Terra nullius

Well, it's almost winter, so we're growing our hair out.

So many places to see, and so few weekends with good weather to get to them. After wondering for a few seasons about a place on the edge of the Big Hole called Mussigbrod, we spent the weekend there. How was it? So-so.

After thousands and thousands of miles, we are close to retiring the Chariot. Cooper is now bike commuting to day care, and in September was knighted the city's bike commuter of the week.

He won an ice cream cone for his efforts.

Another fill-in-the-gap spot: Fishtrap -- the Montana one. Dozens more spots like this.

Noah and Ginny and son came up with us for a remarkably quiet weekend.

Look at the map and pick a spot. Here's Cabin Lake.

One last evening bike ride.

This summer and fall we continued our quest to bike the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route through Montana, Alberta, and British Columbia, and in three weekends I knocked out a big stretch, including Elk Lake to Banff. I've now done about one-third of the Montana and Canada portion of the route -- but more than that in a way, actually, since I don't use a shuttle but instead bike each part in each direction. I'd like to write more about this great trail some day but for now here's a few photos.

The Morrell-Clearwater Divide:

Medicine Lodge:

Looking across to Fleecer:

Back home, catching up on some reading.

This was the first photo I took of Patrick Carter's crash. I had just locked my bike up at Missoula International Airport when I heard an oddly loud plane take off. I looked up to see his yellow biplane launch nearly straight up, then go silent as it hit its apogee and turned toward earth. For a moment I thought it was going to hit me, but the crash took place about 50 yards away.

I ran over to the site, but there was nothing to do to help. There was not a part of the plane that was not on fire. Later, I sent the photo the Missoulian and talked to Kathryn Haake. Carter was of renown in a way I did not completely understand, but I wound up talking to media outlets in Alabama and New York about his passing and the better-composed photos taken after that one above were published sort of widely. Someone suggested that I should have sold the photos instead of give them away, but it did not seem right to make money off someone's fiery death.

Galveston. Kind of unreal that we could go swimming in mid-October, but I guess I'd forgotten how things go in Texas.

Brazos Bend: not as natural as it looks.

Richmond.

#morecowbell

The ever-present need to keep the closets clean.

From far enough away, everything sounds like the ocean.

A chilly evening in the Big Hole -- a consolation prize after being mudded out of our cabin in the Snowcrest Mountains.

A "ghost house" on the way to Moose Meadows. No moose, no ghosts.

Epic landscapes in the Cabinets. What a great and underappreciated range of mountains.

We drove to Portland, where a car was waiting for us.

A last-minute trip to the coast. It brings back a lot of memories from my trips there as a kid. I wonder what Cooper will remember. (Click on this photo to open it.)

Incredible secret beach.

Trail leading to another.

Old growth forest -- where I learned that "old growth" just means it hasn't been cut in 200 years. That's lame.

Killing it on the Great Divide.

Killing it in the Prius.

Killing it in the Extreme Buick.

Just your basic average every day Labor Day Weekend snowstorm.

Branham Lakes.

Tobacco Roots.

Dedicated wine glasses are for glampers.

The Hour of Magical Light along the Madison.

Took a two-day 150-mile mountain bike ride from Elk Lakes Provincial Park to Banff and back. It's not a super-tough endeavor, but there's one caveat: the six-mile stretch of trail between Elk Lakes and Kananaskis Country Provincial Park circumvents a 200-mile drive, meaning if something goes wrong, you can't just stick out your thumb and get a lift home.

Pretty country, though.

Somehow I got my mileage count off and the first day was 20 miles longer than I had planned. I would have stopped and camped at Spray Lake (the camp host flagged me down, actually, and offered moose sausage) but I had already spent a considerable sum to reserve a spot in Banff. Banff, as expected, was a tangle of tourists and outrageously-priced restaurants. I fell asleep to whistling wind and woke to the cute pitter patter of what I hoped were pine needles hitting the tent. It wasn't. By the time I was packed up and downtown it was pouring rain and 43 degrees. I got wifi from Starbucks and the radar showed showers extending as far west as Golden, so pedal in the rain it was. As a consolation, Mountain Hardware's $75 rain jacket really does work pretty well.

So a full day in the rain, with just enough dry breaks to take a few photos.

Yeah, it's fall for sure.

From such great heights she could hear the satellite coming down.

Despite some cool mornings, I think this summer will be the death knell for a lot of local glaciers.

Debra came up from Utah, and we rented the Gird Point cabin.

The west side of the Pioneers, looking for moose.

A little-known lake in Banff.

A better-known lake in Banff.

Oooh, Canadian girls.

The Plain of Six Glaciers.

Kootenay National Park.

I'm not tired, I'm not tired, I'm.

Well look who ran the Missoula half marathon!

Every morning the sun rises two minutes later than the day before.

Greg took me paddleboarding on the Bitterroot one day after work.

So one day we decided to rent a jackhammer and concerete saw and do away with some sidewalk. A few days later, this is what I had. I say "I" because conveniently Laura and Cooper decided to vacation in Atlanta as soon as the project got underway.

Sidewalk half done. Why not see some stuff?

Middle Teton via the southwest couloir, in a day. The Grand looms to the north.

Three hours into the Middle Teton.

Burritos for dinner, **again**.

Next day: three-mile epic wildflower ridge walk on the way to Table Mountain.

Back at home -- oh, that sidewalk is not building itself, is it?

The shepherd living on Jumbo Saddle this summer: I can't tell if he's a self-conscious hipster or the real thing. I tempted to say he's the real thing.

Afternoons in Pattee: days are getting shorter and it's starting to look like fall!