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Chronicles of a Mountain Biking REALTOR

By
Real Estate Sales Representative with RE/MAX Realty Group

CONTINUATION of Chronicles of Rider Dave, Part III
By Dave Peck

On the return trip, we let the horses run through an open meadow. As we reach an all-out gallop, I'm thrilled but getting a bit nervous-there's no stopping my painted beauty. Alongside is my sister with a panicked look on her face as her mount also hits full stride. Seeing her with a death-grip on the horn reminds me of a rag doll flailing in the wind.

After the meadow we move off-trail and bushwhack through the dense woods. Moving down an embankment and into a marshy drainage, my horse brushes against a tree. This seemingly harmless contact triggers my bear spray and releases a blast. Rita takes a direct hit and the cosmic orange cloud settles over all the riders in an instant. The paralyzing effect is immediate. One gal's horse steps into the deepest part of the mud and lunges wildly to free itself. Seeing such chaos among the team, Mike commands everyone off their horses. Order is finally restored amid the persistent bouts of coughing and wheezing. Our eyes still stinging, we ride back to camp and make for the cooler of beer and margaritas. Once again, we enjoy a hearty meal and gather around the campfire for another night of revelry. Before drifting off to sleep, I muse on the day's events and remind myself, "Dave, you're definitely not in Illinois anymore."

Over Too Soon
Our last day of riding is along the edge of Yellowstone Park. It's an epic five-hour journey, a roundabout route back to the Buffalo Horn trailhead. The views are spectacular with virtually no sign of civilization. As we move into the forest, the sky darkens and rain follows. Thunder and lightning from above make me think of The Man From Snowy River. I suppose these conditions are misery for some, but I'm living in a moment of joy and wonderment. Later, a silent moose appears across a ravine. We wind through a heavily timbered landscape with no trail to follow. The forest floor is laced with deadfall, forcing us to weave and hop trees for what seems like hours. There are whispers in the ranks that we're lost, but our capable leader proves the skeptics wrong-we emerge at the trailhead without incident.

Dismounted and gathered around at the 320, our backsides are sore and we're soaked through-but we're glowing from the experience. As we're moving around reminiscing on the weekend's events and saying our fond farewells, I sense a common feeling: everyone wants more of this. And the unspoken thought that moves from one person to the next is, "how do we get back to this alpine wonderland as soon as possible?"

THE END

Comments (1)

Brett Fagan Bozeman Montana Real Estate
Taunya Fagan Bozeman Montana Real Estate - Bozeman, MT
Boutique Luxury @ ESTATE House, Bozeman, Montana

'Hope you leave the pepper spray at home while showing property...

Sep 06, 2009 11:28 AM