Author: Bill

I looked back and my partner was trying to take a photo. Of what I did not know so I turned around for further inspection. She was trying to get an image of a spider web. Personally I don’t like spiders. Spiders sit there waiting for something to fly into its home-made web of death. Much like life. Just waiting for you to stumble into a mishap.  Ha … life got me again, right? We have been on so many adventure this summer that I am beginning to wonder if will we finally have that one that sucks. I mean one can only handle so much perfect trail. Or perfect waterfall. Or perfect brat over the fire. Right? Before you stumble into one that sucks. Like a hapless little insect into a web.

This one seemed to be the one. We battled mud for around 3 hours. It wasn’t looking good. We came upon a little pond and stopped for a breather and some lunch. Before long we got lost taking photos and checking out the life in and around the pond. We needed a break from walking and concentrating on riding through mud. After a little while we mounted our steeds and began to push forward. I don’t know why. Why does an insect struggle to get out of a web?

Another hour pushing up the hill and we emerged onto a ridge. And it was not an easy hour. In fact it was much harder and required more hike-a-bike then the earlier 3 hours. But now we got a huge reward for our efforts. The Gallatin Range spread out before us and everything was green and rugged. Real cool We threw down the bikes and enjoyed the remaining sun light …

Which was a problem. We definitely would not go back through the mud but before us was a long decent to Mystic lake and another 10 or so miles out from there. We opted for the all-nighter and was optimistic that going downhill from now on would be a lot more fun then the earlier 4 hours. We were struggling against suckiness.

With “the decision” of which way we wanted to exit the woods done this freed us up to walk around the saddle and take in the elements. Isn’t it funny how you can spend 4 hours trudging through the mud but spending 20 minutes on a glorious vista and all is forgotten.

“Isn’t this fantastic”, I yelled against the wind so my partner could hear me from atop a rocky outcrop.

“It is, so cool”, she yelled back as she snapped off a couple photos of a wildflower.

We bombed off the top of the saddle and the trail down to Mystic lake was the most fabulous, fun, and DRY trail I have done to date this summer. But wait this blog was about the one time we went on a ride that sucked. How could this turn into another perfect adventure? Could a entrapped insect really wiggle its way out of a deadly web? Keep on struggling little bug.

We regrouped at Mystic Lake and rode the remaining 3 hours to get out via New World Gulch. And it got dark in the worst, most rugged part of the ride. My partner even decided that enough was enough and just walked out. The last part was hard. But did it suck? No! The day out on the trails was another perfect adventure. I feel because we just ket going.  And the little insect got another lease on life.

As a kid I never liked fish caught from a stream or a lake. I hated it. Mom would always cook me hot dogs. And fishing … forget it. I could never sit still for that long to catch a fish. I am not a good relaxer. And when I would get a nibble it would scare the shit out of me because I would have fallen asleep. So instead of fishing with my family I would always escape into the woods on many adventures. Which I still do to this day. But I love fish … to eat that is. Bring it!

To protect the innocent I will change the names in this post. I am part of an underground investigation. We investigate the worlds contradictions and act accordingly. Like when we see “Natural Bridges” on the map and realize almost every state has a “Natural Bridge Park”, we investigate. This usually means visiting for research purposes. I am agent … let’s just say … snuggles. But I am not. Let me explain.

My partner could also be referred to as agent snuggles. But we need a way to protect our identities and to verify our “informants” and “partners” are valid trustful people. To do this we need a special order in addressing us.

And all you as a reader needs to know is “Snuggles” before “Cuddles”. You get the order mixed up and we are on to you. Good day!

Part of me thinks people do a subconscious maintenance. Like if I told someone who I felt that I had visited more then they visited me and that it was up to them to visit now.  And that if they didn’t then tough kitty. That person would go into relationship maintenance mode and force a visit. I am not convinced this is a good idea and would rather people visit me organically. But I do pull that trick out of the bag when that person is important.

This time the “Bozeman visit” resulted in me rewarding the other party with an epic ride near the Natural Bridge area on the outskirts of the Absaroka Wilderness. At least I thought it was a reward.

After a thousand feet of climbing I discover that I may be pushing the limits of my hospitality. After a Q and A session I come to my final conclusion.

Maybe others view a visit to Bozeman is like torture. Numerous climbs into wild areas. Hike-a-bike for hours. Rocky descents. Even though I don’t know what the big deal is, maybe I should tone things down a bit.

Or maybe if you visit you should just buck it up and learn to ride your friggin bike.

Some days I wake up at 3 in the morning and drive. I have to … need to be at work by 8. Why? So I can spend time with my partner who works in Glacier Park.

This adds up until I am so exhausted I spend a weekend passing out on a trail somewhere. Too exhausted to move I go on mini adventures from the comfort of the ground.

There is such an interesting world laid out around us and sometimes we just don’t stop and take it in.

So exhausted it feels like the ground is trying to absorb me. And I wonder if I would be found thousands of years from now. Not me but my bones. Petrified.

Would they know the story. My story. That I existed and lived life to it’s fullest. Until one day I was just absorbed by the planet.

Naww … if I give up now then I will just dry up and blow away. And no one will know the story. Might as well get back up and ride some more. Ride away from this wonder. And make new stories.

To me an early morning hike starts out totally irritating and then slowly turns to absolute success.

“Bill Time” is a time that I have in the morning where I am the only waking human in the near vicinity. Since I wake up so early I have the world to my self. It is usually from 6 in the morning until 9 or 10. Sometimes extended to 11 when I get caught up in adventure.

I can one of two things generally. Process photos, read articles and a book, and drink coffee. General lazy regenerative down time. Or I could go out on an adventure.

There are many types of adventure but for me two things surface. A bike ride or a high point “I should climb up there” outing. It is the second option which I find to start irritating and then mellows to a great time.

This post, which I write to go along with the photos, is about one such irritating time in the morning. My goal was to explore the West side of the West Boulder, an area on the North West side of the Absaroka Range just outside of Livingston.

Let me explain irritating. May I mention skipping the morning coffee to get out the tent door and take advantage of my time slice. And since I’m set up in grouchy mode the colder than normal air puts me in a more grouchy mode.

The thing that puts me over the edge is trying to stay away from the dew on the plants, shrubs, and trees. So when I meet a trail that is over grown and puts me through a consistent cold shower resembling a cruel car wash like situation I declare the adventure irritating. I enhance this situation by bitching out loud (talking to myself) and cussing out the situation.

Before long I stumble upon a bear track. Suddenly my awareness increases and I forget about my cold wet feet. This awareness brings about a more robust visual sense.  Now aware I can appreciate my surroundings.

I get lost in the woods and a smile spreads. In this state of euphoria nothing is irritating. I have nothing to bitch about. Even when id discover I have lost my lens cover to my camera.

A funny thing happens when your mood is good. You think more clearly. For instance I can recall on my GPS every place I stopped to take a photo. Before long the lens cover is found.  The hike a total success.

I wasn’t really sleeping. I don’t think. I bivvied out under a swallow’s nest and momma bird was dive bombing me. I was laying on my side looking past my bike at the aspens which seemed to be glowing under the moonshine. Suddenly a light flashed across them. Then again. I jumped into action and started preparing to ride.

“Shit”, I whispered to myself, “Tracy is going to ride all night”.

But something seemed strange. Like a inner feeling that reality is slightly off. Maybe this feeling came from actually waking up from a dream. I suddenly realized I was sitting in a dark forest all alone. No lights coming up the trail. No sounds of gravel under tires. Nothing. I let out a sigh of relief.

I wondered to myself why I was imagining things. Is the pressure from being in the lead cracking me? Was it the Perseid Meteor Shower expected to peak over the next few nights. I fell back asleep.

That was the last I remember from Friday August the 9th, the first day out on the BarnFitz Ride. Earlier that day around 6:43 in the morning we lined up and were on our way leaving Hamilton Montana.

Much of the morning I sat in 4th place behind Joel Ahlum, Brian Remilinger, and a off the front Tracey Petervary. I figured we were all going to ride for second place because Tracey was obviously going to smoke it this year.

Later that morning I passed Joel and Brian who were stopping for a snack. I shot by with a warm smile and they cheered me on.  It was obvious we were all having more fun then usual. Fabulous day so far. Then they caught back up to me as I stopped for a “water filter” break. We were over the initial 30 mile climb and heading across Sleeping Child Divide.

I rode off saying, “I’m done filtering” … “see you down the trail”, and assumed my 133 beats per minute pace was really starting to pay dividends. That was the last I saw of them. Except when I THOUGHT I saw them as I approached the East Fork. I looked behind me to see a rider approaching pretty quickly. I waited for them to pass. So much for my steady pace idea. But it was not them.

“Tracey? What happened? Did you …”

“I missed a turn but it was no big deal”.

“So much fun … right”?

“Yea … I get so caught up in it all I forget I am riding”.

I was feeling really good and figured I might have a chance if Tracey stopped in Jackson for dinner. I could keep on riding and try and get a lead before anyone would know what happened. My pace was maintainable and I felt fresh. The ketogenic fat burning plan was working well.

The decent into the East Fork I was able to out ride Tracey and gain a tiny lead. I figured this was another tidbit of an advantage I had and wanted to make the most of the downhill’s.  The difference in descending styles basically came down to my ignorance of the possibility of running into a big animal, like say a bear. While my racing partner would chime her bell while approaching openings and corners.

When I stopped to soak my feet and filter water Tracey did not come by until I was about finished. Soon I was back on my bike.  I wanted to see how long I could climb before she would come past me. We were heading up Shultz Saddle now and the climb was made even more hard due to the afternoon sun. While cresting the top a couple ATVers told me she was about a mile back. And that was the last I heard of anyone.

I stopped to filter before crossing highway 43 onto the Foothills Road. Finally! I was in the Big Hole. This all-fat-for-fuel thing was really working out for me and I was ecstatic. The only thing that could put a rub in the ride was the fact that my only two training rides were the Butte 100 and the 24 Hours of Rapelje, both of which I didn’t finish. That and maybe a handful one hour rides. But as of 6 PM at mile 111 I was feeling great. And after a slight navigational mishap, thank goodness for my GPS, I was bombing down an easement heading for Jackson.

Where was everyone? The route sheets obtained the day before were totally backwards. A left meant right and vice-a-versa.  The maze of access roads and easements would definitely affect the outcome of the race. Lucky for me I knew this area well. When I came to a locked gate that said “Private Property Keep Out” I knew I could jump the fence and ride through. Mo and I were allowed through there last October. The land owner was nice and I looked forward to meeting him along the way to explain the need for this passage.

My plan was to ride right past Jackson and into the night to get a lead. But by the time I got into town I really wanted a bacon bison burger. Besides, I wanted to see if anyone made it through the maze of roads as well as I did. My burger arrived, I loaded it into my jersey, and took off toward Skinner Meadows. I took about 30 minutes out of my busy schedule to get lost in the dark. So instead of bivvying out at Skinner Meadows I decided to go further on and try to make Bloody Dick pass. Halfway up the climb I decided to bivvy out. “What a day”, I thought to myself as I dozed off.

After the nightmares about Tracey’s lights shinning on trees and a couple more dive bombing missions by mama swallow the night sky started to lighten up. It was time to get going again.

The freezing cold air was an expected burden as I bombed down the pass. In fact so cold my eyes were tearing pretty badly.  I tried to look at my GPS through the tears and leaned forward to get a better glimpse at the screen.  Then it happened … a pivotal mistake. Maybe the only mistake of the adventure.  And a doozy for sure.

I hit a water bar and started soaring through the air.  If the bump would of been expected all would of been fine; but it wasn’t and I threw my weight back to salvage the mistake. I didn’t crash but landed hard. In the process my feet came unclipped and I landed on my seat with feet sprawling to the sides like I was riding a bronco. I pulled back the break levers and came skidding to a stop. The damage done, landing on the seat so hard I got a abrasion on my undercarriage. Spandex + sudden pressure = friction burn.  I figure it for a bruise and started riding again.  Within the hour I realized that maybe this new injury was going to haunt me.

I pulled over and felt around under the bike shorts.  I felt a couple ripples of skin right where I sat on the seat.  And now the new injury was seeping fluid and sticking to my bike shorts.  Every time I pulled the material away another layer of scab would come off.  Most of the day I stood on the climbs to relieve the pain but it was definitely affecting my ride. Hell, it was going to affect the rest of the ride. I suddenly felt worried for the first time.

There is a considerable amount of climbing up Medicine Lodge Road and just when you think you are at the top … your wrong. The riding was made extra long by the new “problem in the undercarriage”. I took numerous breaks to ease the pain and tried pedaling seated to one side.

Then after a long climb in the heat of the day I had reached a familiar spot. The Big Sheep Creek Road to Lima has some sentimental memories for me. Two years ago it was Mo and I’s first bike pack route. I remembered the time we stopped for water and sat mesmerized looking at maps, eating jerky, and trying to decide a route.  In fact most of the ride was all about appreciation for me. The big Hole where we have had numerous snow adventures and now in this canyon. Appreciation trumps butt pain any day.  Well … almost.

“Hey Bill, this is Matthew Lee …”

“Um … hey how is it going?”

“Going to have to troubleshoot your spot …”, the conversation started and I found it so surreal. After all those times following this guy riding the Tour Divide, he was now following my dot. Apparently my spot had not been working since I crossed the East Fork. So I guess no one was following my spot.  Just then tons of text messages started lightening up my phone.

“Are you dead … or alive?”, came a text from a friend who from this point on was my eye in the sky and inspirational motivator. I started replying and texting around to get a idea of where I was at and give updates. I was really quite busy for about 45 minutes typing away while sprawled out under the gas station gazebo in Lima Montana.

After about a hour Matt and I determined that the GPS unit had burned out. I was bummed out that I was not being tracked because all the way I felt as if others were watching. I truly was out here all by myself.

As I headed out to the Centennial Valley I did feel alone. I did have Matt’s advice on where to find shade and some texts from friends warning me about snakes. Other then that it was the animals I turned to for my social needs. Except for the snakes. After one great little conversation with a horse at a local watering hole I started feeling impatient. This place seemed to just swallow me up … a little of a time warp as well. I felt like I was stuck in the middle of this huge basin and I would never reach the other edge.

To combat my insecurities I decided to make it all the way to Island Park. But the more I tried to conquer the never ending valley the more it’s vastness swallowed me. A little frustrated I would yell out my gripes as if there was some panel of jurors listening to my testimony. The only comfort I had was the fact that my shorts had dried to my wound and if I kept seated would go numb couldn’t feel the mornings mishap.

“Updated goal … Lakeview”. “Oh wait”, I thought to myself, “I have only gone 10 miles” …  “That’s not much. I must be slowing down”. “Why am I talking to myself”?

With an hour until dark I was only at mile 282. Much later I finally rolled into Lakeview. It was dark and I was disappointed to find … well … not much. So I continued down the route. I wondered what kind of effort it would take to reach Island Park overnight. I simply could not find a place to Bivvy out so I kept going. For a little while.

My ass was really bothering me again so I found a secluded road that seemed to go into a vast dark chasm. I followed it until I was out of sight from the route and I stripped down and tore open a Action Wipe. I was in so much pain cleaning “the area” that I pulled out my sleeping bag and decided to lay down until it felt better. I fell fast asleep.

I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise … over a lake?  I felt fresh and ready to ride so I just ignored the fact that I still had such a large valley to ride through.  My spirit still felt optimistic when  I realized I left my glasses back at the place where I spent the night. Joyfully I went back and scoured thought he tall grass until I found them. I wondered if anyone caught me over night and passed me.  I did not care … I was going to finish this thing today.

I was on top of Red Rock Pass with such ease that I had to think that the previous day’s climbs must of been a nightmare. In fact biking seemed fun and effortless today. I suspect it was because I was finishing.  I started to get “finish fever”.

Funny how things take longer then you think. My thinking was that the morning ride off of Red Rocks Pass would be a breeze. But as usual there is that extra climb. That oops section where you missed that corner. That freaking long valley you have to cross. But really in the grand scheme of things it was really just “down the hill”. And just like that I was eating breakfast at a Island Park restaurant.

Bacon that could be used as a hammer and an omelet that was made out of dinosaur eggs. I gladly gobbled it up and even splurged on my first carbohydrate of the trip. A piece of sourdough toast. Lathered with about a pound of butter of course.

I took my time getting back on the bike and took an opportunity to grab some cheese and nuts at the gas station.  My ass was killing me again and it took a while to get going again. Once numb I was fine and enjoyed the large climb to the top of what seemed to be a large volcano. The landscape was fabulous.

On the way down into Idaho I was looking forward to a serious downhill. But what I didn’t realize was that I was bitten by the “finish fever”. I am not talking about the flu you catch in Finland on vacation. I am talking about how your mind throws away all that it knows because you are ALMOST THERE.  Like when you get home after a long road trip and suddenly you have to go to the bathroom so bad you could supposedly die.

In the case of FitzyBarn I started skipping watering holes. Not eating according to plan.  Just letting the plan go to hell because … I was ALMOST THERE. But I wasn’t.

When I emerged out of the forest and into the rolling hills and farmland I was reminded of Iowa. I wondered if I could endure Trans Iowa as I stood out of the saddle for all the rolling hills. Riding like that driving hard because of “Finish Fever”.  Soon I was worn and started to wonder if I was ever going to get across the Teton Valley. And sitting was so PAINFUL.

The fever even contributed to a missed corner that took me even further out of the game.  I was nearing Tetonia about 4PM on the Rail Trail when I looked down at my GPS to discover the route was no longer there.  I re-traced back to find out the route had left towards Wyoming … and more rolling hills.  Worst of all in the late day sun with a not-so-happy ass.

I was getting fried and the fever had me counting down the miles. I was at 418 miles with about 20 miles to go when I suddenly realized that I had not stopped for water in 3 hours and I had not taken a drink for 1. Plus I had not eaten anything since Island Park.  Damn “Finish Fever”.

I had been texting my tweets so that Matt Lee could update the trackleaders website.  I knew Fitzy was expecting my arrival that afternoon. I kept driving towards Victor … and Victor seemed to never come.

At 7:18 PM I stopped one last time to update my twitter account and reported that I was on the bike path about two miles from the finish. The BarnFitz was about to come to a conclusion. I arrived to a finish line constructed of flagging tape and the smiles of Jay P. and Scott F.  After beer and pizza I bivvyed out once again … on Jay P’s floor. And I dreamed about people tracking me, following my tracks, as I pedaled nervously trying to get away.

 

I am working on my FitzBarn report and it will be pretty lengthy. I mean when you ride 450ish miles things are bout to happen. And of course I have played way to much for pumping out the blogs. But I am working on it.

When I was a boy I would spit on rocks that I would find. I did it to make them wet. It seems as though the beauty of the rock would come out. The colors were more robust. I could see the true identity of the rock. Some of these rocks I have kept. I think life has a way of spitting on us at times. And our true colors come out. And I wonder if I am a collectable.

“You have to admit”, she said as we hiked along the creek. “It seems kind of dangerous”.

“So you see me plop butter into my drinks. And you know I eat lots of bacon. And then you get unsettled when I announce I don’t want that food everyone loves. I don’t mean to offend anyone. I know everyone has concerns but no need to worry.”, I tried to explain.

As the canyon narrowed our conversation broke off as if we needed extra brain-power to concentrate on the trail. It climbed briefly and finally come to a vantage point. It was a beautiful scene. Raging water over moss-covered rocks. Simply gorgeous,

“I have learned so much about how dangerous it is to do what we are doing”, I started explaining again. “If us ultra distance racers continue to go to the limits and burn massive amounts of carbohydrates we will die sooner than later. There is emerging proof that burning carbs the way we have done burns the ends off the stem cells … ah telomeres … and we can die early of a disease. It is really very very unhealthy to race. Sorry for the bad news.”

“Right!”, she muttered. I could tell I was not convincing her.

“Tell you what, when we get back we can listen to this podcast that sums it all up.” “… kind of condenses all that I have found lately”.

“It has been almost a year since the Butte 100 and the last time I tried to eat carbs during a race. And in the last year I have tried some new “stuff” that at times nearly snuffed me out. Ok! I will be honest. My results have been poor. My racing has suffered. But that is so I can reach for new goals, new heights …”

Once as a child I found myself hanging upside down at night. My head was 4 inches off the ground. I tried using my hands to push myself up and unhook the barbs that were stuck into me inches above my knee. That was all that was holding my body weight, just a couple of barbs stuck into my skin. It felt like it was going to rip my leg to shreds so i used my hands to elevate some of the pressure.

It all started with an innocent game of hide and seek. And I was not familiar with the layout of my step brothers yard. how was I to know they put barbed wire around the garden? When I headed to the corn patch that summer evening I was running full-bore. That is until I was stopped and hung upside down by an invisible source. It took me a while to figure out what happened.

I wanted to scream but to do that in front of my step brother and his other friends would mean I was a total wuss. But soon enough my biological father was there to lift me off. Bleeding I went into the house for inspection.

The difference between lonely and not lonely is what you have around you I guess. Out on the bike a wilderness road with no one around for hundreds of miles in not lonely at all. Why is that so? Because to gather someone around you for companionship is temporary and a short fix maybe?  So going it alone is sort of a compromise.  Maybe it is the dysfunctional thinking that everything you grow attached to goes away. So what … right? Why not move on to the next thing that fills in the part of your life to enable you to share experiences? Or maybe just keep riding and forget the exhaustive process.

Even on popular roads there is the occasional gas using yee haw that passes you close. As if to say, “my road, my road, my road”. I feel hated, just want to get away from it all. Why do we need to share the same experiences anyway?  Or even experiences. Maybe it is just a small population but I somehow feel a need to share. Like this blog. Like a ride with friends.  But where are they now? At least I have a blog. I can write about myself and reflect. I can jot down thoughts … about myself.

Sometimes I leave buildings, cars, jobs, and people behind. Because I am lonely. Because I am dysfunctional. Because I am self-absorbed. It is consistant company though.

Go long, a long long way. Not extreme but far enough. For enough to forget. Far enough into the unknown. Into a place of no communication. Fly away. Fly away. I’ll wait.

Driving … away. Feels empty. Was the weekend successful? Well … depends. If there is a hammock involved it has to be pretty good right? I still feel empty. I sure hate leaving … her.

I rode my bike down to the outhouse. Just then I spotted my camping partner in the parking lot looking towards the tree line about 60 yards away. Then I saw what she saw. A grizzly. Boy, what a time to have to go to the bathroom!

I am smack dab in the middle of a 4 day weekend. The last 4 day weekend I car camped with Mo. In the Absaroka Range.

Day one we biked up to Nurses Lakes. The climbing brutal but the rewards were abundant.

All climbed out we headed out on foot for day 2. It rained but who cares. We were in the wilds of Montana camping out.

Day 3 was more biking. And more brats with campfires. Turned out to be a great meetup. The last 4 day weekend I had.

Wouldn’t it be nice if every 4 day weekend turned out this way? I have to run … time for a brat.

I am facing the sun because I yern to gather the energy from it. I think it makes me stronger. And I must be strong. I live in a harsh place. And I have a job. I am this mountains decoration. Or at least a large contributor. I want to do my job well. On your way now … I have work to do.