down the technical parts my partner was perfectly fine walking the scary stuff.

The fact that I could experience this fabulous trail with someone is the bigger picture. What would suck is if I were to encounter this section of trail alone. Maybe that is why I take photos. It is much more fun to share a WOW moment.

And then there is the safety factor. I mean rocks fall all the time right? And I was reminded of that when it was pointed out to me that this kind of thing is sort of risky.

Or one could fall on the rocks. And no mater WHO falls on WHO it was certainly a time for each to stay within their means. For her walking the tough sections and for me to ride with a little brake action here and there.

As we emerged out of the canyon we both were grinning from ear to ear, our eyes full of wonder. Maybe a grin because we emerged safely but for me a grin because I shared such a wonder with someone.

And then we went into an unexpected canyon. My partner was already walking the bike. Compared to the entire loop the next mile would take us twice as long. Not because of technical terrain. And it was technical. It was because we had to wait for each other to absorb and take photos. Myself the major time absorber. Sometimes life can be so much fun you need to slow down.

My pupils were fully dilated and focusing because the trail was extremely technical. Then the trail got smoother and my grip on the handlebars loosened.

Then tightened. I gasped and hit the brakes. Was I going blind? Suddenly I could not focus because of a bright red overlay to what my eyes were picking up. As I looked around I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“What’s wrong”, she said as she rolled up to me. I was still rubbing my eyes.

“Look at this landscape. The red is so bright and for a while I thought I was having a stroke”, I replied jokingly.

“Ha ha … yea … WOW … It’s beautiful”!

Before that moment the landscape was mostly brown high arid landscape with hints of burnt green. The rocks grey with mid afternoon shadows.  Also we were spotting sheep on the hillsides so I was trying the “trick” of focusing while gawking … a tough thing to do.

Once over the saddle between some un-named plateau and Fairview Mountain we bombed down towards Willow Creek. The day already chalk full of adventure. And just like life there are surprises around almost every corner.

As we made the turn towards Willow Creek we were about to drop into an entirely new adventure. Much more exciting then what we encountered. And we didn’t even know it. Yet.

Living in Bozeman at work I only dream of the weekends. Romantically all I need is two things. My bike and a remote trail leading into a place I have not been.  It is my place on the weekends.

First pick two of the coolest people in town. They must be cyclists first. To also confirm they are cool make note of their announcement. If it is a website called thelastbestwedding.com then you are all set. You have enough evidence to get all dulled up for the event. It must be casual and you MUST coordinate your outfit with your gift.

Ok, this event will have a bunch of touchy feely type of stuff so go with it and take lots of photos. Bikes are a good subject.

The couple will be cool enough to select the best setting for the event. Usually up in the mountains.

Don’t be alarmed when the bride and groom try to escape via bike.  Remember why you like them so much … THEY BIKE.

And if the couple is really cool they will not mind you blogging about it like a couple of months afterward. Belated congratulations to Josh and Sarah. Thanks for having Mo and I to your event.

The reservoir is now behind me. Much like bread, sugar, and all that yucky stuff. I look at it and it does not seem like food. I look at the dam in my rear view mirror and it just does not look like nature. Sure we built it and it has been there forever. But that does not mean it fits in with nature well. Much like 99.9% of all the food in our stores.

Traveling from this beautiful place to my home in Bozeman is not entirely a chore. I mean just look out the window. As I leave the front I pass Castle Reef. An absolutely stunning visual sight. This reminds me of a grass-fed bison steak I once grilled up. The most stunning stuff I have ever put into my mouth. I am salivating as I write. Sure I can stop at the local bar and get a juicy bacon burger but that does not mean it fits in with my taste buds. I crank up my speed; I cant wait to get home to eat some meat.

Being human these days means trying to figure out the fastest most convenient way to do things. And it will be our undoing. Just because I can drive home from the front in 3 hours doesn’t mean it is good. Maybe biking home would be more fun.

I was up at the crack of dawn. Today I was going to leave the front. But first I wanted to squeeze in one more ride. A quickie! But it was not quick. Just as I started passing weird paw prints in the mud my front tire flatted. Then I realized I had mis-calculated the distance through a drainage. And mis-calculated the climb, decent, and ride back to camp.

The moral of the story? Well, maybe it is to stop and take in the sights. Never feel rushed. You get back when you get back. Right?

It was already hot when we started out. After consulting the Forest Service maps we decided on the Norwegian Gulch Trail. The first section was around some cliffs. And the trail got so narrow I could not keep track of whether or not my partner was behind me. So I just went on faith everything was all right.

Thankfully no horse people met, no headers off a cliff, and certain catastrophes were adverted. Once back on a road we only needed to ride up some gravel for about 5 miles. I tend to ride away from my partner during these long stretches but no matter. She seems to enjoy solitude much like myself. Funny how you can ride with someone and totally be alone.

I arrived early at the junction where we planned to turn. No worries on my part; I found myself busy checking out the local flora.

We rode past the sign marking our turn. The trail started out jeep like and once across the creek went skyward. We paused a bit before the climb to have snacks and chat. These breaks are nice to catch up on earlier legs of biking.

“Did you see that moose”, she asked me.  I had not … to busy hammering up the road.

Soon I was climbing alone guessing my partner was back down the trail hike-a-biking. Me, I found great challenges in trying to make a climb without putting my foot down. Once the climb gets the best of me I increment my “dab” count and try again. When I reached a vista near the top of the climb I had counted well over a half-dozen dabs. I waited for my partner on a rock outcrop looking at the healthiest forest I have seen in a long time.

I thought how I was like a tree in a forest. I stand alone, because often not at the same pace as my adventure partners. But at the same time part of a bigger picture. Was my forest healthy? Am I surrounded by sick and deceased? Or am I a part of a healthy forest?

As my partner caught up to me my solo rock spot became a bench for two. Certainly my forest, or the forest I am in, seems healthy. We sat there and the wind brushed through us. We were trees high on a ridge.

Now we were bombing down the other side. I mean in between stops to take in the scenery to not crash while gawking.

Coming out of Norwegian Gulch my partner caught me many times while I stopped in a gawking fest or taking a photo.

“So how was the decent for you”?

“Ok, I crashed once …”, she started to report.

Another great ride with my adventure partner.

“Tour de Front … daeee”.

“Ha ha ha … yea, that is what we should call it for sure”.

“Yea … What do you want for breakfast”?

I have trouble explaining things. Usually my attempts end with total frustration between myself and who I am talking to. Out on the trail the only thing I need to explain is why I get back so late. Instead I take photos, to share mostly, explaining my path. Signs are made for direction … I was not.

Do I really need to get things out? And why do I feel I need to explain anything? I like dams, they hold a lot of stuff. I am like a dam sometimes. Things I can not explain I just keep in the reservoir. To be explained later as I write.

Going to the Blacktail Trail was extremely beautiful and the trail was superb … and mountain biking allowed to. At least I did not see any signs. When the trail got narrow I hoped to not meet horse people. I hate explaining what I am doing out on the trails. I just am.

Once on the trail I breathed a sign of relief. Now I was heading up the Blacktail Valley … enough land for all trail users. And I was alone. No one to explain why I was alone. I just was.

I spent just a couple of hours busting up the valley and most of it relaxed. Eyes wide to capture all the beauty … and bears. I didn’t have my bear spray with me. Please don’t ask me to explain why, I just was.

The ground was clay and once hard was like cement. When horse people go riding in the mud during wet conditions they create post holes in the trail. It can be rough on us mountain bikers once hardened. Almost impossible. Sometimes even walking was necessary. Why would I ride something so rough and seemly not fun? I can’t explain. I just do.

I got to Gibson Reservoir pretty late to meet with my partner and camp. After walking the campgrounds in the dark we settled upon a spot and sacked out for the night. The next day I awoke pretty tired due to nightmares about my travel schedule. When my partner woke up we decided that the only way to make it all worth while would be to do an epic mountain bike ride. Right?

Soon we were climbing up the valley on the Mortimer Gulch Trail. It was rocky and loose due to heavy horse traffic. At no time did we see any signs that mountain bikes were not welcome so we assumed all was well. More on this later.

The air seemed thin and we took many breaks gasping for air. Were we really that out of shape? We broke over a ridge into Big George Gulch. The ride turned seductive. I mean it was all downhill so just keep going, right? At some point it is just too much to go back and we went to the end of trail 259. After being lost for almost an hour we picked up trail 251 which led us right back down to the Gibson Reservoir.

At no time did we meet any signage about trail usage. And we were giddy with all the spectacular downhill. Bear tracks confirmed that we were close to the Bob Marshall. All signs were good for a spectacular day.

The trail back to camp was beautiful and as far as we knew a hidden gem. A gem to be visited again in the future.

It was getting late in the day as we rode on. From the trail spectacular views of the lake spread out before our eyes like a silver blanket. Even the trail itself turned spectacular. I couldn’t believe it. It was so cool.

It wrapped around a cliff overlooking sheer drops to the lake. Was this a fantasy or a dream? … check … check … pinch … pinch!

I had to stop and document this fabulous trail. I thought to myself that this would be my most favorite place to go mountain biking. And still no signs of trail usage information. Nothing … nothing but glorious trail.

“How cool is this”?

“Very cool, I mean what do we do if we meet horses”?

“Good point, maybe just get off the bike and walk to a wide section I guess”.

As we exited the trail a single sign was attached to the info board. My brain refused to process what I was seeing. Searching my brain for past details I remembered that the trail up Mortimer Gulch Trail was legit to Mountain Bikes. We checked. Even our recreation maps offered no information that matched this sign. And when we encountered all intersections there were no signs … until now. Shame on you Forest Service for botching the trail usage in this area.

My house is mad at me. When I try and go back home it growls and gets more angry. Every time I leave to travel away I am scared to come back. Once the dream home it now threatens to kill me. And then I have an idea. I would just run away. But the house must read my mind and locks the doors. I scream and start to try and pound my way out.

Suddenly I am awakened. I am in a tent near the Rocky Mountain Front. 300 miles from home, it is dark and cold. I can not even see the lake I am camped at. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Surprises

After a “near death nearly freezing and dying from lightening” day my sleep was pretty good. I awoke the next day with no expectations. The data pointed to my partner and I packing up and leaving the cabin to try to get a jump on the up and coming work week. Maybe I could ask to ride my bike out of the valley to get in an extra workout. I was shocked to hear that maybe we should hike the ridge towards Sawtooth Peak.

But that was the beginning of a long string of surprises.

“How about we ride up that trail”, she said pointing to a Z-shaped jeep trail. “Then we could ditch the bikes and hike up there”, pointing now to some gargoyle like rock formations at the top of the ridge.

“I’m in”

Now when I describe the trail as a jeep trail I am probably really giving jeeps too much credit. I can not imagine anything that could climb that steep of a grade. I say this because I tried to climb it only to find myself waking up near the first switch back having passed out from breathing too hard. The fist thing that came into vision is my partner hiking her bike up to me looking so exhausted I felt concerned.

I fully expected to hear that we should just ditch this idea but instead I got none of it. She just walked right past me with fierce determination to hike the bike completely to the top of the ridge. Which I may add is kind of, shall I say, not bright. I mean the only riding we would be doing is to ride back down and I knew it was too steep to even enjoy that. I jumped back on my bike a gave chase.

Then another surprise. Which was we should keep going. At least this time on foot. We ditched the bikes and started up. And up. And up.

Cool features kept us thirsty for more adventure. Like goblin-like rocks along the way.

Even when we past that cut off time, the time we allowed to get back in time to pack up and get out before dark, we kept hiking up.

But soon an approaching storm made us check our senses and we started discussing going back down. Surprise we didn’t, instead we determined we could “play it by ear” and go to that next false summit.

Eventually common sense got the better of my partner and she turned back. Me, I decided to go for it. Try and reach the second 10,000 foot peak of the weekend.

False summit after false summit gave way to another. I looked back to my partner now a tiny speck back down the ridge. She was almost back to the bikes. I had to far to go and thoughts of turning back started to become a reality. I bargained and promised myself to turn around in 5 minutes.

Surprisingly I got a burst of energy and made it up in 4 minutes. I ran back to my partner and we ended the weekend. Not surprisingly another keeper.

Oh Hail

After finally climbing to the top of a mountain peak, something that has eluded me for about two years, I felt a new lease on adventure. I caught the bug again so to speak. So the next morning I was more than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was outta there, Antone Cabin, and on my bike.

I headed up again to the saddle just North of Antone Peak. And over that saddle into unknown territory. The morning dew was washing down my tires while mother earth was supplying the clay dirt. This resulted in my tires rolling up the planet like a giant ball of string … but only muddy dirt. Much like my readings of the tour-dividers in the Centennial Valley just South of here. It was so impossible to ride like this.

So I found myself many times stopping to scrape off excess mud. Insanely during a beautiful summer morning. So the lesson this morning was that you do not need a rain storm to produce bike disabling mud. Just a heavy morning dew. A few hours later mid-day when I go to the cabin to join my partner in bike ride 2.0 the trails would become popcorn fart dry.

Dry … until a huge hail storm hit half way around the feature ride of the day. It was no silly hail storm. It started out as a rain storm and we huddled under a pine tree. 30 minutes later, cooling down by the minute, we saw it start to hail. Then it hailed harder … then harder … then harder. About an hour later with temperatures in the low 40s we bolted around the second half of the loop. We frantically wanted to warm up and at times hints of an “emergency situation” popped into my head. Why on earth would I bring my beloved partner  out here? Involving her in one of “MY” adventures eventually killing her off?

The answer came near the end of the ride. We were warm again and watched the last of the storm rip over Antone Peak out of sight.  We were together at the end of an adventure. Survivors witnessing the beauty of nature unfold throughout the day. Yea, life was good … again.  Additionally, which … maybe the most important factor, a campfire, porter, and brats awaiting us at the cabin.

The Arrival

The original plan was foiled when my partner got a new job. Lucky for us though she started early enough to gain a couple of days off. So when she emerged from the forests of Glacier Nation Park I drug her out to do our much-anticipated bike pack trip of the summer. Except instead of bike-packing from Dillon we decided to drive the focus wagon.

And good thing. I mean the driving part. Initial plans had us riding to Antone Cabin which is nestled between the Snowcrest Range and the Gravely Range. It is good we drove because we would have spent the entire weekend riding to the cabin just to turn around and head back to Dillon. Almost 50 miles of dirt road. That is 100 miles round -trip. And did I mention that our time had been cut short by a couple of days? So we decided to drive.  And after a dusty but gorgeous drive we were piling out of the car to take a look around the cabin.

My partner in crime bolted to the nearest ridge. Flowers, peaks, trees, rocks, and animals in wild abundance. She seemed set free like a child in a toy store. Me? I couldn’t wait to grill up some brats. Ahhh … home!