Snow fell in the morning. The cold was drier than the wet sleet that kept us in Helena the previous day. The cold was dry and the group was ready to be on the road once more. The Ashley's' home had become a haven of sunshine warmth; Dave and Sandi have an uncommon gift in welcoming strangers and enveloping them in kindness. Still, the weather window had opened, and we loaded our bike and rode off through the streets. Our bodies had become accustomed to flying the pathways of Helena without panniers or trailers, and the initial journey felt heavy, physically and mentally.

The fortune of nature was with us again however, for today was one of the most picaresque rides to date. My legs steadied themselves to repeated pedaling, and my mind absorbed the lush surreal scenery. We cycled through ranch lands, past cattle and horses. The horses, fenced in, galloped wildly when we rode past. Somehow I feel they radiate the freedom of being on the road, wild, uninhibited propulsion.

We followed the train tracks of Burlington Northern, and turned onto Prickly Pear Creek Road and into a wall of wind. Storm clouds churned overhead on the horizon to the northwest. Dynamic and melancholy, they shifted as the sun provocatively flirted warmth, and the air temperature remained frigid in comparison. Oh, to be away from the city and into the elements once more!

The dirt road rattled and jarred our bodies, our brigade created a staccato of metal rolling over rocks. The uneven terrain resulted in snack bite flat tires for both myself and Hannah. Twenty minutes past, feelings of self sufficiency and even a certain pride in fixing a mechanical problem (with the patient instruction of the amazing Devin Trainor), we were traveling steady.

The road wove golden wheat through emerald hills and groves of aspen. A gurgling brook accompanied us, reflecting the new growth of spring and the kaleidoscope of green. Abandoned railroad cars burned orange red on tracks below us, mirroring the color of dead beetle infested lodgepole pine dotting hills of the landscape. The train cars seemed more like they belonged, than the pine beetle scars in the skin of the forests. Geologic uplifts of canyon created depth and a sense of protection.

From here we temporarily buzzed onto highway I-15. The entire group rested on the freeway side, finding odd comfort in a waste lonely place of cement. I am continually amazed by the sustained sense of peace that biking procures. I-15 lead to a recreation road that followed Prickly pear creek, Sheep Creek, and the historic Missouri River.

My eyes kept watch of the rain, still a breath away. Angry charcoal clouds belted and cracked between lighter gray. But I needn't have worried. The golden redeeming sunshine enveloped light on the rec road. Cottonwoods and plant life cascaded along the banks of the river. Chickadees chattered our arrival, and a robin flew in sequence along a fence line. The air smelled of wet earth and tasted of rain. Nearing dusk, nearing the end of the 36 mile ride, water sparkling rain droplets began as a breath and then a sigh. Light water music to symphonic ally end the travel and orchestrate a welcome to Wolf Creek and camping along the Missouri River.

The sunset that night made me yearn for the day not to end, because I already felt nostalgic for the day so full of grace, and serenity in the spectacular place called Montana. I loved today for its beauty, and for its drama. I can't help but think that the world continues to cycle towards the storm on the horizon, the tormenta of climate change. We can hope and wish that the sun sets in such a way as today, that blue sky redemption comes, but such an ending does not always happen. We must be prepared to adapt when the clouds finally unleash, find some beauty in the darkness, and celebrate the light.

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