Today needed to be a big day. I finished my first year of grad school yesterday, made a bunch of tasty food, went to a fun MSW party, drank a bunch of wine, got sleepy, and went to sleep (at home). I also learned that my circumstantial friend Anthony Sloan passed away in his sleep sometime between Thursday and Friday. For those unfamiliar, take a look at his website.
The first half of 2008 was a superlative one in many ways, chief among them mountain biking. I rode a ton, and rode longer, faster, better, harder, and had more fun in the process than ever before (or since, thus far). I realized that while there area mind boggling number of dedicated riders out there, the clique of youngish nomads in the western US was not the biggest of worlds. If you spent much time in it, you ran into Anthony.
He took amazing photographs, wrote stunning words, road a bunch, and was prolific at all three. He worked for Yeti, drove the demo van around for a living, hung out and soaked it all in. He embodied the horrid marketing cliche of living the dream. Anthony was talented, had a dream job, a girlfriend who was a better rider than 90% of the guys out there, and a dog whose disregard for life and limb while in pursuit of a tennis ball was a thing to behold. (No retaining wall was too big to not dive wildly off.)
I met Anthony in person twice, in February in Moab, and at SoMo during the AZSF. Those days combined with viewing his work online created a vague kinship.
It was a heavy blow when I learned yesterday that he had died. Not because of the personal connection, which was vague, but because of what Anthony represented. Namely, so much of myself and the ways I seek to hang on to parts of me which are “youthful” and vital and free. Anthony was a contemporary iteration of an American archetype of self-made, self-satisfied mastery and independence. He was also an intensely human man. I will miss him.
Both occasions demanded an adventure. Today was bluebird and in the high 50s. A few weeks of intense writing called for a long day out, and Anthony’s memory demanded that such a thing not be delayed.
Very well then.
I wanted an adventure, so avoided areas I’ve traveled before. Instead, I headed across town on side streets and up Miller Creek. Bucolic dirt road climbing. Lovely.
It’s an affluent area, with lots of color old and new.
When you hit the NF boundary things soon turn upwards more emphatically. I welcomed it. With some trepidation; Holloman saddle was the gateway to any loop, and it was at 5800′. Still likely to be snow up there.
About 3.5 miles of solid pushing. Thankfully with little post holing, and only 1 mile on the east side, thanks to a road option with more southern exposure.
Still some spring skiing to be done, now that I care to take the time.
Eventually the road wrapped around from south facing to north, and wall to wall snow beckoned as far as I could see. having just got my feet warm again, I demurred, and consulted the map. A series of traverses on logging roads led to within ~1/3 mile of a road which would take me downhill towards civilization. What’s a little off trail work?
The reason no logging road led down that slope and drainage was because of the cliff bands. The initial half of the route (see above) wasn’t too bad, steep elk trail that would’ve been mostly rideable if I weren’t still feeling gunshy from all the crashing I’ve done lately. Soon enough, the best route down revealed itself as the following:
Loose enough for step kicking (except when it wasn’t), and not too bad. Bike on the uphill side works best.
Bizarrely, there were the remains of a trail along the creek.
Too bad it was almost always too eroded, chunky, covered in deadfall, or overgrown with willows to be rideable. A few sections of chuck n’ crawl (chuck the bike forward into and over the willows, crawl in after and fish it out, repeat) became disconcertingly Parsons-esque. After a mighty .6 mile and 45 minute toil from one road to the other, it ended with a nice wade across the creek. Soon I coasting down a nice narrow gorge at 15 mph.
Even sooner I was crossing the Clark Fork on the far side of Clinton, with just 25 or so miles of pavement, a headwind, and 30:18 between me and dinner. (I did manage a crack of noon start.) The evidence of impending summer provided distraction.
Aspens in Montana grow at 3500′. When I arrived home I had a creaky left knee, and a full-body bake like I haven’t had since the Rim Ride. Felt good to be back.
M even had some pizza for me to eat. And I had some carrot cake liberated from the party last night (oh well, if no one else wants it….)
Almost every time I thought about passing a picture by I thought of what Anthony would do, and stopped. Sorta. I still only took 16 shots in seven hours. I also didn’t get the thing out of the pocket fast enough to catch the moose as it ran off.
Good day. Lets have more this summer. (And many more of a different sort once September rolls around.)
Bedrock & Paradox 
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