Fine and Dandy

There is not a moment I could imagine here where I would hesitate to say I have fallen head over heels for the montucky fall. Except when you are at risk of taking a number 4 buck shot through the woods. Where's my hunter's orange?

Whilst meeting some folks this weekend, I was introduced as Sam, he should be an art major, he just doesn't know it yet. I still smiled but it caught me a bit off guard, not going to lie. You see, I really love art. Pretty much all of it actually, but the act of being an art major has never really been an option for me. The one advice everyone says, I mean everyone, is to do what you love. Follow your heart, thats the yellowbrick road. Hand me a paint brush and hand me a science textbook, and its not a hard choice which one will be dropped to the floor. Why then am I charging headstrong towards another 10+ years of studying and working for science. Yes, I suppose I do enjoy learning, and science is captivating, but I feel no deep soul bound connection with it, but I don't think thats it. Somewhere buried deep in my head is the notion that art is frivolous, not to me, no most certainly not, but to the people who brought me up, who worked to put me where I am today, that is not the 'noble' pursuit in life. The noble pursuit is a well paying job with lots of toys and stuff. Thats the life I've lived... indeed it is still the life I am living, but it is the secure life, where with a medical degree I have the security of money and societal superiority. These are things that hold worth, no doubt, but how much is it worth to me? On the other hand, there is the unknown, making a living at something that brings sheer joy. Every minute of it, not a compromise of stress and comfort, but pure joy... hard work yes, but real enjoyment. That is the passion I need to find, sometimes it just looks like a long ways to jump.  

Magnifique

Trés Bon, when you can do ze sport climb in ze scotteesh highlands right out ze back door. when you can camp, soak in water of the gods, and eat the food of gods. Trés Bon i say.

60˚ and partly sunny, 10 mile run up and back bozeman creek in a little over 1:05, now thats what I'm talking about. 

Funny how when my list of things to do looks like this:

     bank

     read

     lab report

     grocery store

     clean room

   

My list of things accomplished looks like:

     coffee

     run

     stretch

     eat

I'd say I've got priorities in line. 

Transition

43˚ and raining. So I guess this is what fall means when you live in someplace other than the colorado rockies, someplace where the sun does not shine 365 days per annum. I wont lie, the last few weeks of montana weather have worn a little heavy. But, it has also been good exercise for staying positive, because fall is, after all, a season of transition.

It seems strange to me that so much can come out of the grey area between two things, I suppose though, that between summer and winter, there is really very little grey. Instead, the changing aspens, the reddening scrub oak, even the grasses and pine trees, are all swept up in the chilled northerly winds in the rush for winter with very little that is left grey (except when its raining). More so than sight, fall is a vast collection of stimulation to the senses, not just colors, but smells, thoughts, sounds. Memories of relaxing after summers of traveling to races, grinding up argentine pass in the snow, with cold soggy feet. The long singlespeed rides with omv after school, up lefthand and fourmile in the afternoon light with dried up leaves clattering in the breeze and pushing down the canyons to make it home before dusk with noses running and eyes bleary from the stinging cold inversions along the creek. The smell, ah the smell, when the yellow leaves reach the ground and begin their decomposition - or is it recomposition, of life, to death, to life again, when the damp earth swallows all, the smell of that is the greatest herald of fun I could ever ask for.

As with life, however, fall can not be seen only in past light, he who dwells in the past... well yeah, you get it. Its about the future too though. The anticipation, the adrenaline rush, every time the clouds clear, and the caps of white donning the high peaks have grown, because winter is right around the corner. The autumnal equinox is in 6 days. and this, this is a victory. For those who live everyday with dreams of snow, the summer solstice is the turning point. When we pass that barrier and turn towards longer nights and cooler temperatures. But for me, living ever in the future is just as much of a waste, because summer has many great things to offer as well, and to spend summer brooding, waiting, is plain stupid. Never the less, all things come to an end, and as with summer, so has my lust for riding. Already, hours in the gym have been checked away with crunches, lunges, leg presses, pull ups, bounding, and running, general fitness is the key hear. A strong body is the necessary solid base for long days in the snowy peaks. For the majik of gliding over carpeted tracks on rails, each huff and puff right now makes the huffing and puffing over skin tracks that much better.

So with a solid grasp on past, present, and future, I say fucking live. Adventure and enjoy, because this world - this life - is damn good.

Solstice

means long days and longer nights

Make it count

Redemption

it feels good

You say what we ride is shit and what you ride is pure gold. 

I say fuck that noise.

Its been a relatively good spring when you consider waking up at 4:30 not too bad, and 5 hours from car to car a good day of skinning and skiing. Sleeping in is a luxury with this weather that we've had, since the snow doesn't freeze overnight anyway, and the dirt makes it difficult to ski anything steep or far away. But its a great time of year, when, say, on a day like friday, you can ride your bike for four hours on trails that are completely dry, then the very next day, find yourself skiing off the top of a nice peak. The drawbacks to this climate would have to be boulder between the hours of noon and  four pm, which I escape in the basement, and the number of people who have also figured out that the weather is fantastic (although,  that does make for some excellent heckling at the long line of riders coming up lefthand canyon). But those are fair trades for good times.

And a happy Memorial Day to you

Sunrise with bikes and skis on the roof. 

Riding to Brainard

Dropping zee knees

View from Pawnee Pass, very dirty snow

Camping at Hartman Rocks

And then the wheels rolled on fine dirt among the sage and the sand and smiles were had by all.