Shot in the Dark
Separate, Still Together
It was Sunday, December 21st, the kind of day that starts by staring at the living room and waiting for momentum to knock. It never did. By noon we gave up on certainty and pointed the truck down the Bitterroot anyway, a last minute decision with just enough optimism to feel brave. Larry Creek, Bass Creek, snow in the trees, that quiet promise that something would happen if we showed up.
I rode because I always do. Climbing felt like the point, so I kept climbing, letting the bike do its quiet magic until even that ran out of options. The snow was deep enough to erase rules. Fallen trees turned polite, hills turned stubborn, legs eventually voted no. That was fine. I had the ride I needed. On the way down, the familiar downhill lines showed up like old friends who never ask questions.
The harder part was not the snow or the climbing. It was the quiet mismatch that sits there sometimes. I want motion, effort, distance, the full commitment to being worked over by a day. Snuggles wanted a creek, a slow walk, a camera, space to look. Neither of us is wrong. Our neurologies just point in different directions. I love my alone time, but I want shared awe too, the kind that smells like cold air and burning legs.
We met back up in the parking lot, tired in different ways. Her photos were beautiful. Ice on branches, water threading through snow, details I missed while chasing elevation. I wished, briefly, that I had taken that walk. Not enough to undo the ride, just enough to notice the trade-offs; both ways still lead back to the same place.