Lost Signs, Found Trail
Nobody Told Us It'd Be This Rocky
One of our favorite things to do is hit a campsite we've never tried before, so a couple weekends ago we headed up to Gold Creek on the east side of the Bitterroot. No real plan beyond "let's see what's there."
Here's a thing I keep noticing lately: signs are disappearing. Not stolen exactly, just gone, or bagged up like evidence at a crime scene. Patty Canyon had trail markers wrapped in plastic bags for reasons nobody explained. Last weekend we genuinely couldn't tell what drainage we were in because every marker that would've told us was missing. I don't know if it's budget cuts, vandalism, or some bureaucratic fever dream, but it's becoming a pattern, and not a comforting one.
Anyway, the beauty of exploring blind is that sometimes you stumble into something worth the confusion. We ended up pushing bikes through a boulder field that looked like it had been dropped there by a glacier with a grudge, rocks stacked and scattered in every direction, forcing us to walk more than ride. It was slow, sweaty, occasionally ridiculous work, but the kind that makes you feel like you've actually earned the view. Gold Creek itself, rushing white and fast through the trees, cold enough to make your ankles ache just looking at it.
No signage told us any of this was here. No trailhead map pointed the way. We just followed a trail south east until curiosity ran out, then pushed up until it was obvious to head back.
July 3rd, Twenty-Four Years Deep
A look back at every July 3rd entry across twenty-four years, from sweltering humidity and brutal mountain climbs to bikepacking wisdom and marmot-chewed cars. The throughline is simple: expectations rarely survive contact with the trail, but showing up always does. It’s a reminder that motion, not perfection, has been the point all along.
Read more: https://8i11-ls3pkz4wt-boneshakerbikes-projects.vercel.app/story/fbsabu4p