Joe Gallucci: Miniscule and Mighty
With frozen toes and tired eyes I tread up the hill that rises high above our camp at Halfmoon Park in the Scapegoat Wilderness of Montana. My body is in
Emi Okitsu: Irony of Climate Change
After I arrived in Augusta, MT, I received a text message from my brother who lives in Okayama, Japan. During this bike trip from Billings, MT to Glacier National Park,
Chloe Williamson: The Privilege of Choice
Not In My Backyard, not through the oak trees and my childhood playground, not through my favorite fig tree that produces fruit in August, not through the grass that stains
A Montanan Landscape: Sunsets, Cattle Ranches, and Power Lines by Parker Eversoll
After riding nearly 500 miles thus far on my touring bicycle from Billings to Dupuyer, Montana, I have seen countless ranches, sherbet sunsets, mountain ranges, and other features that make
Earl Clark: Limited Priority
If we’re to take something away from our dominant fossil fuel-based energy system, it’s that too much of a good thing is a bad thing. With their subsidization, abundance, and
Livi Hackbarth: Those Dang Hippies and Their “Environmentalism”
I heave myself up what seems like our millionth hill as sweat droplets fall down my face and 20 mph crosswinds try to shove me off the shoulder of the
Livi Hackbarth: Energizing by Complicating
Hopping on a bike weighing 100 lbs, awaiting what would be a 700 mile trek across the Montana landscape with 13 other strangers is nothing short of an overwhelming experience.
Chloe Williamson: Through the Eyes of Each Other
Today marks our 100 mile mark on our 700 mile journey through Montana. After our 42 mile ride, we coasted down the Main Street hill into Roundup, passing by lines
Allie Leber: Learning to Dance in the Rain
In all of my 16 and a half years of education, it wasn’t until I started taking adventure classes in college that I realized how rarely we are asked to
Zoe: Water is Life
Listening. To the wind, whipping the Colorado River into a frothy turquoise skin. To the sound of rain pattering across my sleeping bag. To the slow hollow slap of Lake