Bummer

Ben's gone back to Pennsylvania to finish his schooling. Major bummer. But, I've got to give the guy credit, he's going for it, pursuing his life-long dream of joining a frat and going to Daytona Beach for spring break to get babes. Get prosperous, dude!

Before he left we went and did some touristy stuff in The Park.


We drove The Road. (Touron fever forever.)


We walked to St. Mary Falls/Virginia Falls. Almost four miles round trip! (My first Glacier hike since ... 2008.)


We ate pie at Park Cafe in St. Mary. (Libby Cafe is still winning my affection for best pie in the state, though.)


We climbed Divide Mountain.


See. (One hour up, two hours down.)

Good last day.

Later, dude.


"Aw, there ain't no laws in Montana." (You should click that link and listen.)

Three years ago today ...

"Platte, South Dakota," August 2008, written August 2011.

We drove east through the hot August afternoon. The landscape slowly transitioned from brown and yellow to green and blue. The hills were rolling, the road either up and down or down and up. We came over a rise and saw a vast expanse of water at least a half-mile wide. The Missouri River. It was early -- we could still drive a few more hours, keep heading home, but we knew this was where we wanted to spend the night. We'd been desert dwellers for the day; we'd finally found our oasis. We wanted to swim.

We drove over the bridge and into the nearest town, we needed supplies: Ramen, beer, wine. We stopped at the first convenience store gas station.

Before going in I put Monica's silly, over-sized sunglasses on and clipped Cody's leash onto his collar.

"Follow my lead," I told her. "I'll follow Cody's."

I walked into the store with Cody, his leash in one hand, the other arm rigidly extended at shoulder height. I walked around the store like this, "blindly" feeling around, occasionally bumping into the aisle display racks of Pringles and candy bars, Cody aimlessly guiding me to the coolers in the back of the store. I opened a cooler door, grabbed a six-pack with my extended arm and, Cody leading the way, walked back to the front of the store, saying nothing.

"Did you find everything okay, sweetie?" Monica asked me, already waiting at the counter with an open purse.

"I did, darling, thank you. Did you get the Ramen and the wine?"

"I did. Is red okay?"

Cody meandered on his leash, pulling toward whatever it was he wanted to smell. The clerk looked confused, but said nothing. Monica paid, we said thank you, and walked out.

We parked the car under the bridge beside a sign that read "No overnight parking." I grabbed my pack -- tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and cook stove -- and the night's rations and we walked along the shore until we found a small, sandy cove just big enough for the tent, just below a sand dune, just out of view from the parking lot.

A few hundred yards away, down the river, cows grazed and sipped from the water. A barbed wire fence lead across the land and into the river, separating them from us. Cody laid in the sand, paws out, and stared at them intently, occasionally barking, keeping them at bay. In the distance, beyond the fence, there was a red, wood barn with a white roof and white trim. The sun was beginning to set behind us.

We set up camp and pitched the tent, unable to stake it down in the sand, and walked, beers in hand, to a small dock near the bridge. We sat with our feet in the warm, black water and felt it gently flow south. We stripped down to our underwear and jumped in. I dog paddled, never getting my hair wet; Monica swam, wind mill-style, to the middle of the river and back. We sat on the dock, air drying, and drank some more. She inched toward me and rested her head on my shoulder. Her brown hair, wet and cold, thick like a mop, draped half over my shoulder, half down my back. She told me her hair smelled like bananas. I told her maybe we shouldn't go -- maybe we should just make this our home. We could try to get money wired to us. We could make an appointment with a realtor in the morning. We could put a down payment on the farm with the cows and the barbed wire fence that led into the Missouri. The gas station up the road had everything we needed. She said she liked the looks of a red bar with white trim. We listened to the cars crossing the bridge above us, woosh, and the rubber-tire-on-concrete hum echoing off the water below the bridge. The mosquitoes were getting bad. The sun set behind us. She never took her head off my shoulder.

"We should probably go back to the tent," I told her. "Lets make that Ramen."

"Yeah," she said, "and there's a bottle of wine in the bag, too."

The next morning we stopped at the same gas station where we'd bought the supplies the night before. We bought another six-pack from the same cashier from the evening before. We didn't say anything and neither did she. We continued east.

This is an excerpt from "The Self-Described Bonnie and Clyde," a longer story that will maybe one day be released in some fashion.

To the Yaak and back!

Yaak Valley, Cabinet Mountains, Purcell Mountains.

The "To Yaak and Back with the Dog in the Trailer" bike tour went off without a hitch; oddly, nothing went wrong other than a cut on my finger, a sunburned nose, and a lot of mosquito bites. Five days, 240 miles pedaled, 8 walked (two climbs, one about eight miles long, the other about 13 and at times incredibly steep, were just too much for my knees), 13,000 feet climbed, about 90 lbs. pulled. The trailer actually made it. Cody didn't get heat stroke. I didn't even flat once. Awesome.


Cars at least slowed down to read this.


Cody's not psyched.

Day 1: Home to Murray Lake, Trego, 38 miles.

Day 2: Murray Lake, through Eureka and Rexford, to a slick little spot near the Koocanusa Bridge, 32 miles.


It's gunna be a good day in Rexford.


Got rained on all night at Koocanusa.

Day 3: Lake Koocanusa to Yaak, 44 miles including a 13-mile, 4,000 foot climb, half of which we were forced to walk, we made it!

Get a beer at the Dirty Shame Saloon, eat the best Reuben ever, spend the night, free, eat some breakfast, start heading home ...


Three-mile climb to here, 10 more to go.


Yup!

Big, big props to Gloria, owner of the Dirty Shame, for the free cabin for the night and a $5 breakfast that included two Belgian waffles with fresh fruit, scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, home fries, toast, orange juice, and coffee. She made me promise I'd call her when I got back to Whitefish so she'd know we got home safely.

Day 4: 60 miles, Yaak to Libby, for pie, Libby to the River Bend Bar for a beer and a veggie burger, the River Bend Bar to 10 miles east of there, the Fisher River.


Potential swim spot near Turner Mountain ruined by horse flies.


Leaving the River Bend Bar with a gut full of veggie burger and Ranger.


I waded out to this rock on the Fisher River, away from the mosquitoes, and sat with my feet in the water for a long time. I ate a peach, drank a Double Haul, and felt good about being here. I suggest you try it, too.

Day 5: 65 miles, no towns, no services, limited paved roads, home.


I'm in Montana, but I'm not sure where I am; there is no town, just coordinates on a map ...


I really hope I'm going the right way.

I cut 40 miles off the trip -- most of which would have been on Highway 93 -- by riding/pushing the bike and trailer east and uphill for eight miles on nameless, dirt forest service roads, dodging the occasional logging truck, not really sure if I was going the right way. I saw a small, hand-painted sign for Tally Lake, I went with it. After three hours of searching, pushing, pedaling, and one wrong turn, I popped out on Star Meadows Rd., 20 miles from Whitefish, pavement all the way home. I hustled back to town to meet the 6 p.m. Jersey Boy's happy hour deadline -- $1.50 slices and $1 cans of PBR. Pedaling my 248th mile, less than a block from Jersey Boy's, I got the first and only earful of the trip: "Get a car you fucking hippie! You're blocking the road!"

Home.

Facts:

1) In 240 miles, I saw three other cyclists -- two tourers and a woman in full Spandex on a three-speed cruiser in Libby.

2) Props are also due to my cute waitresses at Jax in Eureka, the Libby Cafe in Libby, and my bartender at the River Bend Bar on the Kootenai.

3) The pie at the Libby Cafe is definitely as good as advertised.

4) I have now drank at the Stoneville Saloon in Alzada, Montana's most southeastern bar, and the Dirty Shame, Montana's most northwestern bar.

Summer and "Summer"

June 9, Great Bear Wilderness Area, in no less than 10 feet of snow.


June 15, Upper Whitefish Range, XC ski trip to a night in Hornet Lookout.


June 30, Swan Valley, Hall Lake, still mostly-frozen at 6,000 feet.


July 15, Sand Point, Idaho, passing out in a park.


July 16, Lake Pend Oreille, Idaho, detour on the way to Seattle.


July 20, Dragon's Tail, Glacier National Park, me and Chris Lewis not letting go of winter.


August 3, Lower Whitefish Range, Lake Mountain, Cody giving the nation of Canada the evil eye.


August 28, Skiumah Lake, with Lewis, Althea, Barlow, Clyde, John, and Cody. Some of us were dogs, some of us weren't.

Late late-season conditions

It was 40 and pouring in the Valley Thursday; meanwhile, it dumped about two feet on Big Mountain. Alissa, Cody, and I went up to hike ... and shred. It was my 21st time up since January 15, just under 50,000 vertical feet hiked!


Dusting off the "winter" equipment.


It's really cold.


Green valley, white mountain.


Cody's flyin'!



In other news, I raced the Herron Hammer ... a mountain bike race. A lot of climbing, a lot of single track, a lot of fun. I need training wheels for the descents. I finished third in the "Cat. 2" about two minutes back. I've ridden my road bike twice in the last two weeks. Cow Country is two weeks away, 90 miles long. Our stage race is a week later. Then, June 19, back to Pittsburgh until the end of July. And then there's that girl in the pictures above ...

Recently ...

Me and Ben went to shred the Whitefish skate park. I shredded the 10-foot-deep bowl ... with running shoes on Crank Brother's pedals ... and no helmet. Maybe I'm not really shredding ...

Sunday we -- me, Ben, Chris, Josh, Dale, Terra, and Alissa -- shredded the Middle Fork in a raft. The water was cold; we got wet, we got drunk, we had an awesome time. The night ended at Blue Moon karaoke with my "USA! USA!" rendition of "Born in the USA." At least five people left during the performance. My "screamo" version of "Okie from Muskogee" preceded this. It was pretty much the best day in a long, long time.

Pig Trails, Bear Mouth

Ben and I have been shredding the Pig Trails. Cody comes sometimes, too. Best trails.

Bear Mouth was really hard. The group of 30 split about 30 miles in. The group of 15 dwindled to eight by the time we topped-out the five-mile climb. I was there. Then I struggled to take my pulls for the next 35 miles, trying to manage the worst runner's stitch I've ever experienced on the bike (that's called an excuse). Someone put in a half-assed attack with about 10 miles to go, the group cracked, I imploded, and I soloed in for 8th overall, 3rd Cat 3. I was ready for a 65-mile race -- but Bear Mouth was 75. This was my longest day in the saddle this year. Lesson learned ...

Next road race isn't until the first week of June, the Cow Country Classic. It's 87 miles ... I'll be ready. Between then and now, though, there is one race ... a mountain bike race. My first. Pretty psyched about it ...

Also: Ben and I are moving in with Brewery Katie on June 1. This will be my fifth residence this calendar year (4500 Farm to Market, Hatfield St., 6775 Farm to Market, West 8th St., West 2nd St.). By October, there will probably be two more ...