Good Light, Bad Omens
Pretty Views, First Failures
Winter in Missoula is a special kind of poison for my brain, the slow drip kind that makes you doubt everything by mid afternoon. So there I was anyway, deep into it, light somewhere between day and night, snow crunching under tires, breath measured like a metronome. Core temperature check. Goggles clear. Wind sharper than expected. The fatigue felt honest, earned, the kind that only shows up once you are already committed. A few more miles to the summit. This is why I do this, even when it is hard.
Out there, the quiet got loud. The light was fading faster than planned. The ridgeline looked unfamiliar, like it had shifted while I was not paying attention. And then the bike decided to join the conversation. The dropper post would not stay up, slowly sinking like it had lost faith in me. Not catastrophic, just annoying enough to live rent free in my head. The trail kept rolling forward anyway.
As the sun slid down, the questions stacked up. Clear lenses or not. Helmet fit check. City lights flickering on in the valley below, absurdly beautiful for something so ordinary. I was glad for the extra layer, glad for the bike itself, this machine that turns motion into meditation. Then the shifting started to clack and complain, each gear change sounding less confident than the last. Fine. I coasted. Gravity does not care if your drivetrain is having a moment.
Things did get worse, but not in the way that matters. I made it down, cold, quiet, mind steadier than when I started. The bike will get fixed. Or will it? Winter will still be winter. But for a while, up there between effort and dusk, everything lined up just enough to remind me the win is not fixing the problem.