Boneshakerbike

Category: Blog Posts

  • Bear Trap 10K

    There are many big races during the Thanksgiving holiday season, from the Seattle Marathon to the numerous Turkey Trots nationwide. However, the most obscure and perilous event in America is the Bear Trap 10K. Touted as the shortest adventure race, it’s far from the easiest. Entry is by secret invitation only and limited to 5 racers due to strict wilderness regulations. I can’t believe tree huggers are trying to save Sasquatch after what it did to the small community of Norris, but that’s a different story. This post is about the greatest little adventure race around.

    It was snowing in Missoula when I began my trip to Bozeman. Normally, I would’ve never gone due to bad weather, but something inside urged me to take a chance. So, I did. Fifty miles outside of town, the roads cleared, and it was smooth sailing. It felt good to be out on the open road again, reminiscent of my trip to Utah.

    Arriving in Bozeman with time to spare before the annual pre-race meal, I took a nap while watching the Dallas Cowboys get trounced. Soon it was mealtime, a standout feature of this event. A homemade turkey dinner with a fantastic dessert awaited. I indulged heartily, even taking a break on the couch before returning for a second heaping plate. Afterward, wine and beer flowed as we, friends and fellow endurance enthusiasts, gathered, exchanging ideas and camaraderie.

    The event’s secrecy stems from the necessity of trust among participants. In ’78, the race took a grim turn when a runner vanished in Bear Trap. The wilderness demands respect, and only with true friends can one dare its canyons and fierce winds.

    The next day, after prepping gear and plotting the course, we boarded a shuttle driven by Mr. Hertsens, whose extensive experience promised safety. In ’87, an inexperienced driver had caused a tragic accident, but this year, we were in capable hands.

    We battled 60 mph winds and massive snowdrifts, discussing strategies until nearing the trailhead, where silence took over. The reality of our challenge settled in; this was Bear Trap.

    The race began an hour before sunset, with no headlamps allowed, heightening the sense of peril. Initially, the group was silent, unnerved by bloodstains on the trail. Soon, I lagged due to mishandling my glasses—goggles weren’t permitted. After retrieving them from a slope, I was alone, my companions unwilling to risk their safety for me.

    Visibility was crucial in the brutal conditions. Catching up to the group at a precarious water crossing, I pondered the risks. Leading the race meant potentially encountering the wind’s haunting whispers, capable of breaking one’s spirit. In ’02, a racer succumbed to these taunts.

    Despite the odds, I pushed forward, leading the race. The wind’s seductive whispers tried to lure me onward, but the appearance of a friend brought me back to reality. We agreed to turn around at a specific point for safety. One by one, my companions made their decisions, with some turning back early.

    As I approached the turnaround point, the wind’s voice grew more persuasive. However, a moment of clarity led me to reconsider. There, at the farthest point anyone had ever reached in the Bear Trap, my friends and I regrouped. Together, we headed back, the wind now jeering at our retreat.

    Post-race, we celebrated our bond and survival at Norris Hot Springs. The journey home was a blur of exhaustion, but the experience stayed with me, urging me to confront nature’s challenges again.

    Now back in Missoula, I sit in a coffee shop on a snowy day, contemplating my next adventure. Perhaps I’ll return to the wilderness, face the wind again, or choose a more tranquil activity. Regardless, the call of nature remains strong.

  • Night of the Dirt Girls

    I just woke up. It’s dark and -10 degrees outside. Last night, after a day full of adventure, I must have fallen asleep almost immediately after work. While I rested, the world seems to have moved on. I do remember having an awesome dream, though.

    In my dream, I was geared up for an extreme bike ride up to Miller Peak. Suddenly, I started hearing voices. “Bill… come… come hike with us, Bill…”

    “What the?”

    “Come to Cherry Street and hike with us, Bill.”

    I recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I headed over to Cherry Street. My studded tires crunched over the icy streets as I made my way to the trailhead at Jumbo Mountain. There, I saw a familiar figure stepping out of her car. I waved and went to lock up my bike. Wait, lock up my bike? For what?

    “I didn’t know we could bring boys,” one of the girls said, a hint of irritation in her voice. I began to wonder what I was doing here. But the voices…

    “What, I was just… and a voice told me to come hike…” I couldn’t find the words to explain, so I stopped and breathed in the frigid five-degree night air. Why was I here? Four angelic figures approached me – the Dirt Girls, a group of Missoula women mountain bikers. Never before had a “dude” infiltrated the Dirt Girls. And now, here I was, surrounded by this Missoula legend.

    The leader of the group explained that she had called me to join them. It dawned on me that I was about to hike with them. Frolicking with the Dirt Girls, I thought I must have died on a big bike ride and now stood at the gates of Heaven. Hey, I didn’t even believe in heaven, but here I was, with angels of the night, passing through a gate. Yep, I must have died.

    We climbed into the heavens on the backbone of Jumbo Mountain. I tried to turn back a couple of times, but they gestured for me to continue. I felt like I was being escorted to another place, beyond the world I knew before “the event” that ended my life. I wondered what had killed me. The Dean Stone climb on Sunday? The blizzard on Miller Peak on Monday?

    When we reached the top, I pushed away these thoughts as one of the angels swooped up behind me. Surely, they were angels because no one could hike so quietly and swiftly.

    “You failed your mission on earth. You tried to find love in a place where love does not exist,” one of them said. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

    “She hates me.”

    “And SHE… killed you. You have a choice now. You can go back; this doesn’t have to be the end. There are others who care about you, and you’ve let them down. You’ve taken chances, giving nature the opportunity to devour you. Do you want to continue?” the Dirt Girl explained.

    “Do you know if I will ever find…” I started.

    “No, it is not our place to know such things. We are just a bunch of women who love mountain biking. It was your inner wish to be taken to heaven by us… when you left Earth.”

    “No, no. I don’t want it to end here. I do want to go back. I’ll allow the people who really care in. I think I’ve learned something here.”

    We hiked back down Jumbo, and upon reaching my bike, I suddenly felt cold again. I was feeling. Throughout the entire trip up the mountain, I had been unaware of the cold, sharp wind and extreme conditions. I stood at the trailhead parking lot, shivering, all alone, and cold. I jumped on my bike and rode to a friend’s house. I wanted to be around the very people who loved me, those who had to endure years of worrying whether I would return from the woods.

    A dream? Maybe, more like a message. In any case, it’s time for work, and I must check my emails. One catches my eye – a friend. I quickly read it because I’m almost late for work. They were worried about me last night…

  • Heart v.s. Mind

    My left ear hurts, and my head is pounding. My left calf muscle has been aching since it thawed out. I feel like I got hit by a truck. Sure, I crashed four times, but that didn’t hurt me as much as a full-body freeze. I can’t focus my left eye, and both itch like crazy. My left arm feels tingly, and my right, I can’t lift. I am thawed out now, and the damage is done. It all started yesterday as I was putting together a movie for our annual Missoula Thursday Night Ride end-of-season party.

    I watched a small video of an adventure race I attended. I totally forgot who was in it and what a great weekend that was. I was so impressed by the overall full course winners. I competed in the smaller race and barely made it in. Four different times in the video, my heart made a call to the motor skills department to stop processing and close down all visual understanding. Soon after the call to the brain, all muscles were put on standby for an “outing”. I tweeted my intentions and started climbing Mount Dean Stone.

    Dean Stone is a 6,204-foot high mountain with all of Missoula’s vital communication equipment on top. All the equipment is up there because it’s the closest and most prominent high spot adjoining our beautiful city. Too bad there are towers on top. Since Missoula sits at 3,190 feet, this little gem gains over 3,000 feet in around 11 miles of stunning jeep trail and a gazillion switchbacks. It’s one of my favorite go-to climbs when I just need to get out and not burden myself with where to go. In the winter… absolutely dangerous.

    At 53 minutes, I was making my way up Higgins Avenue. I noticed that I was colder than I normally am comfortable with. I knew it was supposed to be cold out, and I dressed accordingly, but I just felt underdressed. The brain had specific instructions not to let anything stop this journey, so I kept going. I was helpless to my systems. My mind had a plan, and I was on a need-to-know-only basis. My only comfort was that this was an 11-mile and 2-hour climb; surely I would warm up.

    At 1:21, I swung off of Higgins and stood to climb up Pattee Canyon Drive. I knew my mind was up to something, so I suggested we stop and stretch. No can do, we are a team, and you are following me is the message I got back. This was not a good idea to be heading up a mountain climb without proper tires. No studs and brakes that were iffy at best. Still, I had no choice, so I rode on.

    At 3:40, I was totally warmed up to the idea of the adventure that was before me. The setting sun would give me beautiful views. I thought back to that adventure race and the video, sat back into my saddle, and ran through some scenes. The brain suddenly shut down the images and sent in a message to go to level 3. We had a mountain to climb. Focus.

    At 4:21, the last real thought crossed my mind to be processed. I was remembering the last time I rode up this way last Thursday night. We encountered ice, and what if the entire Dean Stone climb was ice? My mind started to drift to the last visual memory of this climb. When I climbed it in the glow of a beautiful autumn… that was it. No more cognitive thoughts were allowed to pass through my brain. I was on auto adventure now and had to just sit back and try to enjoy the ride. I knew the function of this ride and it was best to let it run its course and purge the soul.

    The rest is a blur, but I do remember specific waypoints. This would come in handy later. Later, when my brain would take over the heart and try to save its host.

    I took a shortcut off Pattee Canyon Road which is a single track up to Larch Camp Road. This piece of protected coulee was pivotal in saving me from certain complications from hypothermia. After an hour-long descent in 10-degree temps, it wouldn’t be good to continue past it to approach Pattee Canyon Drive for another mile or so. After which would be another 20 minutes of descending into town. If it weren’t for this shortcut through the woods, I would have ignored all red flags until I just crashed off the road from a loss of coherence. I needed this oasis from the wind to walk, do windmills, give a couple of pep talks, and regain composure before continuing down into town.

    I remember the moon, which seemed to be in communication with my heart, conspiring to punish its host. At times it felt so ominous that I had to glance back to see what was following me. Like a semi-tr

    uck following a car on a winding road before ramming it; causing it to leave the road and crash. One time, I did find myself launching over the bars into the road.

    I remember the road was icy with deep snow. It was so hard to keep a straight line I went down three times in crashes that resembled yard sales. My extremely worn gloves would get ripped off, along with lights and gear. At times, I wanted to crash to stop the freezing wind chill from my descent.

    Mysteriously, my brakes failed, and I tried tri-poding down the road. I couldn’t grab the brakes anyway, so I just dismounted and walked. I walked until my legs were numb. Why didn’t I go out with extra layers? Bike shorts and windbreaker pants were not doing the trick. Once, I glanced down and saw that the wind had pushed my pant legs up near the knees, and my legs were totally exposed. Jesus… I was falling apart.

    Overall, the descent was just a plain all-out desire to save myself. What put me in that position was my heart. It had overriding control until the brain woke up from its drug-induced slumber. The heart had sabotaged it and tried to take over control of the ship. I was sitting atop Dean Stone with my legs crossed, looking out over the Missoula valley. The moon had the entire landscape illuminated. It was so beautiful it seemed like I had frozen tears stuck to my eyelashes.

    “Holy shit, man! What the hell are you doing sitting here? Your sweat has frozen you into a Buddha-like statue. It’s freaking 8 degrees, you shithead,” screamed my brain to my slightly tuned-out consciousness.

    “I just didn’t want the world to see me because I don’t think they would understand…” the words being sung across my earphones by the Goo Goo Dolls. Just then, my iPod went out for good. The battery was frozen and dead. I couldn’t text for help if I needed to now. Things were becoming relevant now, and it was imperative for me to snap out of it and descend.

    Safe now and back to reality. My training starts soon for the 2011 season, and just in time. I need to keep the mind busy, so the heart doesn’t pull any stunts again. Still, though; tonight, I have this desire to go for Miller Peak, a full thousand feet higher and 10 miles further. Round two, maybe?

    Post Notes:
    Don’t feel bad if you don’t get the significance of the times; it means something to me, and that’s good enough. :53, 1:21, 3:40, 4:21

    http://connect.garmin.com/activity/57548578

  • A Frosty Misadventure on Stuart Peak

    I was moments from embarking on my solo hike when my friends pulled up alongside me in the Rattlesnake Wilderness parking lot. None of us were thrilled about the frigid temperatures, and as we set off towards the Stuart Peak trail, I expressed my disapproval with a few expletives. However, the chill soon subsided, replaced by a growing warmth generated by our brisk pace.

    My ambitious plan for the day involved summiting not only Stuart Peak but also Mosquito Peak, an additional four miles away. We anticipated an eight-mile hike to Stuart, doubting the reported 30 inches of snow. I suspected I would need my snowshoes at the wilderness boundary, six miles in.

    My GPS indicated six miles, but we were nowhere near the wilderness boundary. I grumbled about the USFS signage and cut a switchback to save time on my friends’ behalf to set up a changing station. I kicked in a seat, laid out my sleeping pad, and sat down to put on my snowshoes. Yes, there was indeed that much snow. But I had no idea that this was just the beginning.

    My friends arrived, and while one appeared to be dismantling entirely in front of me, the other seemed eager to continue. I was raring to go, and after some gear changes and packing delays, we were back on the trail, trudging up the mountain. This time, I was breaking trail.

    Soon, I found myself alone as my friends turned back around 2 pm. Just as I started to pick up my pace, the trail disappeared completely, and my snowshoes were no match for the deep snow. I took to the ridge and decided to beeline it to Stuart.

    The climb seemed endless, taking about 45 minutes despite feeling like three hours. Reaching an elevation of around 7,000 feet, I was excited to be almost at Stuart Peak, with only 1,000 feet remaining. I knew that Stuart transitioned into steeper terrain for 800 feet over a third of a mile, so when I started to go straight up, I knew the end was close. Then, the slope started descending.

    I lost about 200 feet of elevation gain, attributing it to a high point along the ridge. I crossed what appeared to be a trail. It was indeed a trail. I searched my mind, trying to recall the map I had studied earlier in the day, and decided that this was a trail down to the Farmer Lakes part of the wilderness. Fortunately, I chose to go left to avoid descending into the Rattlesnake. I decided to follow the trail, which should be close to the base of the mountain I wanted to climb.

    Just as I was admitting to myself that there was no trail to the Farmer Lakes, I spotted a wilderness boundary. I was disheartened to discover not only that I was not where I thought I was but also that I was not as far along as I had believed. I strolled through and onto a familiar trail towards Stuart, accepting the fact that I was only a couple of miles away. It wasn’t as far as I had hoped, but at least I knew for sure. The problem was that I wasn’t making great time. It took me an hour to cover the last mile, and at this pace, I wouldn’t make Mosquito Peak. I decided to skip Stuart and head directly for Mosquito, picking up the pace down the trail, which seemed to be leveling out.

    Then again, the trail disappeared, and it felt like I was descending too much to the south. As soon as the trail was no longer apparent, I started straight up the hill to the north. My GPS was not making sense, and I figured I must be pretty close to Stuart Peak. The thoughts of conquering Mosquito were fading, as was daylight. I started to consider whether I wanted to summit in the darkness or not. I was perplexed why I hadn’t found Stuart yet and started to get concerned as a storm rolled in and obscured all my visual landmarks. The winds started howling, and I staggered higher and higher. I could see a giant mountain way off to my left and thought to myself that that couldn’t be Stuart; it was too far off.

    I kept heading north using my GPS. The visibility was poor, and it was nearing 3:30 pm. Conquering Mosquito was a distant memory, and reaching Stuart in the daylight was in question. I only had an hour or two of daylight left. I noticed that my fingers and feet were getting cold. Even while working hard, I was losing body heat and couldn’t stay warm. I struggled against the waist-deep snow. Suddenly, there was a distinct cut-off of trees. There were these black objects in the swirling snow and wind, and then further on, nothing but a white glow.

    This had to be Stuart,

  • Break Away

    “Space Station Bill Martin to Earth. Are you there? Is anyone there? Has anyone seen the sun? I’m breaking out to try and find the sun. Repeat: I’m breaking away to find the sun. This is Space Station Bill Martin, signing out.”

    It’s a balmy 23 degrees, and the sun hasn’t reached our part of the world yet. I’m packing one of my many backpacks for a trip into the Rattlesnake today. Last night, a friend threw down the gauntlet, betting I could never reach Mosquito Peak on foot this weekend. On a good summer day, maybe, but not today. We’ll see about that.

    That’s all just playful bantering to see if I’ll follow through, but even that description might be a little off. In any case, the point isn’t whether I will, it’s whether I’ll try. To break away from my snowshoeing friends. To take a risk in the cold, wintry weather. To make a change and go into the uncomfortable. To break away from town and society, and fly above it all, high in the mountains.

    Winter has never been my favorite time of the year. It’s not so much the snow as the cold and the dark. I don’t like swimming for various reasons, but the encapsulating cold is what I dislike the most. And winter seems to do that to a person. I tend to make my winter outings short, intense, and then head for the barn. I am barn-spoiled.

    Today, I head out with some friends, hoping I can embrace winter and all its beauty. Will this plan fly or fail? I don’t know. Things will pan out in 3 hours when I meet up with them at 10 AM in the Rattlesnake parking lot to do Stuart Peak. Just the three of us.

    Are we falling or flying? Are we living or dying? I guess we’ll never know. Striking rock or finding gold. ~Grace Potter

    I’ll spread my wings and strap on my snowshoes. It won’t be easy to say goodbye to the warm confines of safety. Out of the darkness of dawn and into the possible winter sun. I won’t forget the place I came from. Taking a risk, making a change, breaking away. But Mosquito Peak, possibly not.

    Better go put some extra music on my iPod…o/o

  • Chasing Cars

    Chasing Cars

    It was summer and that alone should of been enough to be happy and care-free. But it wasn’t. I was struggling with emotions or maybe it was some unresolved schema. In any case I was angry, frustrated, and generally sad. I needed to take out my pent up feelings and decided on a epic, “ride until you drop”, 6 plus hour ride. I do this sometimes (well, all the time) to sort out life and to gain a certain perspective. I do it simply to get out what is pent up inside.

    As I crested a hill and about to put Missoula behind me I saw a familiar figure. It was may friend. I coasted to a stop.

    “What’s up”, I asked.

    My friend, always glad to see me was ecstatic. I hate his optimism and happy go lucky energy. I packed all the irritating stuff into my already full queue of things to sort out on the pending ride. If I could just figure out a way to not talk to him I could get going sooner.

    “I was just heading up Pattee Canyon for a ride, where are you going”, my stupidly smiling friend asked.

    “Heading out, going to ride till I drop”, I replied and dropping a major hint that I just wanted to be alone.

    “Oh! I let you go then. Have a good ride.”

    I continued on and got about a block away. I couldn’t shake the fact that I really wanted to actually ride with my friend. Even though it was up the road. So I turned around and raced up to him. He was going slow because he knew I would be coming. He knew me all too well. I really hated that.

    We rode in silence and started up the climb. The climb is only about 4 miles but gets steeper as you climb. Suddenly a car passed me and I felt this aggression. It was all the pent up stuff like anger, resentment, hurt, and whatever else bugs a human mind. I could take it out on this car I thought. Like I could never catch it … but what if I could? What if I could use my pain to be faster then a car. Then my feelings would be validated. If I caught a car, passed it, and beat it to the top of the hill I would appear to be super human. Boy, that would be something. People would say “That guy that beat a car up Pattee Canyon because he was sad. Wow, that must of have been a lot of sad”.

    So I chased after every car. At first I got up to speed and tried to not let the car pass. When it did I would surge with everything I got. I would let out all my pain and demons. I would lay down all my hurt in a place that didn’t care. I was like one of those oil wells they just set on fire to burn off the excess fuel.

    The first one got by me pretty well. Then the second one I actually held off for a while. I kept chasing and screaming out loud in pain by pedaling so hard I could almost break the crank arm. One car I started to gain on and thought I would pass but it sped up when the grade got steeper. Eventually my attacks grew shorter and shorter. After a while I would just have nothing. Nothing more to give. I burned it all up and had nothing more. No more pain. No more aggression. No more unresolved issues.

    My friend caught up to me at the top and I was all smiles. He had his friend back. We descended back into town and enjoyed each others company for the rest of the evening over a couple of beers. Life was good and after all it was summer.

    Last night I chased cars.

  • Away We Went

    Away We Went

    This post has been edited to protect the privacy of friends. So I hope no one thinks I am trying to freak them out by changing the story.

    There is an ancient tale about a warrior in quest of a magical sword that will make him invincible. Along the way he meets by chance a wise old master who gives him a set of spiritual disciplines to follow. The warrior pursues them diligently for years. Then one day the magical sword finally appears to him as promised. But as he grasps the hilt, he realizes that the spiritual practices have worked; he no longer cares about the powers the sword would give him.

    “Hey, am I a fuck up?”

    “Bill, you’re not a fuck up.”

    “I think I am a fuck up.”

    My friend contemplates as the artic winds ruffles his parka. It’s flapping like a flag does  in a wind storm. Winds are howling through the guy-wires that secure the towers. We are on top of University Mountain and it’s November. He takes a couple steps to get a better view of the valley floor where city lights twinkle. Why do city lights twinkle from a distance? Anyway, the 6 inches of snow crunches under his boots and he looks back at me.

    “No, your not a fuck up.”

    “Dude, I am virtually un-datable, I choose mountain biking over a good job, and my bedroom is a bike shop.”

    We start back down the mountain. We loft with great strides over snow drifts and land with small controlled slides. We stop at times to take in the quietness and winter wonderland. Near the bottom of the ridge we pause to remove all our summit gear.

    “Your not a fuck up.”

    “I still have clothes from high school, my “good” clothes have holes in the ass from commuting, and if I were to interview for a job upgrade I don’t even have anything to interview in.  I don’t have dishes and my only big piece of furniture is a futon.”

    I turn and start hiking down the hill. My left foot hits a rock and I stumble. Wincing from pain my little toe starts throbbing. I regain my composure and make a mental note that my baby toe will be hurting in the morning.

    “I’m a fuck up”, I report out loud. The words crystalize and float out into the frozen air.

    Near the end of the evening we celebrated a great hike in town at a local pizza joint.

    “My idea of fine dining is the Bridge Pizza where only the attractive women, ones with mud on their faces and chain oil on their hands, hang out.”, I proposed to my friend as I stuffed half of my bacon and chutney garlic slice into my mouth.

    “The closest thing I have to a girlfriend is a bike”, I added.

    “Wow! You are a fuck up.”

    Special note: This blog post has two main goals. One is to confuse the hell out of anyone who has not seen Away We Go and two to say the word “fuck”  more times (8 now) in one blog then ever.  Thank goodness for small things.

  • Cardamom Ice Cream

    This post has been edited to protect the privacy of friends, so I hope no one thinks I’m trying to freak them out by changing the story.

    While reading a blog, a line catches my eye: “Mountain bikes are just wilderness wheelchairs.” Just days later, I find myself hiking with the author. I mention liking that line, and she giggles, explaining her view that running is fun but not necessarily kind for her and her self-described clumsiness (aren’t we all?). She needs some form of recreation to overcome her injuries.

    My interpretation might be slightly off, as my mind soon drifts to cardamom ice cream. It’s good but not necessarily good for me. Running is fun but dangerous. Ice cream is tasty, yet nutritionally a disaster. Much like some of my past relationships.

    The hike continues up to the Waterworks Hill ridgeline, and my thoughts shift to a book I recently read, “Emotional Alchemy,” by Tara Goleman. She narrates a story about Julian, a man who becomes infatuated with a woman who stops returning his calls. Initially, he was only mildly interested, but now he’s almost obsessed. This pattern, Goleman explains, is fueled by a ‘reparative fantasy’—a longing to be rescued by these emotionally unavailable women.

    “In my crib, maybe two, crying out to my mother. She doesn’t ever answer. It’s as though this has gone on for forty years. It’s not just my past; that two-year-old is crying out now, crying so hard he’s afraid he won’t be able to breathe…”

    That thought lodged itself in my mind as I sat reading the other night. It felt relevant, and now, hiking at night with a snowstorm rolling in, it surfaces again. My family subscribed to the old west nurturing technique: if a baby cries, just let it cry, thinking it needs to toughen up for life. Life is hard, they said. But isn’t this just bad parenting? How can you turn your back on someone that needs nurturing?

    I stumble on a rock and almost twist my ankle. Hearing the shuffle, my friend glances back, “You ok?”

    “Yeah.”

    She’s emotionally available, caring, a good friend. I have good friends and continue to surround myself with good people—people who are good for me. The problem is my friends always want to stop by the Big Dipper for cardamom ice cream.

  • Touching the Void

    Touching the Void

    I can hear cars go by with a swooshing sound. It is raining here in Missoula Montana and there is not much light. This is perfect weather for depression. I don’t feel that though. I feel different. Not exactly happy but not necessarily full of doom either. There is a void in some parallel universe and it feels like I am on the edge of it peering into its chasm of darkness. In short … making a transition. Make the leap? Or just stand here, stuck? The Chasm is deep and what if I fall?

    Ed hairem

    First I must ask the reader to stop and ask themselves that if they want to continue reading they should do it at their own risk. A risk of wasting time and just plain confusion. This blog is very abstract and rambles on. I suggest you just check out the photos.

    Easy women

    Just last weekend I noticed things were starting to seem differently. What I previously knew to be fun and enjoyable was a “little off”. It is almost like I wondered off path without knowing it. Suddenly realizing that I don’t recognize my surroundings. I did a couple hikes and although fun there was this void. There are alternatives to making the leap when such a void appears. One can always return to where they left the path and find comfort again in that it all is familiar. But when was the last time I have done that?

    Ed
    Hike
    Posing
    Inversion
    Man of the mountains

    The fall season has been extra eventful and so I consider that my capacity to have fun has filled up. Maybe I have interfaced with too many good people? Is there a limit to all of this. Have I reached the capacity for good times and must jump to a place with higher capacity. Like when your computer runs out of disk space. This idea is mostly ridiculous.

    Beargrass highway
    Kate
    Inversion
    Pattern

    I was hiking at Snow Bowl with some friends and everything was absolutely outstanding. Good friends, great views. As we reached the apex of our journey we stopped for a snack brake in the snow hut on top of a lift. I had passed some remnants of tracks previously set by two adventurers when I felt the parallel universe make its appearance and of course the void in between. Something new and exciting happened up here I thought to myself. I joined the crew in the hut.

    Discussion group

    We talked about the summer and all the good times we have all had. We had snacks and prepared to leave. I opened the door to the wood stove to toss in some paper. There were two cups in there.  Someone was here previously. I felt the existence of something again. What was taking place across the void? Was the void just time? I longed to jump to join that other adventure but it didn’t feel right.  The other existence had been there and long gone. Still though … I wanted to be there. I decided to stick it out with my friends and we started to descend to our cars.

    Beargrass highway
    Ed
    Wall
    Ed climbs
    Thought
    Julie
    Pattern
    Hanging

    We descended and talked. All seemed normal but I was still thinking of what I had just discovered. I confided in my wise friend Ed.

    “Isn’t it funny how things turn out”, I muttered.

    “What do you mean?”

    “Well, that there seems to be parallel universes or slices of time. Different seasons I guess. When we bike this trail we never see the rock cliffs but now it all seems different and a new kind of beauty surrounds us.”

    Ed looks at me for a moment while I continue, “Like how come so many like minded people end up in Missoula Montana?”

    We continue down the trail. We stop and I posed for a photo. I try to make it look like I am running. There I am frozen in a posture of a man running but it all looks fake. I feel kind of funny about my pose and wonder if we do this in life sometimes. Put ourselves in a situation that seems like what we want but ends up funny, forced, and ridiculous. I look down to the faded bike tracks in the snow and felt the void, the change in time, the new perspective. I wanted to try and bridge over to that exciting place. But would I land in a place where I felt funny, forced, or ridiculous? Would I even land? I shutter as the sweat now chills my body.

    Hard days work

    This is what happened up at Snow Bowl one day and now I sit here across the void of time and realize that this blog is really rambling on. Maybe I should post a warning near the beginning … or did I … I cant remember. I feel the ground shutter. I need to continue though and explore this thought. Or maybe just need to ramble some more so I can add more photos to the blog.  I just returned from lunch. As I walked across the parking lot I notice that the mountains are gone. It is foggy and raining. It is cold and damp. This isn’t Missoula weather. Its more like Juneau. Even now that parallel universe is present.  And the void between the existences have been crossed by others. I wonder about their courage and what it took to jump. Was it meant to be? Are they at home today? Did they bring some of that universe along with them? Life seems funny sometimes.  What was that shutter?

    Ed walks a little way and I can tell he is thinking about what I said (in case you don’t know, we are back at Snow Bowl).

    “Talk about another universe, just look out there”, he gestures to the inversion that has filled into the valley.

    “This is what Lake Missoula looked like back in the ice ages.”

    He is right. This entire valley was once filled in with water. The Hellgate Canyon was frozen solid and all the water dammed up behind it. I am no history buff but this is what I gleaned from a TV show once. If I were to jump the large void of time to that other place I would be on dry land. But where I live down below would be submersed under 300 feet of water. Ice cold deadly water. I shivered again.

    “I need to share something with you Ed”, I said as I hiked down a trail that mountain bikers know as Beargrass Highway. My words come out jittery as I bumble down the scree strewn path.

    “What?”

    “I actually have been here before”, I let my words tumble out of my mouth as I started to formulize an idea of what to say.

    “Well yea, mountain biking…”

    “NO! Not that. I mean we were here doing this very thing. I have actually come here by jumping a void, a test jump as you will. I come from the future, a place where a parallel universe has started to cause major conflicts with my existence.”

    Just as Ed’s expression was changing to pure disbelief (probably thought I was doing shrooms) the ground shuttered.

    “What the ….”, he proclaimed.

    I realized that by jumping this void to go back in time I had created some kind of weird condition. I became scared and tried to continue.

    “I needed to come back to the beginning of when I first noticed that something was off but now it seems …”

    The ground cracked open and the rocks shattered. Large chunks thrust upward much like … much like … Yes. I know. Much like Borah Peak did when that earthquake hit.

    “We are having a earthquake”, Ed yelled and just barely grabbed a upward thrusting rock to avoid being swallowed up by the void.

    Sometimes when I blog I just start typing. They become journeys and I never know where they will end up. Blogs can be so powerful don’t you think? But they help us to go back. To figure things out. See where changes in life started to happen. Last weekends hike I realized that things are now different for me and I just needed a way to put it all down for analysis. I have become aware of things other then training and racing all the time. Come to find out there is this other universe that has been paralleling mine for quite some time. Now it is close to crashing into mine. However, I am trusting that if I just stick to my passions  I will not have to jump far.

    In the end Ed survived but to this day thinks I am from another planet.

  • Goodbye Josh

    The week has been a tapestry of life and loss. While still basking in the glow of a 25-hour race and all that entails, I have also been grappling with tragedy. It’s Monday, and I’m sitting here sifting through my email. One message stands out, bearing a heavy and suffocating weight. The subject line is “Life, Death, and Living.” It’s from my friend Paul, who recently stopped by my old workplace, Viking Ski and Cycle. He has news. My former boss, friend, and sponsor has lost his son. It happened a while ago, and I’m just now learning of this heartbreaking news.

    On a crisp fall day in October, the 5th to be exact, in 2002, I donned my neck gaiter—an eccentric hat/ear warmer—and headed up Ampersand Mountain. I have many friends with children, and for some reason, there is this special connection. I am well-liked and can relate to each child, appreciating their uniqueness. I think Josh identified with me due to my unconventional choice of headgear. I identified with Josh because his soul was warm, unique, and full of strength.

    Josh loved history, particularly war and weapons, if my memory serves me correctly. It was fascinating to hear his insights and anecdotes as we ascended this relatively small mountain. The details are hazy, but this hike left a lasting impression on me. Josh was unique in that he didn’t subscribe to the common tendency to see something on TV and strive to identify or be identified by it. He forged his own path and was a unique and valuable asset to all who knew him. He made this hike memorable, and now he is no longer walking this planet and making it a better place.

    His father must be devastated. Jim always supported me throughout my career and was the first person to introduce me to clipless pedals and suspension forks. I empathize with Jim. I feel a loss.

  • Showdown in Frogtown 2010

    Showdown in Frogtown 2010

    Yesterday started out dreary.  I was sitting down to a cup of black tea feeling kind of lonely when the phone started to ring. First it was Larry and then Julie. After much encouragement I agreed to go hiking up Mount Dean Stone. The hike started out blue and soon I found myself out, way out, in front forging my own trail. On top I contemplated continuing to Mitten Mountain and then over to University. I resigned to just waiting up for my friends and when things got so cold our fingers were about to fall off we left the summit and headed back down.

    Again I found myself hiking alone as I took alternate routes and struggled with my blue mood.  I waited in a open meadow for my hike mates and started to appreciate my surroundings. Once on the move I started to skip. I skipped with my arms in the air for three miles. My friends embraced my new energy and made Carbo Rocket jokes. Back at Larry’s place we had a marvelous dinner and with the wine flowing they prodded me for a story.

    “Common Bill, tell us a story. Tell us about the time…”

    “I didn’t finish last weekends race you know”, I interrupted.

    “What, but you won right? What is this crazy story that you stopped to watch a sunrise … IN THE MIDDLE OF A RACE”

    “I did  … well yea. You do know I wasn’t planning solo”

    “Tell us that story, tell us about the race in Frog Hollow, how it went down”

    “It was a showdown really but in the end I just made a big decision. It all worked out. The showdown in frogtown”, and then I giggled.

    I paused. This would be a good time to tell some local friends what went down in Southern Utah. I leaned against a wall and started to explain how it all went down.

    I arrived Friday morning and sent up my camp and pit area. I soon discovered that there were more traditional pit options down the road so I packed everything up and moved to the road just down from the timing tent along the course. I would literally leave the timing tent and ride right by my pit. None of this detail is important but in the process a racer named Ben Welnak and his lovely wife Amy parked right next to me. When I moved to the road they followed suit. This kind of shadowing would continue on during the race. Little did I know he and I would be locked into a battle for sheriff of Frogtown.

    Frogtown is the name of the 25 hour race venue for that weekend. It was all a buzz with the usual 24 hour affair. Everyone was excited to get underway and at 10 AM we were off and running down the road to our bikes. Once on the bike I looked up and realized that again it was confirmed that my running sucks. I put my head down and hammered up to the second pack from the front. I pulled in beside Ben.

    “Is there any solos up their”, I gestured to the pack of five up on top of the gravel road climb.

    “No I don’t think so”

    I took the lead momentarily and realized that Ben and I should just work together until we found out if there were any solo riders in the lead. Ben took over the lead and busted out a wicked fast inaugural lap. I struggled to hold his wheel and keep from going too hard.

    “beep beep beep beep beep”, my heart rate monitor was ferociously reporting a anaerobic status.

    “Is that your heart rate monitor”, Ben asked.

    “Yep, I am not comfortable with this pace”

    “So if I keep it beeping you will eventually blow up?”

    “Um, probably”, I mentally smacked myself upside the head for disclosing vital information.

    “Cool”, and then he turned up the pace. He was putting the screws to me. I thought that he had to be damaging his own chances as well and gambled by mirroring his pace. As we approached the timing tent I followed him in. One lap down and many to go. No need to get to the tent first.

    In the tent the personnel took a long time to find out score cards. They found Ben’s and he was off like a scared rabbit. As the volunteer ferociously dug through he score cards I watched Ben attack up the hill. Three full minutes later they found my page and marked me down for a lap. I was free to go. I got to my pit where Beat was getting his bike ready for a lap.

    “They took like 3 minutes to find my damn score sheet … where did Ben go?”

    “You guys are doing great”, Amy encouraged me.

    I took off after Ben with irritation in my cadence. It really wasn’t fair to be attacked like this but we WERE in a race. And it was apparent we were in the lead. I needed to catch Ben and calm him down. Maybe we could ride smart to distance ourselves from the others. It took me half a lap to catch Ben. He was surging the hill climbs and I tried desperately to catch. When I finally found his wheel I was exhausted.

    “I shouldn’t have caught you this fast but … WTF … what is up with the timing tent”?

    I didn’t get or couldn’t understand the answer so I resigned to just ride behind him again. Maybe I could get some kind of recovery. Just after the Gem Trail section I passed on a downhill and tested his technical skills. I was able to put a gap on him and by the end of lap 2 I had a 10 second lead.

    Suddenly he sprinted up and tried to pass. I put it into the dog and responded. We sprinted full cross country style to the timing tent. I won out by a thread ad got to transition first. Still though Ben was impatient and wanted to get going before I did. I made sure they had my name d
    own on my score sheet and chased him to the pit area. We pitted at the exact same time.

    “What do you need”, Jill queries me as I flung a bottle in her direction. I grabbed a bottle of Carbo Rocket and jolted back to Bens wheel.

    “Bye Jill”, I looked back to see a excited smile. I almost crashed into a fellow competitor.

    “Bye Bill, good luck”.

    By Scott Trost

    This time I was on Ben’s wheel immediately and as we started the first climb. On lap three around 2:20 into the 25 hour race Ben had a bobble. He dropped his water bottle. I picked it up and rode up to him.

    “Are you OK”, I looked into his eyes.

    “Yea, sure, go ahead, I’m fine”

    “OK but Ill go slower”, and pedaled in front of him.

    He didn’t appear to be fine and I saw some doubt in his eyes. His breathing was labored and the fact that he dropped his bottle was the first sign of weakness I saw. I rode steady and kept my heart rate right where it needed to be. I was finally in charge of the race. Once out of sight I picked up the pace and rode the downhill single-track with great passion. I knew I would be faster on the downhill and I took advantage of it right away. He disappeared in the distance behind me.

    When you are in the lead you make gains in the pit area. If you pit slow your competition comes along and has the chance to catch back up. But if you pit fast and you can get out before they come in, it is  a huge mental advantage. At first Ben would ramble in, then later I would be leaving as he rode up to his pit, and then after a while I was totally gone out of sight before he came in. When this happened I surged and attacked pretty hard. I needed to lap him. I knew that if I wanted to win the race I would have to have a lap on him.

    My mind wondered as the sun started to dehydrate me. What was I doing this for? I didn’t plan on doing a solo. Why would I do this to myself. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to bee in a heated battle for first place in a solo n mountain bike race. My heart just wasn’t into it. Then in a rock garden I started to make mistakes and then dizziness set in. Damn, I was getting sun sick.

    By Scott Trost

    “Are you OK, what do you need”, Jill asked me with a concerned look on her face.

    “It’s the sun, its frying me, do you have any Endurolytes?”

    This is when I discovered Jill had special powers. It was like 3 seconds after saying that she just had them in her hand and I downed 4 of them. Ah, she was a jeanie and could make things appear. I looked around and it was snowing and there were unicorns in the field.

    “Bye Bill”, I heard in distance.

    I looked in her direction and she smiled.  I turned and started pedaling. I pedaled because it is what I do. It is what I do when the hallucinations start and I have been going hard for 8 hours in the sun.

    The next pit it was Beat’s turn.

    “Do you have endurolytes”?

    “Um, no but I have salt sticks”, Beat went to the car. He emerged with a bottle of pills.

    “Thanks man, can I have a couple?”

    “Watch out, they are stronger then endurolytes”

    “What is my lead?”

    “Couple minutes”

    By Scott Trost

    I was shocked. A couple minutes. Shit, I was fading. I got back on my bike and continued on. I continued on because it is what I do. It is what I do when things seem bleak. I just continue on.

    Meanwhile in Bens pit there was excitement. I was fading and this left a door open. Even though I would eventually lap Ben I was frazzled and Bed was feeling stronger. There was reports that in my pit area there was a sense of desperation.

    Out on the trail the sun was going behind the clouds and finally the sun was ready to set. I felt better. I did puke up the salt sticks but the  endurolytes saved my race. I was looking forward to the darkness and the cool night air. I had obtained from Amy that our lead was enormous and I had nothing to fear. I rode conservatively.

    Just as the sun left us all in the desert and I was struggling to see I spotted Jill. I rode up to her and stopped. I looked at her smile and thought to myself how great her smile was. I mean no one out there was smiling. But she was and I thought of giving her the “best smile” of the race award.

    “Cool sunset”, I blurted out.

    “Yes, this is awesome”, Jill said with so much glee I felt re-energized immediately.

    By Scott Trost

    She was having a great time and I admired her for how she was embracing this event and becoming more involved as the race wore on. I could tell she wanted to be riding in the solo division. She was getting stronger. Even with stops to take photos she came in right behind me on the lap.

    “I need to bee more like Jill”, I told myself and I pitted and went out for my first night lap.

    And the night did wear on. My front shock started to malfunction. As I pitted with Jill it became apparent that I may have to abandon the race.

    “You can use Beat’s bike.” “Bill I am sorry, what can I do”

    “Its OK Ill keep fixing it, no problems, Jill my bike is falling apart”, I struggled to tightening the pure delight knob and pump up the fork. My pit times are like 20 minutes to keep the fork from dismantling.

    “I could use some soup on the next pit”

    “OK, I’ll have it ready”

    “Bye Jill”

    “Bye Bill”

    I rode out another lap and the fork came apart again. I was discouraged and hatched a plan to score the threads to prevent the lock nut from loosening.  On the next pit stop I went to work. As I finished up the repairs I was handed a hot cup of soup. Then I realized that not only was Jill a Jeanie she was also a angle of delicious soup. It was marvelous and I felt energy for the first time.

    “Do I have to go back out there”, I asked Jill.

    “No, unless your having fun”

    Ben had come in and watched me try to do repairs and must have seen me getting comfortable with my new found cup of joy. He left his pit and attacked so hard he was enveloped by darkness before I even looked up.

    I saw him leave his tent and knew this was it. This was where the race would be decided. If he were to take back his lap he would of won. I had to catch him or loose everything I had worked so hard for.

    “Jill I have to go”, I said so despairingly it sounded pathetic.

    “Its OK bill, your doing great”

    “Bye Jill”

    “Bye Bill”

    It took me 15 minutes to catch Ben and found that I had legs. In fact I felt marvelous. Jill had saved my race. That cup of soup was working miracles.  I wondered if it was indeed the soup or just that my fitness was finally coming through. Finally I didn’t question anything I just stuck to Ben. he was ripping up the hills so violently I was left momentarily shattered at the top. but then he would slow to catch his breath and I would catch back on. And the dance  continued. He surged and I struggled to catch back up. Surge, struggle, surge, struggle …..

    Near the top just before the downhill single track we were sided by side gasping for air. The battle was just about over. We both gave it everything and the next slight uphill before the single-track would be the entire race. Who had enough to make that final attack and push the dagger onto their rivals heart.

    I got out of the saddle and put it all into my bike. We reached the single track first and coasted to the mandatory dismount. I was in the lead and this would be the last time Ben saw me as I ripped away into the darkness that night. I knew at this point I would be able to win if I could keep my bike in one piece.

    I came into a empty pit area and did a quite celebration. Jill was out riding and I had a chance of chasing her down. Apparently she was riding lap after lap and feeling great. It gave me some inspiration and I busted through without stopping. I wanted to put the nail in to coffin and disappear before Ben pitted.

    I pushed out another strong lap, perhaps to strong. I started to unravel. Mostly because I got lonely. The pit was abandon (which I didn’t mind because it meant Jill was riding and riding and riding).  The two laps before day break were hard. I started walking the technical sections and found my body was dismantling itself. I have experience and I knew I would make it to the end. But I started to feel like I didn’t want to. What was I doing out here. I kept telling myself to just keep on going. Carry on. Don’t stop.

    Suddenly I realized that I no longer needed my lights. The sun was trying to emerge and I started to see the landscape coming back to life. It was beautiful out there and I was in pain. The physical pain I could handle but the emotional pain and just not knowing why I was racing was so heavy that it was dragging slower and slower. I was reduced to rolling over one rock at a time.

    Straight over this rock, around the side of that rock. Over this rock and onto the next. Between two rocks and balancing over a narrow rock and off its painful edge. This rock, the next rock. Just hang in there and focus. 2 maybe 3 hours to go. One rock at a time. one rock at a time.

    “Wow”, Julie said as I realized that I was back in Larry’s house surrounded by a dozen eyes. All starring at me. And I paused.

    “I looked up and saw Jill”, I continued with out anyone probing me for more detail. I searched for words. And then I continued on my own, not telling the story any longer but reliving it out loud.

    “Biking really sucks”

    Jill giggled, “yea, you look great though, your doing awesome”

    We watched the sun struggle into view.

    “Beautiful … hey, what are you doing next Wednesday”, I asked. I was trying to avoid my emotions by cracking a joke. It is what I do. it is what I do when I have ridden for 20 hours. It is what I do after facing my very soul. It is what I do when I realize something that is uncomfortable to discuss is about to be disclosed.

    “What, what do you mean”

    “Do you want to go for a ride next Wednesday”, this time becoming serious. I really did want to secure a ride. Jill smiled and looked back to the sunrise.

    Ben rolled up to us after a couple minutes.

    By Scott Trost

    “What’s up”

    “We are watching the sun rise”, I disclosed so matter of fact  like. Jill giggled. It was true, we were watching the sun come up.

    “Man, I feel like shit”, Ben said then the rode past us. He rode off into the distance and I watched him. I realized what a great time I had racing with Ben and the battle we had. A great relationship and now he was still riding. And I was standing.

    “There goes my lap”, I released the words into the morning air.

    “Yea, but he cant catch you Bill, don’t worry”

    Did I say how positive Jill is, yea, it felt good to have strategic support at a time when I didn’t care. It did matter though .

    YES! I suddenly realized why I was there. I was here to ride for my friends, more specifically Jill. I wanted to win one for my friend Jill.  I felt weird trying to find a way to disclose that I wanted to win a race for her.  It felt so kind of tacky … but after the big Showdown in Frogtown it seemed like the thing I wanted to do. And I wanted to ride some more.

    “Will you do the last lap with me”?

  • Birthday

    Birthday

    Sorry everyone I will have to post a race report from last weekend on another day. Today it is important for me to remember something else.

    My entire family and not many friends know about my 1 year stint with marriage. Back in 1987 I believe. It has been a long time, I have moved on, and forgotten most of it. I was just barely an adult legally but emotionally more like a child. Shit I WAS a child; and did childish things. The only reason I do remember this relationship is that every November 10th is a special day.

    It was snowing heavily outside, a blizzard really. In fact I felt that when I called a cab in the middle of the night they would just laugh at me. But my wife Ronda and I made it to the hospital in Billings Montana and began a REAL long childbirth process. She did well and Melinda Kay Martin was born. I exited stage left by passed out cold due to not eating or sleeping for like 16 hours.

    Within a years time there was a divorce and I tried like hell to win it all back. Didn’t work out. First there was visitation, then a weekly visit, to a monthly report, yearly update, and finally total disconnection. That’s the short ugly story but there is more to it. This is not the proper place for that because it takes away from my intentions to remember this special day.

    I disclose this because I cant just say “Happy Birthday to my Daughter” without some explanation. Too many people would loose their jaw as it drops onto the floor. But I would like to say it. And I need to disclose some hidden things in order to move forward. After all this year I have learned to start opening up. And of course in case this post is discovered one day.

    Happy birthday Mindy.

  • 25 Hour Win

    Clinched a solo victory at the 25 Hours of Frog Hollow with 20 laps and 256 miles under my belt in Hurricane, Utah.

    Big shout-out to Jill and Beat for their stellar support. Check out Jill’s race report for the “Swiss Miss” team for an insightful read (find it on Jill Outside). As for my own tale, it’s in the works—right after I tackle the post-race ritual of unpacking the car.

  • 25 Hours of Frog Hollow

    25 Hours of Frog Hollow

    Today I am headed out to 25 Hours of Frog Hollow. I plan on trying to blog stuff during my trip but maybe not during the race but you never know. In any case follow my site, Twitter, or Facebook. The organizers are also going to post updates at http://www.facebook.com/Froghollow.races.

  • Seasonal Changes

    Seasonal Changes

    The past four months have been a rollercoaster. The Butte 100 reshaped my views on life and racing, leading to new connections and self-discovery, followed by a return to reality. Now, I’m reverting to my solo, racing-focused self: cold, calculating, and all about enduring pain.

    Racing, to me, is a microcosm of life’s struggles. And this is just a prelude to sharing overdue photos from a pivotal race.

    At Pierre’s Hole 100, I took a different approach by starting slow, only to be met with intense pain midway. A month before, a night of deep conversation with a friend left me restless and distracted. Despite feeling out of sorts, I was convinced to race the PH 100, showing up emotionally raw.

    For three laps, I mechanically moved through the course until a moment of clarity forced me to a halt. Overwhelmed, I finally acknowledged my feelings out loud, a breakthrough after years of emotional detachment. This catharsis unleashed a surge of energy, leading me to finish strong and win a belt buckle. For once, I truly enjoyed the race, racing with all my heart.

    This isn’t the start of a love story, but an insight into my recent shift. Life, however, has a way of dulling the new and exposing the harsh. I’m off to Utah for a 25-hour race we had planned to do together, but now, I’ll be alone.

    Like with the PH 100, my heart’s not in it, but it feels necessary. This could be my final race. There’s something out there in the desert for me to discover. Whether I can embrace the pain and race solo again is uncertain, but I’ll give it my all.

  • Distant Peak

    Distant Peak

    “I’ll have the pumpkin,” I greeted the server at Big Dipper Ice Cream.

    “Oh, that’s good dipped in chocolate,” Julie chimed in.

    “Oh! Okay, yeah, let’s do that,” I muttered.

    “I’ll have the eggnog,” Julie added.

    We sat down and talked about plans for Saturday and some current events. Afterward, we went our separate ways, and I headed to do some grocery shopping.

    Later, I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car. As I moved around to get my groceries, I was stopped in my tracks. I turned north, catching sight of a faint outline of a snowy peak in the distance. Above it, smiling down at me, was the Big Dipper. I looked away as soon as it came into focus. My phone was ringing.

    It was a long conversation. Some key words were love, hate, sorry, disappointment, relationship, friends, and time. It ended after midnight, but it still felt too short for everything I needed to say. I heard things that made me feel good, that reopened some doors I thought were closed. The call ended abruptly, just as it had started. I didn’t get a chance to say what I wanted and stared at the phone with disappointment. Finally, I grabbed the grocery bags and went inside.

    “I miss you,” I whispered into the frosty night air as I looked up at where the Big Dipper had been. It was gone, seemingly vanished. My words floated out in a misty cloud and faded into the darkness.

  • Tweaked

    I am awake having night sweats. My thumb is swollen. I angrily pulled off a hangnail while changing from tubeless to a tube tire on the trail last night.  Then to try pumping up a mountain bike tire when your back is tweaked. Oh yea! Did I mention that my back hurts? A lot. A couple times I got severe back spasms from a deep bruise on my spine last night.

    “Are you alright?”

    “Yes, I think so”, I responded to my friend. I felt embarrassed and kind of like a cry baby. But it felt good to have friends around me that cared. It felt good that friends stayed behind in the dark to watch me struggle with my bike problems. I could feel their worry about my back pain and so I became frustrated. I need to work on my responses better but I am tired and I will blame the lack of sleep.

    The lack of sleep is starting to wear on me. Now my mind starts to feel concern for my friend who is in the same boat. She continually amazes me and now I am up reading the accounts of a trip I took two nights ago with her. After reading her blog for almost 5 years I am still amazed. I used to love the mileage counting … I do that too. Her photos of the journey are beautiful and the writing even more so. I am glad to read such accounts and hope to re-visit them at later dates when I need reminding the most.

    My friend mentions that when we were up on the mountain struggling to keep warm she felt alive. I do feel it too but not right now sitting here waiting for the Motrin to kick in. I yearn for a higher place and in the winter that place becomes more magical. Is it because it is all above society and all of its troubles? Is it because everything does not matter up there? I always find a piece of me up on high.

    I am sore, achy, and cant sleep. I have been hurting emotionally about other “situations” and this has become my life raft. One that I will likely not ever fully appreciate. But I can say this; I do appreciate my friends company and the way it makes me feel. Achy. Sore. Tired. Blissful. Cold … Alive!

  • Not Normal

    2010_10_27_snow_bowl I am not saying that the term “It is what it is” is exactly my credo or some magical black magic incantation. But recently it does have meaning. I came to appreciate this phrase when my friend said it on top of University Mountain a while back. Since then it has been blurted out numerous times. To me it brings to focus the importance of standing back and releasing a situation’s hold on us by letting go and letting life take its course. Kind of like another friend’s saying “let go or be dragged”.

    “This damn computer. I mean, what is wrong with this thing? Darn thing wont…”

    A co-worker struggles a bit more and the sounds of a keyboard and mouse clicks become more frantic.

    “Arrrgh”, she lets out a frustrated growl.

    2010_10_27_snow_bowl-1I was just coming into work and was clocking in. I sensed that she was being frustrated by a piece of modern technology and that it should not have so much control over her (I am one to talk right? ).

    “It is what it is”, I mumbled as I hit the clock-in button.

    “I HATE that term!”

    “WHAT? Whyyyy …”

    “Because it is over used and just means that you cant fix it. That just irks me.”

    “My friend Jill told me that once on top of a mountain and since then I have come to realize …”

    2010_10_27_snow_bowl-2“No matter, you guys are just not normal anyway. So what mountain did you spend all night climbing last night?”

    I turned to walk to my office and muttered, “Snow Bowl and it was awesome”.

    The fact is that I HAVE spent the last two nights climbing into the snow on that newly frozen range. The two nights are in stark contrast. And I see them for what they are now.

    Tuesday night I rode solo to thrash things out and the weather was perfect for inner turmoil. Snow and wind came from angry clouds tilling across the Rattlesnake leaving the seeds of winter. The night was full of turmoil and pain. Pain from recent injuries and pain from taking a cross bike up a major gravel climb in the snow. Mostly I needed to connect some thoughts, emotions, and step back to do a complete overview of my feelings. I did that by hammering myself into the ground and then starting the process of hypothermia to bring it all home. In the past I have committed 98% of all my free time to these types of solo sessions.

    2010_10_27_snow_bowl-3Last night I went with a my friend Jill up to the same area. It was a laid back and beautiful ride. The weather was perfect as well and the terrain was serene and magnificent. The climb was gradual giving us time to catch up on the previous weekend and plan for a upcoming 24 hour race. It was good to talk to someone I trust and report the things I discovered in the previous days. Previous solo riding days. The adventure turned into a epic ride. We encountered snow, cold temps, a life giving shelter at altitude, warm curry lentil soup, frozen toes, frozen fingers, and all the magical elements of winter. Recently I have been committing more adventure time with friends and it has been good.

    Recently I have been tapering my solo time to 60% and my social time to 40% and the results have been good. I have been having the greatest fall in all of my memories. There is a caveat though. For this new allocation of adventure to work you need to find people that are totally into what you are into. Also important is someone to say yes to 5 hour rides in the harshest conditions. You need someone that when you would of normally turned around you just kept going. 2010_10_27_snow_bowl-4A person that expands your limits. This part is the hardest thing to find for someone with my passions and interests.  I am grateful.

    To have a friend to share in what most of society says, “is not normal” is beyond understanding. It is what it is and to me it is normal as can be.

    UPDATE: Jill’s tremendous blog about our ride with great photos.