Window of opportunity.

In the same way that the onset of summer spurs a frenzy of activity, so too does the end of summer -- but for different reasons.

(Old Baldy, Sept. 2, 2012)

In June motivation is high because opportunities seem unlimited. In September they are high because the window of opportunity for getting things done seems to be constricting visibly.

(Cabinet Mountains, Sept. 3, 2012)

We drove down the Bull River Valley on Monday and leaves were changing. In town it's in the 30s at night. Darkness increases at the rate of nearly 4 minutes a day, meaning each week has almost a half-hour less of light than the week before.

(Logan State Park, Sept. 2, 2012)

June's to-do list sits mostly unchecked, the weeks since then filled with tasks of opportunity and convenience. What happened to those plans to climb the Pintlars, bike the Flathead, and do 1,000 pushups in an hour?

(Old Baldy, Sept. 2, 2012)

So Labor Day marks not the end of summer but the realization that there is five, maybe seven weeks of decent weather and light. Go!

(Elk Meadows, Sept. 1, 2012)

Long weekends require a long bath:

Parting shot: Ross Creek Cedar Forest:

Slave to the ferry schedule.

William Kittredge, in his memoir, noted that 'People who grow up on deserts seem driven to the sea, which they imagine as the source of possibility'.

(Sailing to Orcas Island, August 12, 2012)

We imagined it as a source of biking, though I guess that implies a sort of possibility, too. (And I'll also note that Ed Abbey would have corrected Kittredge -- when people say they love the ocean, Abbey said, what they really mean is the love the shore, not the water itself.)

(Sidney, BC, August 17, 2012--funny story: we had coin-operated showers in the first campground but I elected to save money and just swim in the nearby lake instead; turns out we saw no showers, coin-operated or otherwise, for the rest of the week, but thankfully the city park in Sidney offered a locking 'family' bathroom and a sink big enough for at least one person to bathe in.)

I'd been to the San Juan Islands on a family trip years ago; this family trip we left the car in Anacortes and biked on to the ferry, hopping from island to island and camping.

(Eastmount, Orcas Island, August 13, 2012)

Biking seems the only decent way to see the islands, which are small; it baffled us to witness a condensed stream of traffic each morning as people zoomed off the ferry to see an island's sights before zooming back to port. Why are they driving so fast when the island is only 6 miles long and gas is $4.79 a gallon?

(The dirtiest baby in San Juan County Park, San Juan Island, August 15, 2012)

I'd biked like a maniac in the six weeks leading up to the trip. Still, little can prepare you for a day of biking pulling a 60-pound trailer and 30 pounds on rear panniers. So there was some fatigue involved.

(Bargain hunting in Lopez Village Market, Lopez Island, August 15, 2012)

And so we have this to report: book your campsites early. Take the longest ferry ride first, since you pay only going outbound. Vancouver Island deserves more investigation. The weather was delightful, if a tad warm. The kid likes the beach, moreso when he can shove sand and seaweed into his mouth. There were no flat tires, though my cycle computer gave up the ghost on Day One. And Laura got maps and guides for the Gulf Islands in BC, so I guess we'll be back.

(Boarding for Friday Harbor, August 16, 2012)

Mancation.

Two weeks ago Laura and the kid took off for points south, leaving me to my own devices. I wouldn't ever say my schedule is too full, but their sudden absence meant all I had to really do each day was manage eight hours of work (which I now call 'rest'), leaving me free to follow my whimsies to a point of wretched, indulgent extravagance.

To wit: In the past 12 days I've biked 284 miles, hiked 44 miles, and flatwater kayaked 12 miles. I swam in the Clark Fork 5 times, and once each in Cresent Lake (cold) and Glacier Lake (significantly colder). I had Mexican food every night and drank my body weight in beer (OK, exaggerating). I cleaned the garage, the basement, and under the bed. I planted 36 annuals and 12 perennials, transplanted another eight perennials, dug two new landscaping beds, and transplanted 30 flower seedlings (yeah, still getting the garden going here). I trimmed three maples, watered the periwinkle every night, and washed both vehicles twice. I caulked the soffit, painted two windowframes, rotated the tires on Laura's bike, and determined once and for all that the tire chains hanging in the garage will NOT fit any car made in the past 25 years.

This entire time I also house/dog sat for very good friends who live a few doors down in what passes for a mansion in these parts; it was like staying at the Sheraton, except the Internet was free. With Katie and Shirley I went back to the river swimming and stick chasing, up Pattee hiking, and over to the park. They also kept the deer at bay while I painted, caulked, and cleaned.

So while Laura and the kid were on vacation, I was on a vacation, too. It was like fun, just different.

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE IN SUPPORT OF THE HYPOTHESIS THAT THE MISSION IS THE COOLEST DANG MOUNTAIN RANGE IN AMERICA:

(Sunrise Glacier, Turquoise Lake, July 28)

(Glacier Peak)

(Icefloe, McDonald Peak (the main glacier is around the corner on the right) and Cliff and Disappointment lakes, July 29)

Mid-dawn.

I like to listen to the radio -- I much prefer it to CDs -- and usually have the stereo on all the time at home or in the car. I've always had a radio with me, too, when traveling, and have found some incredible music in unlikely places. The persistent reggaeton found across the dial in Panama enlivened a lot of already-fun bus rides there. And few stations can compare to Radio One in Dar es Salaam, which played a heady mix of East African pop, Lingala, and soukous.

(Mid-dawn, Missoula, July 20)

Topping all of those, however, was Triple J, an arm of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, the down under equivalent to PBS or NPR. Triple J has two channels, one of which is heard in most of Australia's bigger cities and towns, and focuses on alternative, independent, local, and unsigned music. As they do with a lot of things, the Australians have music figured out pretty well, and this shows on Triple J; perhaps it's because, unlike most American radio stations, they play music that sounds good, not music that comes from a person who is socially popular at the moment. Even an hour of Triple J, after days of commercial radio, can be revelatory.

(Mid-morning, Cleveland Mountain, Sapphire Mountains, July 21)

Anyway, because of the time change I listen mostly to a show called Mid-Dawn, which I like for a lot of reasons. You can have a listen at http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/ (though the main station will not broadcast internationally during the Olympics, I see, we may still be able to listen to Triple J Unearthed which, by the way, makes all the music they play available for free download).

(Mid-afternoon from Bird Island, Flathead Lake, July 22)

Dear Texas, I'm sorry about the mean things that I said and hope that no one takes offense and I hope that no one's feelings were hurt, however, that stated, all things being equal, more or less, I meant it.

NOT TEXAS:

(Rock Creek on Saturday)

(Aiming for Flathead Lake on Sunday)

A quiver of one.

My Cannondale has more than 30,000 miles on it -- almost as much as the truck. I've had to replace nearly the entire drivetrain this summer, which has had me in bikeshops a lot, where the Cannondale looks fatigued among all these shiny toys. There are a lot of bike shops in Missoula, and competition is fierce. In the shop I was in on Saturday the guy told me, 'Based on your riding profile, I don't think you're going to be happy on anything other than carbon fiber'.

(Biking puts the babies to sleep.)

I started the conversation by telling the guy I wanted a 'quiver of one'. You have to start the conversation like that. A lot of outdoor junkies have a different tool for each condition -- think a pair of skis each for powder, mixed, resort, and early/late season. Besides meaning you have a lot of skis, it also means you have a lot of skins, boots, and bindings. But I want one pair of skis and one pair only; same goes for a bike, hiking boots, and bug spray (though I do admit to having two tents and three backpacks).

(New tire!)

There's a real satisfaction in having a single piece of gear and using it until it is used up. So goes with these tires: for several years now I've been in a rut of buying Continental slicks because a store I was stuck going to offered nothing else. I have never really cared for them, though, and recently went outside the box for a new set. Safe to say these are all used up:

Lolo Peak: no lifts equals better skiing.

(Oddly, I think the area as it is now -- with the addition of a lift, of course -- would make a more sustainable ski area business model than what is planned. This decade, the success stories in ski area management have been small, community, and often non-profit areas, not destination resorts.)