Rock, Branch, Roll
Pedals, pricks, and peakside perspectives
I loaded Hendrix, my Purple Mountain bike, into the back of the Toyota and pointed toward Shoofly Meadows Road off Route 200, anticipation buzzing as the world blurred past. The sun was warm, the engine’s hum a steady pulse, and for a moment I believed nothing could go wrong, until I remembered the maps of the Lolo Forest and my simmering frustration at how they’d replaced simple “bike” and “foot” labels with cryptic class warnings… the hatred toward e-bikes (this is what stupid people call them) stung my neuro-wiring like barbed wire, and I felt my chest tighten with every mile.
Parked where the road narrowed and the bushes almost brushed the paint, I killed the engine and let silence wash over me. The clutter of deadlines, the absurd map classifications, the small-town resentment … all of it melted away in the hush of the trees. With Hendrix under me and a route traced in my mind, I pushed off into the forest, each pedal stroke reminding me why I ride.
Even when my legs burned and I walked the last three miles to Mineral Peak, and feared I might trudge back after dark, the loop unfolded perfectly… steep switchbacks, the East Fork of Rattlesnake Creek whispering below, and the ridge trail painting the sky.
Summit selfie on Mineral Peak… views guaranteed, dignity TBD
I rolled back to the truck in daylight, home in time for F1 and evening comfort, proof that a day set free by three o’clock can still conquer every frustration.
Hope often arrives on two wheels, reminding us that quiet moments in wild places can heal even the fiercest resentments.
This post was lovingly assembled with my AI sidekick… blame it for the puns, thank it for the inspiration.