Neurodiversity refers to the natural variation in human neurological functioning, including differences in thinking, learning, and communicating. This concept recognizes that neurological differences, such as autism, are not disorders to be cured but rather natural variations to be respected and accommodated.
Communication Styles
Neurodivergent individuals, including those on the autism spectrum, often have unique and valid communication styles that differ from neurotypical norms. These differences should be recognized and valued rather than viewed as deficits:
Direct Communication: Many autistic individuals prefer clear, direct communication without ambiguity or hidden meanings.
Alternative Forms of Expression: Some may use non-verbal communication, written communication, or augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) devices.
Info-dumping: Sharing detailed information about topics of interest is a valid form of interaction and connection for many neurodivergent people.
Reduced Eye Contact: Avoiding eye contact does not indicate disinterest or dishonesty; it may be a way to process information more effectively.
Stimming: Repetitive movements or sounds can be a form of self-expression or self-regulation.
Societal Misconceptions and Biases
It’s crucial to address societal biases and misconceptions about neurodivergent communication:
Social Norms Bias: The expectation that everyone should conform to neurotypical social norms is harmful and exclusionary.
Eye Contact Bias: Judging someone’s attentiveness or honesty based on eye contact is a neurotypical construct that doesn’t apply universally.
Small Talk Bias: Difficulty with or disinterest in small talk doesn’t reflect poor social skills; it’s simply a different communication preference.
Time Pressure Bias: Expecting immediate responses can disadvantage those who need more time to process information.
Promoting Understanding and Inclusion
To create a more inclusive society, it’s important to:
Educate: Raise awareness about neurodiversity and different communication styles.
Adapt: Neurotypical individuals should adapt their communication styles when interacting with neurodivergent people, rather than expecting conformity.
Respect: Recognize that neurodivergent communication styles are equally valid and valuable.
Ask: When unsure, ask individuals about their communication preferences.
Challenge Stigma: Actively work to challenge societal stigma and misconceptions about neurodiversity.
In conclusion, neurodivergent communication styles are not deficits to be corrected but valid forms of expression to be respected and accommodated. The onus is on society to broaden its understanding and acceptance of diverse communication styles, rather than expecting neurodivergent individuals to conform to neurotypical norms.
The clock was ticking against us as we threw our stuff in the van. Missoula was already fading in the rearview mirror, the late afternoon sun slanting through the windshield. We were pushing it, really pushing it, but something in my gut said we just had to go. Sometimes you need to escape even when logic says it’s too late, you know? The rational part of my brain kept muttering about schedules and time constraints, but there was this stronger pull, this necessity to just… get away.
The road unfurled ahead, winding through pine-covered hills as shadows lengthened across the asphalt. Every mile marker we passed felt like a small victory against the odds. There was this unspoken urgency between us, this shared understanding that we were racing against some invisible deadline.
Back at work, the sudden changes from this department restructuring… more accurately, its absorption; are throwing everything into chaos, like too many unexpected stimuli all at once. “Autism.” It’s not a small word for me; it’s a universe of different ways my brain processes the world. What I used to dismiss as “being dramatic” was actually sensory overload, the fluorescent lights feeling like they’re drilling into my skull, the overlapping office noises becoming unbearable. And what I wrongly labeled “diffrent tendencies” was the crushing social exhaustion after trying to navigate endless unspoken rules and expectations. It takes so much energy just to process social interactions and mask my natural responses. Now, even the thought of my carefully constructed patterns and routines being disrupted feels viscerally wrong, like my internal sense of order is being ripped apart. These routines aren’t just preferences; they’re how I maintain a sense of predictability and manage the overwhelming nature of a world not built for my brain.
Now that I know… you know. It’s like someone handed me a new pair of glasses after decades of squinting. Everything’s clearer, but also overwhelming… all these memories reframing themselves, all these new accommodations to figure out. And trying to explain it to new supervisors who’ve known me for years but never really known me? While the company’s reshuffling everything? It’s like trying to rebuild a house during an earthquake.
Silver Mountain Bike Park
The sun was dipping dangerously low as we pulled into the parking lot. “Last gondola in ten minutes!” shouted our friend, an attendant, in a bright vest, already looking ready to call it a day. We scrambled out, grabbing jackets and water bottles, practically jogging to the ticket booth. “You made it by the skin of your teeth”.
The gondola swayed gently as it pulled away from the station, lifting us above the treeline. Below, the world started to shrink… the cars becoming toys, the trails thin ribbons through the dense forest. We sat in reverent silence as the sun began its final descent, painting the sky in impossible shades of orange and pink. The light burst through the glass of our little suspended bubble, catching dust motes that danced between us.
As we ascended higher, then after a small hike descended lower, the tension I’d been carrying. The transition anxiety, the diagnostic processing, the constant masking at work, it all seemed to stay below with the landscape. Up here, suspended between earth and sky, none of it could reach me. The gondola bumped a bit on its rollers, and suddenly there it was. The sun is perfectly framed between two mountain peaks, sending rays out like golden fingers stretching across the valley.
End of a day
Sometimes the most important journeys happen because you push past that voice saying it’s too late, it won’t work out, why bother. We nearly missed this… this perfect moment, this suspended peace, because it seemed impractical, because the timing was tight. But we made it anyway.
We floated above it all in our glass bubble, watching darkness and light play across the mountains. And I realized that’s what I needed to navigate my changing world below. This is, a reminder that there’s always higher ground to be found when things get overwhelming. Sometimes you just have to make the initiative, even when it seems impossible… especially when it seems impossible.
Sunsets can only be seen when we’re brave enough to race against time and climb anyway.
It was one of those perfect Montana mornings when Mo convinced Bill to explore Lolo Pass in the Clearwater National Forest. Mo had been planning this trip for months.
“They say these trails haven’t changed much since 1805,” Mo told Bill as they biked near the Glade Creek campsite. Bill just nodded, more interested in his mountain bike than in historical trivia. That was their dynamic, Mo, the nature buff, and Bill, the bike junkie. Somehow it worked.
The morning started with a hike along the interpretive trail. Mo paused at every marker, reading aloud from the weathered signs about how Lewis and Clark had “traveled about 12 miles from their previous night’s campsite along Lolo Creek.” Bill, meanwhile, kept checking his watch, eager to hit the mountain biking trails he’d spotted on the map.
“You go ahead,” Mo finally said, noticing Bill’s restlessness. “I want to check out this meadow trail. Meet back here in two hours?”
Bill didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his purple mountain bike and headed toward the rocky trail that disappeared into the pines. Mo smiled as she watched him go, then turned toward the meadow trail with its tall grasses and splashes of purple fireweed.
The forest was unnervingly quiet… just the whisper of wind through the pines and the occasional bird call. Mo took her time, stopping to photograph interesting plants and enjoying the solitude. She was so absorbed in the beauty around her that she almost missed it, a cluster of strange white flowers unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
They were stunning, star-shaped with delicate petals radiating outward like a tiny explosion frozen in time. Mo crouched down for a closer look, carefully taking photos from different angles. There was something almost otherworldly about them.
Later, as she continued along the path, Mo noticed a small informational sign. It described a rare flower that only bloomed for a few weeks each year in this specific microclimate, nicknamed “bear flowers” by locals because bears were often spotted nearby when they bloomed. A chill ran down her spine at the thought.
Just then, she heard a rustling in the underbrush nearby. Mo froze, remembering the sign’s warning about bears. But instead of a bear, Bill emerged, pushing his bike through the tall grass, his face flushed with excitement.
“You won’t believe what I found!” they both said simultaneously, then laughed.
Bill had discovered an unmarked trail that led to what he was certain was the exact spot mentioned in Captain Lewis’s journal, the place where they’d observed “a commanding ridge.” And Mo couldn’t wait to show him her photos of the rare bear flowers.
As they stood comparing discoveries by the historical marker at Glade Creek campsite, a park ranger approached them.
“I see you found our little secret,” she said, nodding at Mo’s camera. “Those flowers only bloom for about two weeks a year. Local legend says they marked the path for Lewis and Clark… that they follow the exact route the expedition took. Pretty cool, huh?”
Mo and Bill exchanged glances. Sometimes the best adventures were the unexpected ones, when history and nature and pure luck collided in the most remarkable ways.
(And no, they never did see any bears… thank goodness.)
I finally got out. It was July 15, 2024, and the height of mountain bike season. Today wasn’t about perfection… just a quick and dirty escape after work, a climb for the sake of climbing. My legs smiled as I pedaled my mountain bike up University Mountain, the evening sun throwing long shadows over Missoula, Montana. The rhythm of the pedals, the solitude of the ascent… it was enough.
But fire was creeping through the Miller Creek drainage. The thought gnawed at the edge of my mind. Was this the end of the season? The trails, the mountains, the endless lines waiting to be ridden… all of it threatened by the silent force of smoke and flame. The air felt clear up here, but doubt settled in my chest heavier than my breathing.
I summited. The descent was a masterpiece—flowing, fast, every turn carved with precision. By the time I pulled into the driveway, all that remained was euphoria. A beer, a shower, the glow of a ride well done. The fire? Forgotten… until the scent of smoke curled through the evening air.
Some endings you don’t see coming, but they were always waiting.
Man, the 4th of July in Kellogg, Idaho is something else entirely. Picture this: a bunch of pickup trucks and RVs gathered in dusty lots as the sunset fades into that perfect deep blue. There’s this beautiful collective patience as everyone waits, camping chairs out, maybe a cold drink in hand. And then it happens – the fireworks start erupting over the mountains, these incredible bursts of color that seem twice as vivid against the dark silhouettes of the pines.
What makes it special isn’t just the show (though it’s pretty impressive for a small town!). It’s the whole vibe of the day. Folks roll up in their vans and campers, bikes strapped to the back, ready for a full weekend adventure. You’ll see families with their loyal dogs wearing bandanas, mountain bikers cruising past the historic buildings downtown, and everyone just… exhaling.
The heat of the day gives way to a perfect summer night, and there’s this moment when the first big explosion lights up everyone’s faces – kids with their mouths open in wonder, parents sneaking glances at their reactions instead of watching the actual fireworks.
It’s like the whole town collectively agrees that tonight, we’re all just gonna sit back and enjoy the simple magic of colored light against a mountain sky.
They found each other at the edge of the world… or at least that’s how Mo and Bill tell it. Two souls with dirt under their fingernails and sunshine in their smiles, forever chasing that next breathtaking vista.
There’s something about mountain air that strips away pretense, leaving only what matters. For them, it’s the shared glances when they reach the summit, the silent understanding when one passes a water bottle to the other without being asked.
They collect moments instead of things… sunrise silhouettes against jagged peaks, inside jokes born from unexpected downpours, the comfortable silence of two people who’ve found their person among the pines.
Some might see just another couple taking selfies in the wilderness. But look closer at those sun-weathered smiles, the way they lean into each other like two trees that have grown together over countless seasons… there’s magic in finding someone who makes the journey as beautiful as the destination.
This is my second post since rebranding the site to “The Divergent Mountain Biker.” I’ve gotta explain why I’m not your average person. This list took me two months. Knowing what sets me apart is key because it shapes how I see the world, whether I’m at work or just chilling at home. So, here’s a rundown of the quirks and traits that make me, well, me.
Need for Solitude: I love my friends and family, but I need quality alone time to recharge and regulate myself. If I don’t, I burn out quickly from the energy it takes to process everything – conversations, events, feelings, and all. I identify with Jinjer here. Neurotypical people often gain energy from social interactions and may not need as much alone time to recharge.
Dysregulated Sensitivity: I may experience hypersensitivity (over-experiencing) or hyposensitivity (under-experiencing) to things like light, touch, sound, smell, and taste, which often leads me to avoid certain environments. I can’t stand bright lights, water, fireworks, or gunshots. On the flip side, I love touching nature and pets. And corn? Yuck! Neurotypical people usually have a more balanced sensitivity to sensory inputs and may not be as affected by environmental factors.
Unique Communication Styles: I communicate differently, often being labeled as quirky or different. I may ask many questions, interrupt frequently, and have a direct way of speaking. Neurotypical people often follow social norms more closely in communication and may find directness less comfortable.
Special Interests and Inward Focus: I devote a lot of time and energy to specific interests like mountain bikes. These passions bring me joy and a sense of purpose, which can sometimes be seen as inward-focused. Past friends have often told me to “get over yourself.” Boo to you, jerks! Neurotypical people might have a wider range of interests and spend less intense focus on any single one.
Masking and Camouflaging: From a young age, I developed strategies to fit in socially by suppressing my true self and pretending to be neurotypical. Neurotypical people do not usually need to hide their true selves to fit into social situations.
Emotional Regulation Challenges: I may have intense emotional outbursts or seem emotionless, due to difficulties in identifying and processing emotions. Neurotypical people often have an easier time identifying, processing, and expressing their emotions.
Difficulty with Change and Reliance on Routine: I struggle with changes to my daily routine, relying on strict schedules for comfort and to manage anxiety. Neurotypical people are generally more adaptable to changes in routine and less reliant on strict schedules.
Literal Thinking: I take things very literally and logically, often struggling with abstract concepts and figurative language. Neurotypical people are usually more comfortable with abstract thinking and figurative language.
Attention to Detail: I have a strong focus on small details and the minutiae of life, which can be beneficial in many situations. Neurotypical people might overlook small details and focus more on the bigger picture.
Hyperfocus and Flow State: I can become intensely absorbed in activities or subjects, but sometimes neglect other responsibilities. So, what do you think I’m doing all the time? Mountain biking, of course! I mean, REALLY! If I’m not riding, I’m working on my bikes, watching YouTube videos, or playing with new technologies. Don’t get me started, lol. Neurotypical people might have a more balanced focus, able to switch attention more easily between tasks.
Difficulty Reading Social Cues: I struggle with interpreting body language, facial expressions, and other non-verbal cues. Neurotypical people generally find it easier to read and respond to social cues.
Monotone Voice: I don’t think I speak in a monotone voice, which might seem like I lack emotion or interest, but I do have a weird speech pattern. In my gut, I feel like I can’t use my voice to show emphasis or concern. It feels fake when I try to do that. Neurotypical people usually have more variation in their tone of voice, which can convey more emotion.
Strong Sense of Fairness and Justice: I have a strong sense of right and wrong, fairness, and justice, which is why I hate politics for example. Neurotypical people might have a more flexible view of fairness and justice, influenced by social contexts.
Clumsiness or Coordination Challenges: I often experience motor skill and coordination challenges, making me feel clumsy at times. I run into corners and stumble a lot when hiking. But on my bike? It’s like my gyroscope, keeping me balanced. Neurotypical people generally have better motor coordination and spatial awareness.
Preference for Written Communication: I often prefer written communication for its clarity and the ability to process interactions at my own pace. I despise phones and people that wanna “talk”. Neurotypical people often find verbal communication more natural and may prefer it over written forms.
Strong Memory and Knowledge Retention: I often have exceptional memories, especially about my passions and special interests. Not what you want me to remember. Neurotypical people may have a more balanced memory, remembering a broader range of topics.
Difficulty with Abstract Concepts: I struggle with abstract thinking, preferring concrete, logical, and literal concepts. Neurotypical people are generally more comfortable with abstract and figurative thinking.
Difficulty Initiating and Maintaining Conversations: I may struggle with the nuances of starting and maintaining conversations, often preferring direct and specific interactions. Small talk is STUPID! Neurotypical people usually find it easier to engage in and sustain casual conversations and small talk.
Sensory Seeking Behavior: I engage in repetitive behaviors or movements to regulate and soothe myself, often seen as sensory seeking. Mom always wanted me to stop rocking or shaking my leg. Neurotypical people generally do not need to engage in repetitive behaviors for self-regulation.
Directness and Honesty: I tend to speak my mind without a social filter, being direct and honest, which can sometimes be perceived as blunt or rude. Neurotypical people often use social filters and may be more indirect in their communication to avoid offending others.
Difficulty with Hierarchies: I may not easily understand or recognize social and societal hierarchies, leading to misunderstandings. Societal hierarchies will set me off into a rage, then burnout. Neurotypical people typically have a better grasp of social hierarchies and norms.
High Levels of Anxiety: I experience high levels of anxiety due to various factors like sensory overload, changes in routine, and social interactions. Neurotypical people usually experience less anxiety in similar situations.
Exceptional Long-term Memory: I often have a remarkable long-term memory for facts and detailed information, especially related to my interests. I remember what tire you have on your bike but I don’t know your name or what I ate for breakfast. Neurotypical people may not have as strong a long-term memory for specific details.
Strong Preference for Familiarity: I feel more comfortable in known environments and around familiar people, and can become distressed in unfamiliar situations. Neurotypical people are generally more comfortable with new experiences and environments.
Sensitivity to Emotional Atmospheres: I can be highly sensitive to the emotions of others and emotional atmospheres, which can be overwhelming. Neurotypical people might not be as affected by the emotional states of others or the atmosphere.
Strong Need for Predictability: I thrive in predictable environments and routines, which help maintain regulation and reduce anxiety. Neurotypical people are usually more adaptable to unpredictability and change.
Intense Expertise in Interests: My intense interests can develop into significant expertise on specific topics or activities. Well, just mountain biking … lol. Neurotypical people might have a broader range of interests but may not develop the same level of expertise in a single area.
Difficulty with Eye Contact: I may avoid eye contact, especially when disregulated, as it helps me process information better. I learned that eye contact is important but when I get stressed I fixate away from the eyes to try and figure things out. Neurotypical people generally find making eye contact more natural and important for social interaction.
Literal Honesty: I often say things as I see them, being honest and factual, sometimes lacking tact. Neurotypical people might use more tact and subtlety in their communication to avoid hurting others’ feelings.
Resistance to Being Touched: I may have hypersensitivity to touch, which leads to discomfort with certain types of clothing, hugs, or contact points. I like being touched by people I know, but I can’t stand how my clothes feel. Neurotypical people are generally more comfortable with physical touch and different textures.
Hyperlexia: I may read but may not always understand the meaning behind the words. I was once told in school that I would, “never learn to read”. Thank you ChatGPT for explaining things. Neurotypical people usually develop reading skills and comprehension at a more typical pace.
Strong Moral Compass: I have a pretty good sense of what is right and wrong, often guided by a strong internal belief. I don’t blindly follow laws designed to benefit the wealthy but instead weigh things based on their impact on others and nature Neurotypical people might have a more flexible moral perspective influenced by social contexts.
Distinctive Learning Styles: I may have unique ways of learning, requiring more hands-on, visual aids, or repetition to grasp concepts. Neurotypical people often benefit from standard teaching methods and may not require specialized learning approaches.
Difficulty with Small Talk: I struggle with the purposelessness of small talk, preferring substantive discussions. I have learned (masking) to ask the default questions like “how is your day”. But I ask it sometimes because I really care, not just to socially bond. F-that! Neurotypical people often engage in small talk as a social bonding activity and find it more natural.
Strong Visual Memory: I have a strong visual memory, allowing me to recall detailed information about scenes, objects, and places. Bikes! Neurotypical people might rely less on visual memory and more on other types of memory.
Tendency to Monologue: I can talk at length about topics I’m passionate about, often without realizing it. I also narrate while I go about my day, which drives Mo nuts. Neurotypical people usually engage in more reciprocal conversations and may not monologue as frequently.
Difficulty with Implicit Rules and Social Norms: I struggle with understanding and following unwritten rules and social norms, which often leads to misunderstandings. Honestly, I don’t even know what half of this stuff is. I copied it from an autism paper. Neurotypical people generally grasp and follow implicit social rules more easily.
Enhanced Pattern Recognition: I can recognize patterns in data, environments, and behavior at a higher level than my neurotypical peers. This is my SUPER POWER! Neurotypical people might not have as strong a focus on patterns and may overlook them.
And there you have it – a comprehensive list of what makes me uniquely “me.” If you’ve made it this far, congratulations! You now know more about me than most of my friends do, though they’ve already got their own way of defining me. Why blend in when you can stand out? Happy trails!
Saturday, June 22, 2024. Mr. Bear and his trusty sidekick, Buttons, rolled into Silver Mountain Bike Park, their tires crunching over gravel as the gondola cables hummed overhead. The sun poured down like liquid gold, warm on their shoulders, the scent of pine and chain grease filling the air. Anticipation crackled between them, an unspoken energy tightening their grips on the handlebars. A whole day of riding lay ahead… who knew where it would take them?
But even in the thrill of the moment, a quiet unease flickered at the edges. Summer stretched ahead, vast and uncertain, its days blending together like brushstrokes on a too-large canvas. What if they let it slip by? What if they didn’t hold on tight enough? Would this day, this perfect, sun-drenched day… fade into the blur of forgotten summers, swallowed by time before they even realized it?
The gondola rattled upward, lifting them into the sky, and for a moment, words felt unnecessary. Below them, the trails twisted and turned like a labyrinth of possibility, each one a promise of adventure. The worry melted, replaced by something simpler, something truer. The pure, unshaken joy of right now.
And then, the doors yawned open, and they pushed off. The world tilted forward, gravity taking their hands like an old friend. Laughter echoed between the trees as they carved through the dirt, the wind in their ears whispering secrets of the mountain. The future could wait… right now, this was enough.
Because in the end, life isn’t made of grand plans or far-off dreams. It’s made of moments like these, held onto tight enough to last a lifetime.
Disclaimer: This post benefited from the use of ChatGPT for proofreading, images, and structural input. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.
So there I was, Saturday morning, June 15th, the sun barely dragging itself over the horizon, and me, somehow already vertical despite my better judgment. Snuggles says I’m the only person she knows who voluntarily ruins perfectly good weekends by waking up at ungodly hours. She’s probably right.
But this wasn’t just any morning. This was “Bill Time” day.
See, “Bill Time” isn’t something you explain to normal people. They don’t get it. My buddy Chad once asked what “Bill Time” meant, and I just stared at him until he changed the subject. Some things are sacred, you know? Kinda like how I don’t need to explain why my bike’s named Hendrix. If you know, you know.
I grabbed Hendrix (that’s my bike, purple frame, attitude problem) and wheeled him out from our campervan where we’d spent the night. We had a date with Wagon Wheel Ridge, and he wasn’t about to let me sleep in. That bike has more motivation than my college guidance counselor ever did. Named him Hendrix for, y’know, obvious reasons. If you don’t get it, I’m not explaining it to you.
The trail was quiet when we arrived. Just the way I like it. No weekend warriors, no fitness influencers documenting their “authentic outdoor experience” for their followers. Just me, Hendrix, and about forty-seven million trees.
The first mile of Wagon Wheel is always deceptive. All smooth and friendly-like, lulling you into a false sense of security. “Oh, this isn’t so bad,” your brain says. Your brain is a liar. Your brain has forgotten about the section locals call “Regret Junction.”
I propped Hendrix against a pine tree to catch my breath about halfway up. He gleamed there in the dappled morning light, judgmental as ever. The purple frame almost seemed to pulse with impatience.
“Gimme a minute,” I muttered to him. “Some of us have to do the actual pedaling, you know.”
A chipmunk watched our exchange with obvious disdain. Wildlife critics, I swear.
That’s when I noticed it, bear grass in full bloom. Like little white explosions all over the hillside. They looked sorta alien, these feathery white spikes standing tall against the green backdrop. Nature’s fireworks, but in slow motion and without the noise complaints from neighbors.
The thing about “Bill Time” is that it exists in a weird space between torture and therapy. Every push of the pedal on those uphill stretches feels like punishment for crimes I don’t remember committing. But then there’s that moment… that perfect, fleeting moment… when you reach a ridge and the world just opens up beneath you. The valley stretching out like it’s showing off, the mountains doing their whole majestic thing in the distance. And suddenly the burning lungs and screaming thighs make a twisted kind of sense.
I snapped a quick pic of Hendrix on the trail (he’s vain like that, loves the attention) and continued on. The path ahead curved through the pines, an invitation and a challenge all wrapped into one dusty ribbon.
The trails from Lee Creek Campground, where we’d spent the night, offered a different vibe than my usual Wagon Wheel routes. I spent a good hour just riding and taking in the scenery before the clouds started gathering in the distance.
Made it to the overlook just as the sky started doing that thing. You know, that ominous “I’m-about-to-dump-buckets-on-you” thing. Dark clouds rolling in over the distant ridges like they were late for an appointment. The mountains looked almost blue-green under the shadow, layer after layer fading into the mist.
I sat on this massive rock outcropping, fishing a squished protein bar from my pocket. Half melted, wrapper stuck to it in that special way that means you’re eating paper today whether you planned to or not. Worth it though. The view was… well, it was one of those moments where you feel simultaneously tiny and enormous. Like you’re just a speck but somehow taking in this whole world at once. That kinda thing makes my brain hurt if I think about it too long.
“Welp,” I announced to no one in particular, “looks like Mother Nature’s calling it.” No arguing with those clouds. Even I’m not that stubborn. Okay, I am that stubborn, but I forgot to pack my rain gear, so wisdom prevailed for once.
Just me and Hendrix, figuring it out one ridge at a time.
Lolo Pass Area
Just like that, Bill Time was over. The timer in my head dinged, the meditation bell of impending precipitation. Packed it in and headed back down to camp, Hendrix bouncing over roots and rocks like he was showing off. (He totally was.)
Back at camp, I tucked Hendrix safely in the campervan as Mo was already up and about, lacing up hiking boots with that determined look. The one that says “I’m going to climb something today and enjoy every sweaty minute of it.” Sometimes I think we work as a couple because we have the same brand of strange… just different flavors.
“Good ride?” Mo asked, not looking up from a particularly stubborn bootlace.
“Mmm,” I answered, eloquent as always. Sometimes the best Bill Time leaves you with fewer words, not more.
Mo nodded like I’d delivered some profound statement. “Figured. You’ve got that post-ride face.”
“What face?”
“That face like you just had a conversation with the universe and it actually answered back for once.”
Huh. Maybe that’s what Bill Time really is. Just the universe picking up the phone when I call.
I watched Mo getting all geared up, and something in me wasn’t quite ready to call it a day. Like my soul still had some wandering left to do.
“Can I go?” I asked, surprising even myself. Normally post-ride Bill is strictly a horizontal-on-the-nearest-flat-surface kinda guy.
Mo looked up, eyebrows doing that surprised thing. “Seriously? You never want to hike after riding.”
“Yeah well, today’s weird I guess.” I shrugged, already digging through my bag for socks that didn’t smell like I’d been marinating them in old cheese.
And just like that, we were exploring the rock formations in the area. These massive stone sculptures that looked like some giant kid had been stacking blocks and then wandered off mid-play.
Mo climbed up on this one boulder that jutted out dramatically, striking a pose like the world’s most outdoorsy superhero. Not gonna lie, it was pretty epic… the way the mountains layered out behind, all misty and mysterious. I snapped a pic, thinking how different it was seeing the same view with company versus alone.
I found my own rock to conquer, this weird, layered thing that kinda resembled a stack of pancakes if pancakes weighed several tons and could crush you. Placed my hand against the cool stone and felt the rough texture against my palm. Strange how something so solid could also feel so alive.
Beargrass
That’s when I noticed the bear grass in full bloom all around us. Like little white explosions everywhere. They looked sorta alien, these feathery white spikes standing tall against the green backdrop. Nature’s fireworks, but in slow motion and without the noise complaints from neighbors. I stopped to snap a pic of a particularly impressive specimen. A macro photographer, I am not, but even I could appreciate these bizarre botanical fireworks.
“You should see your face now,” Mo called over, grinning.
“What’s it saying this time?” I shouted back.
“That you’re wondering why we don’t do this more often.”
Mo wasn’t wrong. (Mo’s rarely wrong, which is both wonderful and incredibly annoying, depending on the day.)
Bill Time is sacred, that solo communion with trails and trees and my own weird thoughts. But there’s something to this too. Call it Mo-and-Bill Time. Different flavor, same kind of magic.
The clouds kept gathering, darker now, but somehow less threatening. Like they were just settling in to watch us play among the rocks. Maybe planning to join the party later with some dramatic lightning effects.
Posers
I struck my own ridiculous pose by this massive boulder, feeling slightly foolish and completely alive. Mo laughed, that full-belly laugh that always makes me feel like I’ve won some kind of cosmic lottery.
“Think the universe answers the phone when we call together too?” I asked later, as we picked our way back down.
“Oh for sure,” Mo said, jumping down from a ledge with that easy grace I’ve always envied. “It just speaks in stereo instead of mono.”
The clouds finally made good on their threats, opening up with a vengeance. One minute dry, next minute… biblical. We bolted down the trail like someone had lit our shoes on fire.
I reached the van first, yanking the door open and diving in. Turned around, all ready to laugh at Mo’s equally drenched state, but… no Mo.
Wait, what?
Squinted through the rain-blurred windshield. There she was, maybe thirty yards back, CROUCHED DOWN on the trail. In the rain. On purpose. Like some kind of rain-loving wilderness gremlin.
“What the—” I muttered, debating whether to go back out into the downpour or just start honking. But then I got it.
She was taking pictures. Of course she was. Close-ups of some plant with raindrops beading up on it like tiny crystal marbles. The rain plastering her hair to her head, probably soaking through to places that would be uncomfortable for the next three hours, and she’s completely oblivious… just totally zeroed in on these perfect little water droplets clinging to fuzzy green leaves.
That’s Mo. Always stopping for the tiny miracles I’m too busy charging ahead to notice.
I watched her through the raindrop-streaked window, feeling this weird tug in my chest. Somewhere between exasperation and… I dunno, something bigger that I’m not poetic enough to name.
She eventually jogged to the van, grinning like she’d discovered buried treasure instead of just getting soaked for plant photography.
“You’re insane,” I told her as she dripped all over the passenger seat.
Close up
“You’re missing out,” she countered, showing me the close-up on her phone. And damn if she wasn’t right. Those droplets looked like something from another planet… all perfect spheres catching light in ways that seemed impossible.
Some days you get exactly the Bill Time you need. And some days, it turns out what you need is someone who’ll stand in the rain to remind you to look closer.
Go figure.
Disclaimer: This post benefited from the use of Perplexity for research and fact-checking, Claude for proofreading and structural input, and Gemini for fact-checking prompt development. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.
The sun was beating down something fierce on that Thursday afternoon as Mr. Bear settled into his tiny folding chair. It was June 13th, 2024, and honestly, he couldn’t have picked a better spot to camp. Homestake Pass, just outside of Butte, Montana… where the air smells like pine and possibility.
Camp
Mr. Bear had camped there the night before in his trusty blue van. A bit dusty from his travels… but that’s how you know it’s been places, right? After a peaceful night under the stars, the urge to explore hit him early that morning. The mountain bike seemed like the obvious choice for adventure, though between you and me, his stubby little paws weren’t exactly made for handling brake levers.
After a somewhat… let’s call it “eventful” ride down one of the local trails (there may have been a small incident involving a squirrel, a pine cone, and what Mr. Bear would later describe as “excessive downhill momentum”), he decided that maybe sitting quietly and enjoying nature was the safer option.
But ya know what? That little mishap wasn’t gonna stop our Mr. Bear. Stubborn little fella had adventure in his fuzzy heart, and by gosh, adventure he would have.
So off he went again, tackling the MAGNIFICENT trails around Homestake Pass. Like, stop-and-stare-with-your-mouth-open magnificent. There was this one spot where an old railroad trestle crossed over a little creek, all rusted and historical-looking against those massive pines reaching up toward a sky so blue it almost hurt your eyes. Mr. Bear just had to stop and take it in. (He maybe pretended to be a train conductor for a few minutes… but we don’t have to tell anyone about that.)
Pipestone Trails
Then there were the high mountain trails that curved around rocky outcroppings, with views that stretched all the way to snow-capped peaks in the distance. Mr. Bear’s little paws worked overtime on the pedals as he navigated the twisty dirt paths, occasionally catching air on the small jumps… and let me tell you, seeing a teddy bear catch air on a mountain bike is something that doesn’t happen every day.
The best part though? That long, flowing trail that wound through granite boulders and tall pines. Mr. Bear could’ve sworn he was flying, the wind rustling his fur, the sunshine warming his back, his little bear heart practically bursting with joy.
As evening started to settle in, Mr. Bear found himself just… standing there. Kinda lost in the moment, y’know? The day’s adventures had left him pleasantly worn out (turns out tiny stuffed legs can pedal pretty darn far when they want to!), but there was one more thing he needed to see before calling it a day.
There she was… the Lady of the Rockies, standing tall and serene on the mountain ridge. The massive white statue seemed to glow against the darkening blue sky, with the half-moon hanging just above like it was keeping her company. Pretty darn magical, if you asked Mr. Bear.
The lady of the rockies
He tilted his fuzzy head back, his little button eyes reflecting the statue in the distance. “Thanks,” he whispered (okay, teddy bears can’t actually whisper, but go with me on this). Thanks for the trails that made his little heart race. Thanks for the views that literally stopped him in his tracks. Thanks for that one squirrel that definitely laughed at him when he wiped out on that rocky section. Just… thanks.
With one last look at the Lady, Mr. Bear turned and waddled back to his blue van. His bike was already packed up, his tiny camp chair folded away. Tomorrow would bring new adventures, new trails to explore. But tonight? Tonight was for counting stars and replaying the day’s best moments before drifting off to a well-earned sleep.
(And maybe putting some ice on those teddy bear knees. Mountain biking ain’t always gentle, even for the stuffed adventurers among us.)
This post benefited from the use of Perplexity for research and fact-checking, Claude for proofreading and structural input, and Gemini for fact-checking prompt development. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.
I wiped the sweat from my brow as I stared up at the winding dirt path ahead. Homestake Pass has always been my go-to escape when life in Missoula got too… well, Missoula-like. (Not that I don’t love my town, but sometimes a person just needs fewer hipsters and more trees, ya know?)
My mountain bike, Hendrix, rested against my leg as I took a long swig from my water bottle. The purple frame caught the sunlight just right… always makes me burst into “Purple Haze” when I first see it in the morning light. The sun beat down mercilessly, making me wish I’d brought along one of those Lupdjuice brews from Imagination Brewery. Man, those go down smooth after a ride.
The trail stretched before me like a dusty ribbon through the pines. Last weekend’s rain had packed the dirt just right… not too muddy, not too loose. Perfect conditions.
As I pedaled up the first incline, my thoughts drifted to the strange dream I’d had last night. In it, the little blue butterfly mascot from Imagination’s label had come to life, floating alongside me as I rode these very trails.
“Left! GO LEFT!” the butterfly had screamed in my dream, its tiny voice somehow booming. I’d laughed it off this morning, but now, approaching the tunnel cutting through the hillside, I couldn’t shake the memory.
The tunnel’s always the creepiest part of the trail. Dark, cool, and slightly damp… a stark contrast to the sun-drenched landscape. I flicked on my helmet light and plunged into the darkness.
Halfway through, I could’ve sworn I heard something. A faint buzzing? A tiny voice? Probably just the wind, or maybe my imagination working overtime. I pedaled faster.
Emerging on the other side, I nearly crashed Hendrix into that massive rock formation that stands like a sentinel among the pines. I’ve passed this rock a hundred times before but had never really stopped to appreciate it. Today, something about it seemed almost… alive.
I dismounted and took a photo, then noticed something blue fluttering near the top of the rock. No way. It couldn’t be.
But there it was… a butterfly with wings that seemed to glow electric blue against the cloudless sky.
“Follow me,” it seemed to say. (OK, so butterflies don’t talk, but I was pretty sure this one was giving me some serious “follow me” vibes.)
I hopped back on Hendrix and followed as the butterfly danced ahead down a trail I’d somehow never noticed before. The path narrowed, winding between tall pines that cast dappled shadows across the dirt.
Three miles and one near-wipeout later (stupid exposed root), I rounded a bend and found myself in a small clearing. In the center sat a wooden table with… I couldn’t believe my eyes… a perfectly chilled can of Lupdjuice.
I looked around. Nobody in sight. Just trees, rocks, distant mountains, and that impossibly blue sky. The butterfly was gone too.
I approached the table cautiously. The condensation on the can confirmed it was real, not some heat-induced hallucination. A small note beside it read simply: “For those who follow the unexpected path.”
Homestake Pass
I cracked open the beer, took a long sip, and laughed to myself. Sometimes the best rides aren’t about the miles logged or technical skills mastered, but about the weird little moments you’ll never be able to explain to anyone back in Missoula.
I’ll try anyway, though. Nobody will believe me, but that’s what makes it special.
Just another day at Homestake Pass… with a little brewery magic thrown in.
I open the door to River our trusty campervan as the early morning sun filters through the pines at our Pipestone campsite. Finally a day off with nothing but time. Been saving this ride all week. The sky’s that perfect Montana blue that practically demands an epic adventure.
I unload my trusty old mountain bike and check my gear one last time. Water bottle? Check. The map shows a few different routes, and I decide to start with the “Lunch Rock” loop to warm up properly.
Lunch Rock
The first section winds between towering granite formations, the sandy dirt crunching under my tires. After a few minutes, the trail opens up to this perfect little sanctuary between massive rock formations. So that’s Lunch Rock! The name makes perfect sense now… an enormous monolith standing like some ancient sentinel, its reddish surface catching the mid-morning light. There’s even a picnic table tucked into the shade.
After a quick water break, I notice the rr tracks heading toward what looks like a more adventitious section. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I follow them toward the old railroad bed that stretches toward Butte.
Old Railroad Bed
The trail suddenly opens into this incredible rocky corridor, like riding through some ancient gateway. Massive rock walls tower on both sides, with rusted railroad tracks cutting right down the middle. Something about abandoned railways always gives me the chills, but like, the good kind? My tires slip slightly on patches of mud alongside the wooden railroad ties. Gotta stay focused… one bad line and I’d be picking gravel out of my knees for days.
Trestle
And then… holy freaking crap, the railway opens up to a trestle bridge that looks like something straight out of those “places you shouldn’t go but people do anyway” videos. The wooden ties stretch out in front of me, suspended over what has to be at least a hundred-foot drop. How old is this thing anyway? Early 1900s? Late 1800s? Whatever.
My heart’s pounding as I navigate between the rails. Don’t look down, don’t look down… I totally look down. Bad idea! The gaps between the wooden ties show glimpses of treetops WAY below. My palms are instantly sweaty. Halfway across and the wind picks up a little. Are you KIDDING me right now?? Not helpful, nature!
Butte Montana
Somehow I make it across that death bridge and find myself approaching Butte. The sprawling town sits below like some industrial painting. But daylight’s doing that thing where it starts to slip away faster than you expect. Know that feeling? One minute you’ve got hours left, the next you’re calculating if you packed a headlamp. (Narrator: I did not pack a headlamp, obviously.)
Instead of heading straight back to Pipestone, I decide to take Upper Maude S trail toward the Lady of the Rockies statue at the top of the Continental Divide. The trail starts out mellow enough but quickly turns into this relentless climb. My legs are screaming at me about halfway up. Like, actual conversations with my quadriceps: “Hey buddy, remember those squats yesterday? WELL WE HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.” Rude.
Continental Divide
The view though? Worth every burning muscle fiber. As I gain elevation, Butte unfolds below me, and beyond that… miles and miles of Montana wilderness. The trail gets narrower and rockier near the top. Couple sketchy switchbacks where I almost eat dirt, but somehow stay upright.
By the time I reach the ridge, I’m completely out of energy. I collapse against one of those weird rock formations that look like they were stacked by some ancient giant playing with building blocks. My legs feel like actual jello… not the firm kind either, but the super jiggly stuff your grandma brings to potlucks.
I check my water bottle… barely a sip left. Great planning there, genius. For a hot second, I seriously consider just setting up camp right here with the rocks. (By “setting up camp” I mean curling into a ball and hoping someone finds me before the mountain lions do.)
Somehow I drag my sorry butt back onto the bike. The fading light makes everything look different, kinda magical but also slightly terrifying? Shadows are longer, colors more intense. I swear that rock formation to the left looks exactly like a face watching me.
Finally, FINALLY, I reach that magic spot where gravity becomes my friend again. Once you hit these oddly-shaped boulders (seriously, they look like giant potatoes or something), it’s basically all downhill back to camp. Thank. Freaking. God.
Rock formation before decent
The late afternoon light is hitting everything just right, turning those hills into a patchwork of gold and green. Dead trees mixed with living ones create this crazy pattern across the landscape. Montana showing off, as usual.
My bike’s making this weird clicking sound now. Something I should probably check, but… future me problem! The downhill starts gentle but quickly turns into the kind of descent that makes your forearms burn from braking.
Before the final push, I stop for one last photo. The whole basin stretches out below me like some ridiculous painting. Clouds catching the late day light, turning all dramatic and moody. Perfect Montana sky, so big it almost hurts to look at.
Last Lookout
This whole trip was definitely NOT what I planned. Just a ride, I said. Few hours tops, I said. HA! But that trestle crossing alone was worth the pain my quads are gonna give me tomorrow.
Pipestone sure knows how to show a person who’s boss. And I’m 100% okay with that.
What a day
Time to finish this descent, collapse dramatically at camp, and tell everyone how I nearly died at least seven different times today. I mean, what’s the point of an epic adventure if you can’t exaggerate it just a little bit later?
Just spent another epic day out at Pipestone and man, I can’t get enough of this place! Started with crushing some trails on my e-mtb (only had to walk it ONCE when a tiny rock got stuck in my chainguard… cue me frantically troubleshooting what sounded like a dying motor). Finished the ride with the perfect combo – a juicy brat and cold Imagination beer that tasted like actual heaven after all those miles.
The Life
But honestly? It’s those unexpected moments that make these trips. Like stopping at that one vista where the sandstone catches the light just right, ponderosa pines swaying in the breeze, sunshine warming your face after a tough climb. Worth. Every. Pedal.
Hendrix
Got a bit lost trying a new route today (shocker) but ended up stumbling across some old mining homesteads I’d never seen before! Ancient equipment just sitting there like nature’s museum pieces. Kinda wild to think about the people who worked this land way back when.
Even the tough parts – those long loops that leave you totally dehydrated, gasping for breath as you push yourself over yet another mountain pass – somehow become the best stories later. Everything out here feels special, ya know? Even the mishaps. Actually, ESPECIALLY the mishaps.
The last best ride
Pipestone life – it’s the best, plain and simple.
This post benefited from the use of Perplexity for research and fact-checking, Claude (https://claude.ai/share/1c30ce54-5cda-40b1-8351-8c567053dfee) for proofreading and structural input, and Gemini for fact-checking prompt development. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.
As many of you know, this blog has been a canvas for my journey, a place where I’ve shared countless stories from mountain trails to life’s metaphorical bumps. Today, I’m thrilled to announce some exciting changes that reflect both my personal growth and the evolution of this blog.
A New Identity: “The Divergent Mountain Biker”
I’m transitioning to “The Divergent Mountain Biker” with a fresh tagline: “Dropping in on a neurotypical jumpline.” These changes mirror my own path towards embracing neurodivergence and exploring how it intersects with my passion for mountain biking. This new title and tagline capture the essence of navigating a world where the paths less traveled often lead to the most rewarding vistas.
Embracing Innovation: Introducing AI to Our Journey
In our quest to bring you richer, more engaging content, we’ve started integrating neural network technologies. This post was crafted with the assistance of a custom ChatGPT bot named “Bloggette,” which I’ve tailored to help create insightful and unique content. This is just the beginning of how we’ll leverage AI to enhance our storytelling and offer you new perspectives on both neurodivergence and mountain biking. It’s all neural!
Have Your Say: A Poll to Guide Our Future Content
As we chart this new territory, your input is more invaluable than ever. I’ve set up a poll to gather your thoughts on these changes and what you’d like to see in future posts. Your feedback will help shape the direction of The Divergent Mountain Biker as we continue to explore this divergent trail together.
Looking Ahead
I am excited about this new phase and encourage you all to leave your thoughts and suggestions in the comments or on any of my social media platforms, although they are not visited often. Thank you for being part of this journey. Let’s ride into this new chapter together, exploring the divergent and the diverse, and seeing where this trail leads us.
Resources
Neurodiversity Resources: Different Brains offers a wealth of information and resources tailored to the neurodivergent community, including educational videos and articles that can inspire content.
AI in Content Creation: Aspiration Marketing details how AI can revolutionize content marketing by aiding in tasks like keyword research, audience segmentation, and personalized content creation.
Engagement and Community Building: ActiveCampaign emphasizes the importance of personalizing content while respecting privacy and navigating the complexities of digital engagement.
Today’s ride was yet another episode in the grand soap opera I like to call “As the Pedal Turns with the Cuddle Bears!” I was riding shotgun on Moki, and she was on her beloved Pumpkin Spice, as we charged up Marshall Grade like a couple of Tour de France wannabes. It’s typically a no-sweat ascent, but today, we pushed our limits, bypassing our usual pit stop to venture deep into the heart of Marshall Woods. This wasn’t just any old detour; it marked the debut of a fresh single track that snakes its way back to our old haunt, Sheep Mountain Trail.
Our tires chewed up the trail down Sheep Mountain, swerving back onto the familiar dirt of Marshall Grade Road. Just when it felt like the excitement was winding down, we dove into Quick Draw—or as we’ve affectionately dubbed it, Two Larch—and flew down with a mix of adrenaline and zen. We took a wild card turn into Woods Gulch, tossing a little chaos into our meticulously planned route.
While Mo took a zen moment on the tranquil Rattlesnake Creek Trail, I opted for a little extra burn up Powerline, cresting Jumbo Saddle to loop back to the car. We regrouped back at the ranch, drenched in sweat but grinning ear to ear. Just another typical day shredding the trails with my favorite cycling sidekick and our noble steeds. Here’s to countless more!
As the morning sun played peek-a-boo through the dense canopy, I found myself setting off on a jaunt to unearth the forest’s secret splendors. Ambling along the serpentine trail, I couldn’t help but stop and marvel at the etchings on the tree trunks—nature’s own version of ancient graffiti, each line a silent whisper of the olden times.
Traversing a creaky suspension bridge, my eyes danced to the rhythm of the creek below, its waters mirroring the lush tapestry of the landscape like a Van Gogh painting. As I ascended, the forest curtain lifted to reveal a panorama of towering cliffs and stoic pines, standing like the wise old men of the woods.
With each footfall, a fresh sense of awe washed over me, making me feel as though the forest was peeling back its leafy layers, coaxing me to dive deeper into its verdant mysteries. The adventure was far from over, and I was all geared up for more fairy-tale discoveries just around the bend.
Snap out of it, Bill! Looks like you’ve dozed off at your desk again. What were you up to? “Oh, I was deep in ‘work forest,’ trying not to ‘log’ out too late—typical me, right?” Oh, boy, how am I going to explain this at the office?
In this digital age, where artificial intelligence (AI) increasingly acts as our daily companion, ensuring that the myriad of voices and experiences shaping our tech is inclusive isn’t just important—it’s critical. As a card-carrying member of the neurodiverse squad, my dive into the AI and machine learning pool was spurred by a nagging puzzle: Does AI really get folks on the autism spectrum, or is it more like that awkward guest at a party who just can’t read the room?
Kicking Off the Quest
This adventure kicked off with a deep dive into the world of large language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT, courtesy of the brainiacs over at OpenAI. These AI giants, juiced up on a cocktail of human knowledge and chatter, boast of their prowess in mimicking human banter. But here’s the million-dollar question: Do they really capture the full kaleidoscope of human experiences, especially from the neurodivergent corner?
Peeling Back the Layers of Neurodiversity in AI
The act of “masking” is a familiar script for many neurodivergent folks—tweaking our behaviors to blend into a neurotypical world. This charade begs the question: If the data feeding AI is cloaked in neurotypicality, what unique insights are we missing out on?
Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to poke ChatGPT with questions about its diet of data and how it represents the neurodivergent narrative. The chat threw up a glaring hole—the AI munches on a diverse data platter, but neurodivergent-spun yarns aren’t explicitly on the menu. This was a lightbulb moment, underlining the need for AI brains that not only acknowledge but also spotlight neurodivergent viewpoints.
On the Hunt for Neurodivergent-Savvy AI
Fueled by curiosity, I set off on a quest to uncover AI initiatives or models marinated in neurodivergent creativity. My sleuthing led me to various AI corners, but the spotlight moment was stumbling upon Enabled Intelligence (EI)—a beacon of hope leveraging neurodiverse brilliance in AI data annotation.
EI’s strategy of harnessing the unique skills of neurodiverse folks, including those blessed with autism, for tasks that demand ninja-like pattern recognition and meticulous attention to detail, hints at progress. Yet, the burning question lingered: Is there an AI out there feasting solely on content whipped up by autistic minds?
Stepping Up the Game
Not one to sit back, I reached out to Enabled Intelligence, eager to learn about their endeavors in cooking up AI models that resonate with autistic perspectives or are seasoned with content crafted by autistic creators. This move wasn’t just about seeking answers; it was about rolling up my sleeves and diving into the heart of the AI and neurodiversity dialogue.
The Road Ahead
The journey is anything but over. Each chat, question, and article is a piece of the puzzle, inching us closer to AI that mirrors the rich tapestry of human diversity. As I play the waiting game for replies and keep the exploration alive, my mission is crystal clear: to champion and shape AI that not only recognizes but celebrates the distinctive views of the neurodivergent community.
Embarking on this quest for AI inclusivity underscores a broader call to action for tech that embraces every facet of humanity, cherishing the insights and experiences of neurodivergent individuals.
Clutching the remote like it’s the last piece of pizza on game night, and barricading ourselves indoors feels a bit overkill these days. The world, stripped of the cacophony of do’s and don’ts, red tape, and 24/7 news cycles, somehow feels like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable and just right. It’s as if we’re surfing through life’s hurdles, crafted by someone who’s an absolute wizard with a sewing kit. But honestly, isn’t that the case for all of us?
Shrugging off the whole rebel vibe, or maybe just overlooking the itch for an escape from what some call the world’s circus, why not nix the whole virtual voyage to Rattlesnake Creek concept? Picture it: a jungle of laws, a straightjacket of regulations, just you trapped in a shoebox—sounds like a horror flick for the free spirits among us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for playing by the book, but there’s something about throwing in the towel and settling for the snug fit of constraints that just doesn’t sit right. And let’s be real, we’re all in the same boat! I’ll just be over here, pouring one out for the dreamers.
And then, waving off the thought of meditation—talk about watching paint dry, right? Fantasizing about being miles away from the tranquil, yet terribly silent, Rattlesnake Creek, cocooned in the humdrum of a cookie-cutter routine, is practically a high-five to conformity. It’s like willingly walking into a mind maze, choosing to wrestle with the world’s frenzy by diving headfirst into a pool of our own mental clutter.
The stuffy feel of a room that’s seen better days, the eerie quiet that’s louder than any concert, and the noticeable lack of anything remotely wild—it’s the polar opposite of nature’s grand concert, and frankly, every spa playlist or meditation app pales in comparison. It’s a nudge, reminding us that maybe, just maybe, embracing the tight grip of our grumbles, societal handcuffs, and expectations might just mean keeping our peepers wide open and staying put. Because, surprise, it’s a universal theme! I’m here, dutifully following every decree, courtesy of the powers that be.
So, how about we skip the zen session? Let’s all take a deep breath, hold it, and for a sec, just be, miles away from the mythical Rattlesnake Creek, in a space where our souls feel as boxed in and regulated as the great outdoors we’re overlooking. Maybe, in these instants of self-imposed exile, we’ll unearth the mojo to saunter through the simplicity of life with a bit less elegance and a tad more resolve to stick to our lanes (liberating, it ain’t). At the end of the day, it’s about sidestepping our own journeys around life’s literal and figurative rattlesnakes. It’s the same song and dance for us all … catch you on the flip side.
Boneshakerbike 