I had to leave Yellowstone on the last day relatively early; I had a phone interview later that day and wanted to be sure my cell phone would work when they called me. Once the play time was over, I dried myself off, got in the trusty Mazda, and headed north as rapidly as Montana highways allowed (quite rapidly indeed). At I-90, I refueled and headed west. Destination: Bozeman.


This is not Buzz.

I last saw Buzz at Bloomsday, and before that when he left Pullman after finishing his degree here. Like Scott, Buzz is one of those people that am very sad to see gone, but also happy that he’s close enough I can make excuses to visit. Unlike Scott, Buzz moved to Montana, where the taps can carry the good stuff.

The beer in Bozeman is lovely. The mountains are too. I was only here for a few days, so everything blurred together, but I remember good food, great beer, another 10 miles of amazing biking (even if Buzz called it the “easy” trail). Fortunately, he was tapering for a race the very next day, so I was able to keep up with him.

Then it was down to Big Sky, where more beer, more mountains, and more friends awaited—Scott was also running, and we had a grand reunion of sorts. Long time, no see!

Sunday morning, we go back down to America’s largest ski area; it’s race day. I have no desire to run this kind of race, but Buzz and Scott seem to enjoy it. I’m ok with that, their desire to run great distances over formidable terrain took me to Scotland. Twice. The weather was foul—visibility was poor enough to eliminate the run to the top and snow was falling in the village. In August. Annie and I slept inside while Buzz and Scott suffered.

Post race, we settled for pizza, beer, and company, before retiring back to Bozeman for the last night.

The next morning, I woke to a weather report of snow and 34° weather over the continental divide near Butte. My Miata, with her summer tires had to travel west over that pass to get home. I waited. An hour later, the temperatures had dropped to 33. Now or never, I thought, so I got in the car before anybody else was awake (or at least before anybody was moving outside their own room), quietly backed out, and onward.

I only had 400 miles to go and I’d be home.

Leaving Bozeman, the conditions were not too bad. The temperatures were warm and it was raining lightly. But as I moved west and gained elevation, the weather turned on me. By the time I was climbing homestake pass, I was following semi trucks, just to ensure I’d have clear road. The temperature gauge in the Miata had long ago flashed ‘ICE’ and now just shows the temperature. 33 degrees. I drove a bit slower.

And then it was over. I reach the top and drop down. By the time I reach Butte, it’s raining again. Several hours later, I’m in Missoula and it’s almost sunny for a moment, before it rains again. This wasn’t my dream crossing of Lolo Pass, but again, you take the road you have, not the road you want.


Let the twisties begin!

In the end, this trip took 24 days. I travelled close to 3500 miles, visited 7 states, 2 national parks, 1 national volcanic monument, and rode just over 100 miles of trail. I wouldn’t have it any other way.