Post Script: Adventure partner in crime LT toted along a GoPro, took some sweet footy, and edited a rad little motion picture that I think captures a lot of what this ride is about. I highly recommend you go check it out.

There's something inherently different when your adventure starts in the dark. Something a little more serious, and a little more intimidating about kitting up in the pre-dawn light of your headlamp. Its been longer than I can remember since the last time I woke up that early to go do something, but early morning grogginess broken swiftly by hard physical effort is not a feeling anyone forgets, and quickly things were underway.

The forecast was for highs 55-60˚ and partly cloudy. As we trundled up the first 5 miles of heavily forested, technical, rooty trail, we  reassured ourselves that the low-lying clouds would burn off as soon as the sun rose. And despite the fact it was October 10th in Montana, everyone was expecting the same beautiful weather we've had for the last three weeks. Luckily, everyone also packed clothes for an emergency situation. 

As trail got steeper, the clouds chose not to burn off, and quite to the contrary, they began to thicken and precipitate. Mostly just a drizzle, but as we reached the top of the pass the water turned to ice and the snow on the ground made sure our feet did not become too warm, while the freezing mist made sure our hands stayed cool as well. And there, from the top of the pass, this intrepid group of explorers set out to conquer the rest of the 20 miles of alpine singletrack ahead of them.

A steady pattern developed amid the swirling white, of bouncing along the tundra and scree fields, punctuated occasionally by a drop in elevation below the cloud ceiling, which was followed by the inevitable hike-a-bike back to the top of the ridge where we were once again greeted by a steady mix of wind and rain. Here the emergency gear was applied in full force and we soldiered on towards the gates of mordor.

Around 4 hours into the ride, while stopped to consume some well earned calories, I made the discovery that the lunch I had packed - a turkey and cheese bagel, two pb&js and a bag of gold fish - was sitting in the suby at the trail head, and the total ingestible contents of my backpack consisted of 3 chewy bars and a gatorade. It was a rookie mistake - and a stupid one at that - but luckily I was riding with good friends who were happy to share their calories. It did stop me though, and it forced me to think. We were 4 hours of difficult riding at the very least from any car. It was october, and this was montana. And while I have been in worse situations, there was a lot of potential for things to go wrong.

 

Luckily, nothing went (that) wrong, so we kept riding, and hiking, and riding, and hiking, and, well, you get the picture.

We thought we got to the top of the last climb, but it wasn't. We climbed some more, but that wasn't the last one either. As it turns out, spending several hours moving through remote wilderness with zero visual cues is not a good way to maintain a good grasp on your exact location. Somewhere between point a and this point, I entered the suffer stage. I was still having fun, but I hit the wall where even in the littlest of little rings, I had to walk any thing that reached a gradient steeper than a wheel chair ramp.

We pushed, pulled, and carried our mud covered steeds through the fog, at times walking right along the edge of cliff bands that dropped sheer for an untold distance below us (editor's note: topo shows these cliffs as 500+ ft), below which a band of orcs could easily could have made camp. The thing about 20ft visibility is that a thirty foot cliff looks the same as a three hundred foot cliff - so erring on the side of caution, much of this portion of the ride/hike was a no fall zone. After cresting the rise, we saddled up and dropped across the rocky tundra once more. This time the clouds had lifted enough to provide a view of the final shoulder we had to traverse before we reached the exit drainage, and my legs found their last wind. As we rounded the corner the clouds began to part, and for the first time that day we had sunshine. Views and sunshine, and it was fantastic.

And on that grand open piece of tundra, the vision quest reached its pinnacle.  If there was any point of the ride that took a smile off someone's face, it was rectified then and there in the afternoon sun. With a whoop and a holler we were off, flying through the grass.

A handful of thousands of feet and countless grins later, and we hit subaru dos, followed shortly by a massive intake of gas station junk food and some car time. Rarely have I ever been more ready for a shower and a nap, but it was glorious I tell you, glorious.