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Chronicles of a Mountain Biking REALTOR

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Real Estate Sales Representative with RE/MAX Realty Group
CHRONICLES OF RIDER DAVE Part 2
By Dave Peck
Winter has arrived too soon. It's early November, and my family is slowly adjusting to our first change of seasons in Montana. The snow doesn't fly until December in Illinois and even when it does, snow tires are not required. Clear in my mind are recent mountain bike rides in the Bangtails and Gallatin Range. I cling to these thoughts with a false hope for a longer season. I'm despondent about hanging up my bike for the next six months-but I only need a moment of daydreaming about skiing to shake this sour mood. That's the beauty of outdoor sports in Bozeman... one great season morphs into the next. With that in mind, I hit the Nordic trails for the weeks remaining before opening day at the ski hills.

Big Sky Summit
My brother Neil and I exit the Lone Peak triple-chair at 10:00 am. Approaching the tram line, I glance at the platform and immediately notice a sign, "DANGER-If this is your first ride on the tram, today is not your day." I feel a lump in my throat, then instinctively begin to read the message out loud. Neil interrupts me. "Stow it, Dave," he says. "We're going up." He jogs into the tram with me in reluctant tow. As the tram cable yanks us forward and upward, I gaze at the shrouded peak. One menacing rock face after another, combined with the growing abyss below, triggers that old, unrelenting fear of falling. Like an elongated tongue, the Big Couloir lurches down from the ridgeline to our right, cutting a narrow white swath through the rocks. I keep my mouth shut-no sense giving Dave any crazy ideas today.

Someone breaks the hushed silence inside the car. "People are avoiding the peak due to low visibility and unpredictable windpack." Silence again. At the top, the tram comes to a halt and our group quietly offloads. A redcoat greets us with arms crossed and a stern look. He barks out, "May I have your attention! Today's conditions are extreme. If you fall, you may be badly injured or killed." I look around for reactions in the crowd, and see quite a few signs of the same trepidation I'm feeling.

The patrolman continues his sermon. "If any of you are not experienced alpinists or do not know how to self-arrest, please raise your hand." I whisper to Neil, "Self-arrest, is that when you cuff your own wrists and turn yourself into the authorities?" I've been skiing for a long time, but I've never heard this jargon and I've surely never thought of myself as an alpinist. I begin to wonder what I'm getting myself into up here. Most skiers in our group turn tail and re-enter the tram for a safe ride down the mountain.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Bullshit, lets go." Neil is clearly becoming annoyed by these repeated warnings. He shoulders his skis and struts past the patrolman. I follow, nervous with anticipation. Neil's cavalier attitude makes me think, "Please, Brother, don't die out of pure lust for the sport... at least not unless you're going to shred this mountain with a vengeance!"

We strap our skis on and angle toward the Dictator Chutes, scraping across an icy surface. I cautiously work my way down a sketchy fall line, skidding much of the time. Once we're into the chute, I link a few turns together and my skiing instinct comes back. Neil is only a couple turns in front of me; we mirroring each other's movements as we make our way down the run.

My skis are chattering and drifting sideways on the icy surface, but I'm in control. This ain't so bad. In a peripheral blur I see the dark form of a rock outcropping just inches away from my left ski. A narrow miss-any closer and that rock pile would have tenderized us. As we lose altitude, the snow softens, my fear softens, and I let out a howl. Down, down, down-I become a pendulum carving from edge to edge. So this is what the Peak is all about. Neil's insistence begins to make perfect sense...

On days since, I've seen crystal-clear weather at the top of Lone Peak. On a good day, you can see mountain ranges from three states, including the Tetons. There are few places that I've been where the views even come close.

TO BE CONTINUED

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