Category: Blog Posts

Rich asked where I was heading as we enjoyed Cataplooza’s live band.

“I’m off to Upper Cottonwood Trail,” I replied.

He warned it was rocky, a comment I brushed off silently, determined to conquer the trail despite the warnings.

Indeed, the trail was tougher than any I’d faced in Montana, matching the challenging tracks back East. I struggled, nearly walking my bike halfway up, blaming a phone date for turning back. But honestly, the trail had defeated me; I couldn’t bear the walk of shame any longer.

“I’ll conquer you yet,” I muttered, retreating.

Descending was another tale. I rode down entirely, greeted by a stunning sunset at the trailhead. A reminder that even in failure, there’s a chance for beauty. Another trail, another adventure.

I have been exhausted lately.  Some big adventure coupled with some late nights have me is some major need of sleep. So after work tonight I had two choices. Go home and hit the couch or squeak out a adventure. I settled on a “active rest” hike to Frog Rock.

Yet another trail here in Bozeman is just west of town. This tiny hike is great for recovery and some amateur rock climbing. I mean there is some major rock to climb but also for us scary cats there are some side pitches that take you to some rock perches above the canyon. these are the rocks you see between Bozeman and the pass. Yea, you can hike up into them … cool. Again tonight as with the last two weeks my mind drifted in and out of current situations. New job, new trails, and yes some sparks of fondness for someone. Along with that Modest Mouse seemed to find a way to get me running. Yes a recovery hike turned into a great trail run.  I cant wait for this weekend.

The day was almost a “loss”, well if you subscribe to my definition of “loss”. Loss occurs when you have a beautiful day and don’t utilize it for an outdoor adventure. I mean we all sit around waiting on summer and when it arrives we take it for grated sometimes. I wouldn’t allow it and so I finally jumped in my car to drive up to the Fairy Lake Campground in the Bridger Range here in Bozeman.

The trip up was a bit longer then I thought. You see on the map there is a dirt road that leads to a public campground. So one would figure you could drive a beetle up there, right? Not so here in Bozeman. These roads are called jeep trails and let me tell you a jeep would of been nice. I did make it to the Sacagawea Peak Trailhead but after a bit of constructive driving. I like to call it “Mountain Beetling”, a close cousin to “So Snow Mo Beetling” which is done in the winter.

Now I was looking at a ridge line that reached into the sky and was illuminating by a setting sun. At first it looked like a little rock but upon closer scrutiny I determined this was a beast. So dramatic that my vertigo suddenly kicked in. I looked down and then to my watch. “Well, I should turn around anyway”, I said to a marmot close by. “I mean I did get up here late and it would be nice to get back home before ten”. I snapped off a photo and decided to continue until at least 8.  I could at least gain the ridge maybe.

Out of the tree line I was greeted by two towering peaks. It was so dizzying that I forgot which one was Sacagawea and assumed it was the hard one on the right. Of course this was a mistake. In the end it made no difference anyway because I had already determined I would not attempt a accent this late. I headed towards the saddle and started to think about the number two. The dual beauty above me seemed to make the scene more beautiful then a single peak scene.

Why the wonder? I don’t know, but for some time I figured solo was the way to go. But as this remarkably beautiful terrain seemed to bring up a recent development in life I found myself in a quandary. And this scene I realized, as I have many times in the past year, would be nice to share it with someone. But then what about group hikes and rides. I wonder … what is the optimal number of people to enjoy this kind of adventure; to enjoy life?

One seems best but then there is that urge to have a black and white scene painted with an array of beautiful colors. I can enjoy something but when I am with others it seems more colorful and meaningful.

On the other end of the spectrum a large group, say 4 or more, I believe something gets lost. It is noisy and everyone has their agendas and different ways of looking at things. It gets complicated. Magical and fun but something is lost. I think the most importnat element, earth, is being diluted.

Three maybe? It seems three can be more intamate with the surrounding beauty.  I guess what I am saying is that the less people you share something with the more you can focus on the earth, others,  and your inner self. So is one optimal? I am starting to believe that 2 may be optimal. Two is as intimate as you can get before the total focus on the experience starts to dilute. For some reason 2 brings out a bonding element, a intimate element. I don’t know ….

Before I could make my decision I reached the saddle to a beautiful sunset. My mind drifts off to next weekend. This would be a nice place to test my optimal number theory.

Today is my friend Jill’s birthday and I told her that I would do an epic in her honor. I said this because she is injured and cannot go epic … so I went epic.

I started the day going up a trail called Bozeman Creek. It is the drainage to the East of Hylite. Which means a hard ass climb to get over the ridge. Once over though, the scenery opened up and it was like a postcard.

Once in the Hylite Valley I headed up to Emerald Lake. The trail up reminded me of the Lolo Peak trail. It went up and up and had great switchbacks with great scenery at every corner. Soon, too soon, I arrived at the lake.

There were wild flowers in abundance and the streams were cold and refreshing. I only took a bag of Carbo Rocket so all I needed to do was stop to mix every hour. Then it was off to a lake up from Emerald called Heather.

Heather was tucked away in the upper reaches of the valley just below towering cliffs. The mountains just up from it were all 10,000 footers, Chisholm and Overlook.

To ride a bike in such beauty is hard. The trail is technical enough to require the utmost attention. But that is nearly impossible with all the beauty towering around you. So falls are totally acceptable … and expected.

After bombing down from the lakes …. wait …. more like totally blissfully hauling ass over twisty single-track bombing. Where was I , oh. I didn’t have enough so I spent the rest of the day poking around where I could. I even went up one ravine to find a rain forest like cove. Totally cool. In the end I hit up trails like they were chocolates. After it all was said and done 66 miles, 8,000 feet of climbing in a little over 7 hours http://connect.garmin.com/activity/108080480.

Mom always said, “Life is like a box of chocolates … eat them all and don’t forget to GPS  it so as to marvel at what you have done”.

I left work facing a weekend that barring any surprise visits will be my first alone weekend at home in Bozeman. I felt kind of sad because I was trying to schedule another weekend like last. But a trip down the canyon on the South side of Bozeman has renewed my enthusiasm. As I sit now in my living room looking at a trail map I just obtained from REI my heart is leaping with excitement. There are literally hundreds of trails and epic adventured around these parts.

I zipped home from work and exchanged my bike for my trail runners. I arrived at Hylite Lake about 25 minutes after leaving my apartment. Getting there was simple. Just drive up 18th, the street next to my apartment, take a left on Hylite Lake Road and follow it to the lake. I cant believe I live so close to paradise. I almost had flashbacks to being in Canmore and Alaska. It was that cool.

Near the end of the lake I could see the drainages that I will be mountain biking up this weekend. To the Left is the  Emerald Lake drainage and tomorrow’s destination. Then to the right is the way to Hylite Peak for Sunday’s frolic. Up the valleys are snowy expanses of high peaks and razor sharp ridges. Like a mini Glacier park right in my back yard.

I arrived at the first trailhead that had the word “Falls” in it. I am a sucker for water falls. I grabbed my Carbo Rocket and camera then started running up the path. The falls were not that far up the path and I was really amazed at the size of the drop. I noticed a trail up the side and headed up to get a better perspective. That is when mishap 2.0 happened.

Keep in mind that last week I came out of the woods late after a fall running up in Truman Gulch. Well tonight instead of falling on my face I fell on my ass. I was climbing some sharp rocks when I misjudged a rocks location and fell backwards and onto my back landing on a sharp rock. Now I have this grapefruit bulge on the bottom of my spine. As I lay there wriggling in pain all I could think about is if I ruined my weekend of biking.

I heard some voices coming up the trail so I quickly regained my composure and faked like I was enjoying the view. I took a couple more glances at the waterfall and started to jog back to the car. As soon as I got out of sight of the hikers I started running with a limp as to accommodate my new ouchy ass.

Now back at home the pain in my back is not at the forefront of my focus. My focus is on a map laid out on the living room floor. New excitement and possibilities. I am no longer alone.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest and I glanced at my GPS watch to see just how high it was. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the display because I was running up a mountain and between the moving display and my anaerobic daze things were a bit confusing. I did see that I only had been at it for 20 minutes.

“Holy cow, I am running up this mountain super fast”, I thought to myself.

I had left camp after mulling around pre dawn with nothing to do. It kind of surprised me that at least Norman wasn’t up. He mentioned a little outing in the morning. I knew Lydia wouldn’t be up and there is no way Mo was going to exist pre 10 AM. It was around 6 when I sauntered away from the lake and headed for the far ridgeline to the West.

Now I was on top of the backbone of the Swan Range. To run along the ridge as the sun peaks up is tremendously moving. I watched as the shadow of the range I was on slowly slipped down the Mission Range far to the West. I was among the company of giants for a early morning get-together. I made my way towards a peak but about 00 to 300 feet away the pitch jetting straight up. This terrain was out of my comfort zone so I turned and skipped back down the ridgeline. Yes! I said skipped. I made my way back to camp to find Norman up cooking breakfast.  Total morning “jog” was about 1:20.

I talked Norman out of a cup of coffee and the bean juice revitalized my systems. Before long Norman and I went on a short walk about to discover the cool terrain in and around where we were staying.  Lakes emptying into other lakes sometimes with waterfalls in between. Really quite interesting.

Mo shows off her “move to the left … move to the right”

You want a piece of me? huh?

Flower

Lydia snuck up some fast food

Norman catching up on some sleep.

Necklace Lake

Camp

Yum, that looks good.

My weird mug

Back at camp we all set forth to packing up and start the trek back out of the interior to civilization. Before us a 700 foot, straight up, accent on the ridge and then a quad crushing 4,100 foot drop.

“Where is Norman and Mo”, Lydia asked me as I closed in on her pace.

“Stopped to look at something”

“I am thinking, we have a long way to go and it is already past noon. And there is a lake to swim in at the end. And a lodge which probably has hamburgers and Cold Smoke”

That’s all it took and my pace quickened.  With heavy packs the grunt was a little demanding.

A shelter on top of the crest

The hut

A view from the hut

On the ridge we climbed to a high point and a hut. What a crown jewel to a already great weekend. We all stopped for a snack between two rocks. In the back of my mind was the long daunting decent followed by a reward of meat and a dip in a “warmer” lake. I didn’t want it to end but all things must … right?

“Well, I am heading down”, and I stood up.

Lydia bolted back to her pack.

“Already, we just got here”, Norman inquired.

“Well it’s a long hike down and I have to get home … it’s a 4 hour drive”, I looked at Mo.

“Um we will see you at the bottom … I’ll wait.

And we were off. A couple hours later Lydia and I enjoyed a dip in Holland lake with a Cold Smoke in hand. Soon Mo and Norman showed up and we all went for a burger and parted ways.  It was a good weekend … in many ways that I cant explain now.  And I continue down the path.  We all continue down the path.

Weekend Stats:

• 21.2 miles
• 10:54:11
• 18,147 vert. Feet

My sleeping bag is the kind that has draw-strings that cinch up the head area so as to keep the heat from escaping. There are two of them, one for the top, and one for the bottom. It can be pretty tricky to get out of the bag quickly.  As my terror grew from being woke up suddenly by some sort of a beast I tried to think of the best way to get out of my bag. To my bear spray which was 10 inches from my head.

“Dude, just spray yourself and let me go back to sleep”, I screamed in my head to that “thing” that was making a ruckus outside my tent. It seemed pissed off that I was blocking it’s path to the lake. Like I was squatting on its “moose path” or “bear commuter lane”.

3 … 2 … 1 … I pulled at the draw strings and almost gouged out my eyes to get my arms free. I wrestled with the cover to the canister. As I was flailing around in my tent I hear the thing turn and run. THUMP THUMP THUMP Crash SNAP. What ever it was decided to take the b-line instead of the way it snuck in. It sounded like a garbage truck trying to drive through a Adirondack trail. Snapping brush and just plain frantically getting the F outta there.

My heart was pounding just enough to keep me awake for another 10 minutes. But I was so sleepy that I finally dozed back of to sleep holding the can of bear spray in my clutches. I could of easily sprayed myself in my sleep. I awoke early morning to the sound of Norman walking by on his way to where the food was hanging.

I emerged from my tent to greet my friends. I decided to share with them my little visitor the night previous. The consensus was moose but I still feel it a bear. I mean what moose will sniff around a tent. And the foot steps running away were not big ker-thumps but ore like thud thud thud.

We spent the rest of the day gaining a ridge and hiking down to our destination a series of lakes known as Necklace Lakes. It is here we established our pace partners. I seemed to be comfortable out front with Lydia and Norm and Mo were content on absorbing more of the surrounding elements. A plan was hatched to do a extra loop but as we approached the top of the ridge Lydia informed me that we missed the turn off.  And that was OK. The weekend was about friends and being together. Why launch a ultra slog fest that would totally demolish any R&R by the lake.

During lunch break with the crew I discovered a fresh snow stash.  Mo and I set forth on a snow man building operation. Seems our little guy ended up with a tiny head. In fact if I didn’t say snow man the photo above wouldn’t make any sense. I added a flower so that the little fella would have something for it’s creator. A flower for you madam. This started a common theme for me this weekend.  Spontaneous play. Funny how some people bring that out in yourself.  After lunch we continued on to the ridge and the scenery just got better by the switchback.

Then spontaneous play broke out again. This time I suggested the activity. Sledding on a big snow field.

Norman posted the distance record but Lydia had the speed. After numerous attempts at making a foam mat slide we moved on to find out final destination. Necklace lakes. We settled on the second one down and found a  sweet spot.

Swimming was on everyone’s mind but as we plunged into the frigid waters we soon realized the activity would be brief.

“Now I know what liquid snow feels like”, Lydia said as I prepared to jump in.

She was right. Then I got into a “little” competition with Mo. I wondered out loud how long one could stay in. According to her she was well adapted for cold water and has been known to have a pretty decent pain threshold. I was in and we sat there up to our necks and Norman and Lydia looked on with worried looks on their faces. I cant say I won but Mo exited the water first. I may have not won because she actually got in before me. I stayed a tad longer to suggest that I had beaten the hypothermia queen. The last time I got out of the water I couldn’t pull myself out.  It took me the better part of that evening by the fire to warm myself up … but I won.

Before we tucked in I found myself down by the lake. Mo joined me and we were discussing the way WE thought the world should work when she spotted something in the water. It was some of bug creature that looked like a rock. Then I spotted some sort of underwater beetle. There we were … like a couple 5 year olds pointing and exploring the underwater world. It was like we were witnessing a small desert where the stone people were battling the beetle people for domination of the desert. Spontaneous play. Thanks Mo for bringing that out in me.

Sleep was not hard to obtain that night. A cold core from playing in ice water followed by an evening of watching the underwater kingdom until dark.

I first learned of my friends plans  around mid week.  I was doing my usual prodding around to get someone from Missoula to visit me. One friend responded that they were going back packing.  I was all in and prepared the rest of the week to join them.

Friday I promptly left work and went straight home to throw my back pack into the car. My plan was entirely WAY to ambitious and that very fact made it exciting. I would drive to the Holland Lake Trailhead and hike up to the upper lake which was a nice 2,000 feet above its larger brother down below. The tricky part is that I wouldn’t arrive until after sunset. The drive over was fantastic. It is always great to get out on the open road with no one around but a beautiful sunset on the horizon.

The hike up was reportedly 7 miles according to a forest service sign that  had a pair of panties hanging from it. I laughed … what a funny way for them to leave me clues. However funny the comedy was only in my mind. Who knows how and why a pair of undies got hung from that sign. To make things even more odd was a pair of house cats sitting at the sign post.

I approached the adventure as an imaginary race and busted up the first thousand feet. My heavy load started to bite into my shoulders and my neck began to ache. I slowed to a pace that would get me up to the other lake around 3 AM … perfect. Too bad I couldn’t hike all night. Just to see if I could do it. And of course to impress my friends.

The moon was out full so everything lit up beautifully. The Mission Mountain Range in the distance with the big lake below. it was quite beautiful. it was almost like a cloudy day in black and white. Silvery moonlit rocks towered over my head and I turned my head lamp off to enjoy the complete solitude. My mind drifted to expectations of what I would find when I got up to the lake and how the weekend might progress. I only knew one concrete detail. Meet them at the upper lake. I wondered if they were up sitting around the campfire. My pace quickened.

The GPS said 5.6 mile at around 1:30 a.m. and I started to stumble my way up the  rocky switchbacks. I started thinking that maybe I didn’t want to hike all night. But I knew that was just the sleep monster talking. I was just over a mile away so thankfully  the anticipation kept me going.

Suddenly I spotted eyes in the forest. I swung my headlamp over into its general direction. It was definitely not a bear or moose. I let out a sigh.  The next thing to figure out is if it was a cat or a wolf … a wolf highly unlikely. Just then a reflective strip from a tent caught my eye. I quickly aimed the light back onto the trail in front of me.  I didn’t want to wake up its inhabitants. I mean at 2 a.m. they could be quite pissed. I noticed in the distance a large flat surface.  I was at the lake!

Quickly realizing I may have just found my friends so I turned off my lamp and approached slowly. The dog didn’t bark and I suspected it was kind of freaked out or maybe just waiting for the initial blindness from my light to go away. I didn’t want to bother anyone so I turned to go hang my food. That is when he started barking. Soon I realized it was Norman’s dog and I walked in to greet him. I quickly hung my food, put up my tent, and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke out of deep sleep to a grunting, almost hog like, sound. I quickly realized something big was sniffing at my head through the tent. For a few moments I froze but then I decided that I better make a move for the bear spray. I counted to myself …. 3 …. 2 …. 1 ….

Late and wary of police, I opt for back roads, cursing my broken headlamp. I ditch the bike, craving a hike instead. I tackle a rocky ridge, tougher than Missoula’s “M” trail, reminiscing about Sentinel’s similar path. I overtake three gasping exchange students, feeling agile. Reaching a larger “M” made of white stones, curiosity strikes at a northward path. I run towards it, enjoying the freedom. The descent offers scenic rocky outcroppings, outshining Missoula’s trail. It merges with the Bridger Foothills Trail, a challenging but bike-friendly route. However, today, I’m solely on foot.

“Hi Gina, I am so sorry to put you in this position but I am going to miss the pre race meeting tonight and will not be able to load up the aid station bins … um … I am thinking about just turning around and going home.”, I babbled to the race director over the phone as I drove towards Butte at around 95 mph. I had missed it, the “big race” of the year and I was totally frustrated. I wouldn’t of even been able to call the director and apologize if it were not for my good friend who drove all the way to the Outdoorsman in Butte to alert Gina to the situation.

“No worries Bill … really … this is no big issue. We have you covered. Just meet me at the starting line at 5 AM sharp an I will get you all squared away”

For the last two weeks I have been totally off the radar and in my own world of new town new job. I haven’t updated or even posted any social web updates. I guess when things feel good an outlet, like my blog, this blog, isn’t needed as much. But as I mentioned to a friend this morning I do not want to become distant to the people who matter most. Specially now that my friends, um family, for the past 6 years are in another distant place. All I needed was a reminder that they are still out there. I was not forgotten, in fact I was expected. Besides, I could let down Chad who had my bike ready to rock and traveled all the way from Hamilton to participate.

So I arrived late at Homestake Pass and plopped down my tent and drifted off to sleep. I was there at 5 AM to sign up and get my timing chip. I scrounged up enough bottles to fill with Carbo Rocket and stock the check station bins. I went back to my car to put the final preparations on my race get-up. GPS, some tools, two tubes, one taped to my frame, and of course a couple Action Wipes … just in case.  I glanced at my watch and realized I had ten minutes to start time. I suddenly realized I had no bottles or Carbo Rocket to start the first 20 or so miles. I asked friends but no one had any to spare. I quickly grabbed a bottled water and lined up. And then we were off.

I often wonder if I am the only one who struggles the way I do with certain life events. It seems to me no matter how much I think I have moved on it is not until I reach a certain point in some event that I realize I have been carrying some sort of baggage.  For one year I have been haunted by my poor performance of last years race. And now that I was careening down a mountain with David “Tinker” Juarez. I glanced back to see that we were pulling away from the field and I internally berated myself for going out so hard. I realized that even though I was not peaking for this race and I wanted to hang back I had a vendetta with the Butte 100.  John Curry joined up and the three of us rode on.

Last years Butte 100. I totally focused on that one race and it ended up the worst disaster of the year. I was lucky to even finish the damn thing. No matter how many times I thought I was over it I couldn’t help but feeling some bits of disappointment at times and think back to the “why” and “what if”. I even tried to put a band-aid in place by re-designing my training philosophy. And then there was the “my friends accomplishments are more important” excuse.  I felt, quite suddenly, that I had to put that bad experience to rest. I guess moving forward is the only way to put distance on “things”. All this swirling around in my head as I rode behind John and Tinker … and we put more distance on the chase pack.

The worst thing you can say, in life, is that you want to do it all over again. And I don’t.  It was a good year, found love, found pain, and lost. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Why then would I want to do the Butte 100 the way I did it last year all over again?  I decided to back off and let John and Tink climb up into Elk Park ahead of me. I slowed to a maintainable pace and that, in the long run be the right thing to do. Last year I blew up hard after going all out for three hours. This year I decided I could go faster by going at “Bill Speed” … which is slower then “John Speed” or “Tinker Speed”. The rest of the first 40 miles went on without a hitch. I eventually got my bottles of Carbo Rocket and continued on with my sustainable pace which provided me with a great un-stressful ride. I really enjoyed the Nez Perice Trail much more then in years past.  Then I hit Pipestone.

Only one woman finished the Butte 100 this year and she came in late at night. I did talk to one woman who got pulled at mile 80 for missing the cut-off. Everyone was telling her how far 80 miles was and that given it was her first race how big of an accomplishment she had done. However she never agreed that she did well. I could tell that she will be back next year. I could almost see in her eyes she was planning her revenge mere hours after she was shuttled back to the venue. The look I had last year.

Pipestone is the lower part of the course. In the winter it is where we go to ride. It is hot and dry. It is like a desert, Tinker called it a desert. This is where I almost cracked. I didn’t want to go on but somehow I just kept going. At times the sand was so soft I had to walk my bike. Sand slogging I call it. The sun was intense and I felt like my exposed skin was frying like bacon in a frying pan. The sand underfoot was so hot it was baking my feet inside my shoes. I just kept drinking Carbo Rocket even though I felt that any moment I was going to throw up. Then I got internal chills. I imagine myself falling to my knees first and then just going down face first. I was going to become vulture food. Plus I just knew this would be a cramp fest once I got on my bike again.

It seemed like an eternity until I finally reached the 50 mile checkpoint. As I approached I contemplated quitting. Maybe I am just wasting a good life span. I am finally starting to realize that the cloud of a bad job has lifted. I feel great at the new job. Just yesterday I went across the street to a store that is just like the Good Food Store and had some chicken curry soup. I sat there eating and looking out
at the mountains thinking how cool things were. I started to feel like I had arrived. And now that i was entering the start finish area to complete 50 miles I started to hear cheers.  No way I was going to quit. I was only 50 miles away from finishing.

I finally did start cramping but a quick dose of endurolytes held them at bay. The last 50 miles was uneventful as i just continued on at my sustainable pace. I started to feel better just as a storm came in and dumped some cold rain on us. That felt so good. The more I rode towards the finish the better I felt. Another 100 miles and I would have this race in the bag. Darn short races 😉

I have been doing this race for so long that everyone knows me and the last aid stations were like going along visiting family on a long road trip. Next thing I know … I was done. It felt good to put in a solid effort but not to the point of burying myself. Sure I almost died in the desert but overall I feel that I could of gone and been up there with the leaders, maybe even set the course record myself.

But I held back a schooch and now I leave tomorrow for my second hundie in two weeks. This one promises to be just as grueling. You never know … maybe the  Butte 100 whipped me into shape.

3rd place in my 5th Butte 100.

• 2007 – 07:25:30 (Old Course)
• 2008 – 9:49:50
• 2009 – 10:52:35
• 2010 – 11:27:36
• 2011 – 10:29:31

It has started to rain finally so I guess I better head for home. The week started with a couple of 90 degree days and ended with some cool 60 degree versions. Tonight is spectacular. I really don’t know what I am doing, just riding around. Some tunes from One Republic blasting from my iPod shuffle now. I ride my bike when I don’t know what to do. Today I read some posts from my old Thursday Night Ride group in Missoula and now I wonder if I made a mistake. Is this home sick? I keep riding on…o/o

For those days we felt like a mistake, Those times when love’s what you hate,  Somehow,  We keep marching on.

I am finally settling in and even have found some time for rides. This Thursday my friends and I rode a long toot around a place called Mystic Lake high in the mountains. My  mind has been busy with  constant reminders that I have a couple 100 mile races coming up. That makes me panic a little. Tonight as I ride and the tune “Marching On” blasts out more lyrics I think about a close friends recent battle in a hundred effort . I keep riding on …o/o

We’ll have the days we break, And we’ll have the scars to prove it,  We’ll have the bonds that we save,  But we’ll have the heart not to lose it.  For all of the times we’ve stopped,  For all of the things I’m not.  We put one foot in front of the other,  We move like we ain’t got no other,  We go when we go,  We’re marching on.

I round the bend and now on the home stretch I coast a little and think about the future, even the near future. At 5 AM my friend Paul rolls into town and we will drive to Missoula. A drive to watch another dear friend race in a national series race. I stop at a light and it comes into focus, beyond the city elements. Beyond the stop light and street signs. Out in the distance. The mountains, they beckon. I guess I have it all. Friends, bonds, and a place to ride to remember them.

There’s so many wars we fought, There’s so many things we’re not,  But with what we have,  I promise you that,  We’re marching on

And I continue to ride on…o/o