Twenty years of February 26ths, and here's what I've learned... this date doesn't let me sit still. Whether it's career chaos or trail conditions that would make a mountain goat reconsider, something's always brewing.
Back in 2004, the Comanche helicopter program got axed and I was staring down a layoff, feeling the uncertainty that comes with being "one of the 700." That same week I was sharing news about transgender athletes and IOC policy changes, plus weighing in on Howard Stern getting pulled from the airwaves. Heavy times for heavy topics.
But by 2005, I'd found my footing in Montana, snowshoeing up Lolo Peak with Alden while simultaneously worrying about Win-Dixie's bankruptcy threatening my new job. The pattern emerges... external chaos, internal recalibration through movement. The 2006 entries capture this perfectly, bouncing between too many coffees and indecision about Lolo Pass and that glorious 50-mile Blackfoot River ride with The Doors soundtrack.
The years roll forward. Two-hour spins despite overdrafted accounts. Pushing shadows across the plains while battling crusty posthole snow. The Sunday Mourning Shit Show of urban snow biking and dog attacks. Fat bike races that might kill me. Returns to Canyon. Fond memories of nearly tumbling off a road in Alden's Subaru.
More recently, I've gotten philosophical... contemplating broken laws and hidden depths on Oregon beaches, finding silver linings in bumpy fat bike rides with Mo, and this year, chasing trails through storms when the world feels like it's breaking apart.
Two decades of February 26ths. Jobs lost, trails conquered, moments of doubt and defiance. The constant? Keep moving. Keep pushing. The chaos doesn't disappear, but somewhere between the pedal stroke and the summit, it becomes manageable.