Dirt, sweat, and blood...

That, pre-Julian, used to be more or less my definition of a successful ride. If I didn't get covered in dirt and mud, pine needles plastered to various locations on bike and body, then there was obviously not enough fun happening. Physiologists will tell you that sweating is a natural biological response to increased work, designed to aid in thermo-regulation. I think sweating is a natural reaction to there being sufficient quantities of fun involved in my ride. And, of course, we would all prefer that our blood stays in the convenient container of our body most of the time, but it is good to sound out the limits, push a little bit, and get some warpaint to prove that you discovered where those limits were: at the outside envelope of... you guessed it... having enough fun.

Nowadays things are kept a little more conservative. Sweat is a given, especially when pulling around a 30 pound child up and down singletrack and forest roads that are hard enough solo. Naturally, the mud washes off... but his mother would just kill me if we crashed. So we stay inside a margin of safety which is quite restrictive. I know the terrain, our equipment, and my abilities well enough to have an enjoyable time without pushing up against the limits.

Today I got in a solo effort which put me right back square in my old definition of a successful ride. A grey, drizzly day and some trails to explore.

I started up the Pattee Canyon road and headed up the Sam Braxton trail. I intended to just follow the loop, but was sidetracked by a side track. Little did I know that it would lead me up to a bit of steep, fall line singletrack through tight trees... which would have been ridable had it not been for the recent rains making things quite soft.

I crashed. On purpose. It was better to have a semi-controlled laying over of the bike than a full on faceplant through the trees. About a mile later I noticed my knee dripping with blood, but I didn't care. The trails were great, I made it back to Sam B and rode the loop, riding light and shouldering the bike over numerous logs and fallen trees.

A quick road decent, and then up the Crazy Canyon trail to Crooked trail. I swooped around the downhill singletrack on the flank of Sentinel, and burst out into the fields of wildflowers and wide open views of the Missoula valley. I thought about continuing the ride, but opted to head home instead. I got some strange looks on the way. Here I am, covered in mud and blood... and I'm smiling and waving at everyone I pass.

I didn't take very many pictures, and I figure no one wants to see pictures of my leg or my dirty bike... so here's some flowers instead.

Indian Paintbrush

Shooting Stars.

Lupine and Arrowleaf Balsamroot.

Looking northwest into the valley.
That precipitation over Rattlesnake is why I opted to head home.
There is fresh snow on all the mountains.

All in all, 20 miles and 2500 feet of climbing. A beautiful day, and a successful ride by any definition. After a shower, the knee wound turned out to be not much more than a scratch, the mud and sweat washed away, all that will be left are memories and a few pictures. As it should be.

Opportunity.

There are many kinds of opportunity. To rest, to ride, to do or not do. We calculate our benefit from an activity, as my economics teacher would say, based on the "opportunity cost" of doing it. Yes, you can go and do this thing, but what will that end up costing you? What will you not be able to do because of this decision?

My last solo ride was a perfect example of this. It was a challenging route, a quick pace, and it blasted me right off the bike for several days. In fact, it kept me in bed for two of those days. It got me thinking about equipment. It got me thinking about the kinds of trips I have planned with the kids this summer. If a half-day ride was costing me this much, something had to change.

I revised my thinking. I re-aligned my goals. There were going to be mechanical changes to the bike that I didn't really want, but apparently really needed. Two gears is not enough. The pacing of my rides was going to change. From something just shy of race pace and pushing right up to the limits, back to meandering and taking pictures. Yes, I'm in pretty good shape, and I like to think of some of my riding as "training" to preserve and extend my ability. But now I think there definitely needs to be more time spent smelling the flowers, as it were.

On our outing today, I averaged 5mph. 20 miles in 4 hours. Tootling. Wandering. I took both kids. We rode until we found some dirt, and followed it around, sniffing out more dirt, and trying to avoid the road as much as possible. We did pretty well. Out of 20 miles, only around 5 was on pavement.

There is some question as to whether the route was entirely legal, there being various signs on adjacent trails advising "foot traffic only" and at least one fence that although not adorned with "no trespassing" signs, still resulted in some hesitation opening the gate and closing it behind us.

The kids had a good time. Rene struggled a bit, being in some kind of foul mood today. He walked quite a bit, and I had trouble finding pictures of him actually riding. He found out today that everyone has an off day, and it shouldn't impact your enjoyment too much... just accept it, and take what comes as it is.

As for myself, there were plenty of reasons I could have been disappointed in our outing today. I refuse to entertain these notions. It was grimly dim when we left, and scattered sun dapples by mid-ride. It looked like it would surely rain. We did not get wet at all. It was 45 degrees with a breeze at our apartment, but the air grew warmer as we pressed on. I felt sore and a little stiff. By the end of the ride I just wanted to keep going. As far as I'm concerned, choosing to go ride today highlighted the positive changes in everything... well, maybe except Rene's attitude, but he's almost 12... it goes with the territory.

All in all, a very colorful spring day exploring the dirt tracks through the hills of north Missoula.

This trails runs off Duncan Drive, right along the creek.

Except when the creek is at flood stage.

Julian at the water's edge.

Rene did a lot of walking. It was a really nice spot for a walk, at least.

Downtown Missoula from the North Hills.

The Peace Sign is a fixture on the hillside and can be seen across town.

Prayer Flags in the breeze.

We couldn't figure out how to make westward progress.
Went around in circles for a bit.

Very promising two-track. 

Julian LOVES trains. We had this view of the train yard from up high,
and the turntable where the cars can be turned around.

Fields of gold.

Our ride ended in some of the most spectacular hillsides. Every time the sun would peek out, the oceans of bright yellow flowers just exploded with color. 

Sometimes I feel the need to question my intent. Why do I do this? Why the urge to get out, up, away, and push hard into the world that surrounds our little islands of civilization? Well, today the answer was simple: just making the most of an opportunity.

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Finding the Quiet...

This past week has been full of activity. We went places, rode hard, picnic lunched, explored... we had great successes, disasters, and close encounters with wildlife.

Today I wanted to put together a kind of retrospective. A recap. I wanted perspective. I was going solo. The memorable rides of the last week took us to Mount Jumbo, to Rattlesnake, to Grant Creek, and savoring the sumptuous singletrack in Sawmill. Was there a way to re-experience all of them for myself in the same ride? A perusal of my maps suggested that there was.

I started up toward Lincoln Hills Drive just before 8am. The climb up the road was fast, a good wake-up effort after a 5 mile warm up. I made an adjustment to the cleat on my right shoe, attempting to address some asymmetrical discomfort. Stopping to stretch at the Jumbo Saddle TH, and just looking around was beautiful... it was dreamlike.

Riding into a Van Gogh.

Started the climb up toward the Ridge Trail feeling strong. The bike was SO much lighter without the trailer and Julian onboard. I started thinking about this... it was a good experience to be out here solo, but he would have just loved it. Once, I started to turn around to point something out to him, and realized he wasn't there.

I contoured around the saddle thinking about my route, consulting the GPS, and second-guessing a few uncertain trail junctions. I remember noticing, and even informing myself "Hey, there's an awful lot of stuff making a racket in my head right now... I should really just enjoy the ride."

Switchbacks up the Ridge Trail.

Then the trail came out of the trees for a second and the bottom dropped out of the world. My breath caught in my throat.

View from the Ridge Trail, looking down into the Missoula Valley.
Sentinel on the far left, Jumbo just left of center,
Lolo peak in the distance on the far right.

I reached the top of the first big climb and chatted with another mountain biker named Scott for a minute or three to catch my breath. I double checked my directions, and headed down Woods Gulch. This was a steep, undulating, and surprisingly rocky trail which sometimes ran alongside a creek, and sometimes became the creek.

I found myself daydreaming a bit, letting my mind wander and letting the bike run. I quickly realized I needed to be on guard as a hairpin switchback or two popped up.

Change of direction, change of altitude, change of attitude.

By the time I started cruising down toward the Rattlesnake Main TH I knew my ride was almost half over, and started thinking about how to approach Sawmill. Then I stopped on the bridge to put that thought down and pick up an image of the creek. It is truly amazing how much it changes, even from week to week.

Rattlesnake Creek near the Main TH.
So much water.

Up the main corridor, hook back to the Sawmill Gulch singletrack access, start climbing. I decided against doing a bunch of loops and just went for the most direct route. Not the fastest, the most direct. Also probably the steepest. There was some hiking. Not a huge amount, but a nice walk. There are far worse things than having to take a walk with your bike through the woods on a beautiful day.

And the riding... well... let's just say that my mind was starting to quiet. My singletrack fix for the day was turning into a real binge. I remember the thoughts just fading away until there was only the trail, the woods, and I didn't even notice the bike anymore. Maybe there was one thought.... "singletrack"..... maybe there was drooling... couldn't say for sure.

Sensational Singletrack up Sawmill.

Between the earth and the sky is this narrow road, tread upon it with mindfulness, be happy.
In the next moment it is gone.

Remains of a tree.

The next thought I had was when I reached the Stuart Peak Trail junction and looked at my altimeter... 5100 feet... and I looked at my arms covered in a sheen of sweat. I had been drinking, but barely keeping up with what I was losing. I drank some water and ate more shot bloks. Ravine trail had to be close, and with it the promise of a sweeping downhill into Grant Creek.

I reached the Ravine TH just before noon, and took a brief moment to check myself. Breathing was good, hydration okay, peed almost clear, feeling a little hot but it was warm out and the rain that was "likely" hadn't shown up yet. Back on the bike, and pointed down.

Switchbacks down the Ravine Trail.

Snowbowl through the trees.

Once again on Ravine I had that experience of inner quiet. The trail lost elevation quickly, but undulated and twisted like a snake. The mental focus was intense, and as speed picked up on the straights near the bottom a feeling of exhiliration washed over, soon replaced by relief at the sight of Grant Creek Rd.

Back on the road, 22mph down the pavement and having thoughts in pictures instead of words, alternating between reflecting on the experiences of the day and being fully conscious of the whirring of tires on the road and wind in my ears.

Back to town via Grant Creek Rd.

Up Lincoln Hills Drive to Jumbo Saddle, up the North Loop and Ridge Trail, down Woods Gulch,
up Sawmill, down Ravine Trail, down Grant Creek Rd. 33 miles, 4000 ft. of climbing.

The Jumbo Picnic Incident...

Melissa had the weekend off. This happens twice a month, so we usually try to make it out as a family and do something fun. Today we got a slow start, and didn't have anything planned really, so we opted for a simple picnic lunch somewhere scenic.

Rene had been on a class field trip up to Mount Jumbo saddle, and suggested we go up there. The day was warm and partly cloudy, with temps winding up in the mid 70s and a slight breeze washing over the hills. We climbed up Lincoln Hills Drive, watching as the neighborhood gave way to expanses of green hillside and bright yellow flowers. Rene filled us in with the flower info he got from his field trip.

"There's Arrowleaf Balsamroot, Larkspur, and Biscuitroot."

We climbed the steep trail, and I wondered first if I was somehow trapped in a Van Gogh, and second why so many of the trails in this area seem to go straight up the fall line at 25% + grades from the TH, and then level off slightly.

After a good climb and a little exploring, everyone was down for some food, so the priority became locating a picnic spot.

Lunch with a view!

After eating our sandwiches and roaming around on the hillside for a bit soaking in the warmth and the views, it was time to head back to town. We still had grocery shopping to do, and this wasn't supposed to be a daytrip, just a picnic lunch.

Elevation was lost quickly as we plunged down toward MT200. Marshal Canyon Rd appeared around a bend in the two-track and offered a high-speed route off the mountainside. Unfortunately, this was to be the cause of the latter half of our adventure for the day.

Julian and I reached the bottom of Marshal Canyon Rd and waited for Melissa and Rene. They were nowhere to be seen. A pickup truck pulls over behind me, and all I could think was "Oh no...." The driver told me that Rene had crashed a little ways up the road, and I should go back up to where they were. 

The scene was messy. Skin reacts poorly to hitting asphalt at 30mph. I checked Rene over for injuries, washed some of his wounds, and then got the bike in rolling order. He was pretty shaken up, and the road rash fairly severe in a couple spots. We had to ride home though, no choice on that one.

He lives! Yet he seems rather unhappy about that at the moment.
Melissa thinks this is great. Badges of honor, or something like that.

We rode at a leisurely pace down along the river, and just tried to relax and keep Rene's mind off his pain. Arriving home, I expended several packages of gauze, half a roll of medical tape, and several bandages to cover the road rash, and used some cyanoacrylate glue to close the deeper gashes. What a mess. Lessons learned: do not swerve at high speed, panic braking WILL throw you from the bike, super glue will close wounds that would otherwise require stitches.

Very pretty flowers everywhere.
This almost matches the color of my son's chin and elbow. Ewww.

---

Aside from the disasterous crash, a great outing.
Will be a good area for picnic lunches and days where a
less-than-strenuous outing is desired.

Short and sweet...

Todays ride was intended to serve two purposes. One, to get a nice low intensity recovery ride in... something gentle, relatively flat, short, and on the road. Two, to get Julian out of the house and in a better mood because yesterday he was all out of sorts.

I figured we could ride up Grant Creek Road, something we hadn't done since there was snow on the ground up there. I had no intention of riding the whole thing, but I figured we would ride up a little ways, and then turn around.

I thought it would also be a good time to try playing with the timer on my camera...
It seems there aren't many pictures of us.

We rolled out of the driveway, me spinning my trail gear down the street and going very easy on my legs. Things felt good. We rode over the Scott Street bridge and Julian looked down at all the activity in the rail yard. Coal cars, lumber cars, tanker cars, switching engines, banging boxcars and train horns.

Of course, it wasn't long before I was lured off the paved surface of the road, captivated by this little two track... I just can't help myself.

Ahem... well, I did eventually find the road again, and we got back on track... sort of.

We rode past the cemetery and this lovely scene:

Is it morbid to take a picture of a cemetery? I don't think so.
Appreciating death is appreciating life.
Freemasons say, "Memento Mori," Remember Death.
Buddhists say, "You have only this moment."
Appreciate the beauty in everything. 

As I said before, I make a horrible roadie. I need one of those "Caution, makes frequent stops" stickers for my bicycle. So, back to the road, and the business at hand.

Last time we were up here, this was all snow and ice.

I kept the bike moving forward at an easy spin, just under 10 mph... REALLY slow on the road. There are some unexpected benefits to this pace, however. I didn't strain my already worked leg muscles, and we saw things that we would have easily missed had we been moving faster.

Forces of nature.
How much must it take to topple these giants?

We happened upon a small group of deer along the roadside.
They didn't run. We looked at them. They looked at us.
This deer was approximately 10 feet away.

This one was a little more skittish and headed for the trees.

The whole encounter lasted about 2 minutes. An eternity when you are that close. No cars passed. It was strangely quiet. Even Julian didn't make any noise. Then, just like that, they alerted on something and two took off into the brush. A truck passed at around 40mph, loud and reckless. I paused to wonder how people can drive their vehicles, fast and loud, and not stop to appreciate wonderful moments like these. I was reminded why I don't drive, and why I don't feel the need to go fast all the time. Its about the journey, not the destination.

Grant Creek carving through the lanscape.

I decided this was as likely a turn around point as any.
We stood here listening to the creek, watching deer, cows, sheep, and magpies.

Yes... I marvel at just how alive everything is here. It may not be a big deal to Montana natives, who seem to be able to tune out the wonder of it and get on with more human-centric concerns... we moved here from Arizona where you could spend all day on the trail and maybe see a vulture and a lizard for wildlife, and the only water on the ground was probably spilled from your water bottle. Don't get me wrong, the desert has its own stark beauty. The mountains of Arizona are high and dry, beautiful yet somewhat sterile. Montana in comparison is vibrant, wet, and life flows out of every drainage right up to the edge of, and clear into the heart of the city.

We rode back to the road and headed down, back towards home... and I decided to rekindle an old tradition:

Coffee and Chocolate Chip Banana Bread.

In contrast to our other outings, this one is special. It doesn't register as any more than a barely perceptible bump in terms of elevation or distance. We were gone less than two hours. Yet it serves to underscore that there is so much more to enjoying being outdoors than how far, how fast, how high... In a world which constantly extols the virtues of the superlative, I am happy to savor the beauty in the unremarkable.