If there is a state where the soul can find a resting-place secure enough to establish itself and concentrate its entire being there, with no need to remember the past or reach into the future, where time is nothing to it, where the present runs on indefinitely but this duration goes unnoticed, with no sign of the passing of time, and no other feeling of deprivation or enjoyment, pleasure or pain, desire or fear than the simple feeling of existence, a feeling that fills our soul entirely, as long as this state lasts, we can call ourselves happy, not with a poor, incomplete and relative happiness such as we find in the pleasures of life, but with a sufficient, complete and perfect happiness which leaves no emptiness to be filled in the soul.
–Rousseau
There is more to say about Vernal. I got to ride a bit more, a little Milk & Cookies mixed in with More Pimps and More Hoes. (I was thinking to suggest to Troy that a super technical trail be constructed and called More Bitches, but that’s just me.) I will get around to a more complete ride report at a later date. There’s no time to do it properly now, and I feel I owe you patient readers something more than just a trail report.
Upon leaving the gloomy rainstorms of Vernal, I decided to let a coin toss determine whether to head west to Klamath Falls or north to Glacier National Park.
Heads, its Glacier.
A long day of hard driving in a hard, driving rain brought me to Missoula. Cool town. And great trail riding, too. More on this later. For you Portlanders reading, imagine 8 Mile, 15 Mile, and Surveyor’s Ridge all mixed together and placed right in the heart of Forest Park. Yup. That good. And that easy to access.
I'm Uma Kleppinger and I approve of this radtasticness.
Upon arriving at Glacier National Park the place was barely occupied. Although the Road to the Sun had been opened the prior week, a humongous avalanche had wiped out several pieces of the road, so one could only drive the farthest western or eastern entrances to the park. Even the campsites were fairly deserted.
As road crews worked to clear the avalanche from the road and make repairs to the road surface, I was able to drive up to a point a couple miles up past the McDonald Lodge along the lake, and then ride the bike up to slightly past the Loop Trail. Conflicting info from a ranger and road signs had me turn around about halfway up, but I stopped a passing ranger for clarification. Doubling back over ground already covered, this time I decided to just hammer up. Road bike is out of commission (broken brake, needs a part) so I wore out perfectly fine knobby tires on the road, riding the Titus along what has to b one of the most scenic drives ever.
It was worth it. No cars. A scattered handful of riders here and there. Some were chatty, but I wasn’t in the mood. Being in such majestic mountains takes me to a place I don’t want to interrupt with platitudes and telling personal stories. I was courteous, said enough to be friendly, and then would ride them off my wheel. Climbing, even! At altitude! Apparently all this time spent over 5K is paying off. Plus I swear those mountains do something to me, something internally. Things get real quiet inside when I’m in the mountains. Quiet and focused. Whereas I feel a little lost in the desert, I feel very much at home in the mountains. They fortify me.
This.
Is why.
I ride.
Words fail me now, so I’ll leave you with a handful of images. They also don’t really cut it, you really do kinda have to “be there” as the saying goes. If you haven’t been THERE yet, go soon. Just tread lightly. It seems I left a piece of heart somewhere there along the Harlequin’s breeding grounds.
. . . . .
Back in Missoula, MT for a few hours of work, upload some files, maybe another ride before I start driving again. It’s time to head to Bend and start to write. Really write. Except that some philosopher (Simon Critchley, actually) beat me to it. NOW WHAT?!? Dude totally condensed my book idea into a short, sweet article published in last week’s New York Times. NOW what am I going to do now?
The mountains beckon. Possibilities abound. New dreams. New friends made on the open road… A new/old, familiar happiness emerges. The inner compass is recalibrated. All is took was…
A coin toss.
Who knew it could hold so much potential? I think I’ll let a coin toss guide me home. Whatever that is. Happy like G*d, indeed.
More complete updates and photo uploads when I arrive in Bend in a couple days(ish).
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