April 23rd doesn't do quiet. Twenty-four years ago I was drowning in work stress and refusing overtime, but somewhere between that misery and now, this date became about motion. About pushing through.
Four years later I broke 1000 miles for the year in Phillipsburg, climbing three mountain passes while battling Cliff bars and questionable apple juice mixtures. The Pintlers looked majestic. My knees disagreed. A year after that I was racing in Helena, then winning the GrizzlyMan in 1:46:50 while the Montana Kaimin called my time "awesome."
The pattern holds. Two worlds, one of mountains and one of dirt. Trails promising something larger. Fat biking without a helmet at 45 mph because why worry the small details. Packing up while unable to sleep, empty houses when everyone's too busy. Windy Pass in endless winter, lockdown dust, spring projects, desert sunsets after depressing mornings.
From Hell's Gate's ancient rocks to lighthouse beacons to missing the Goat Rodeo turn because I was too busy congratulating myself... April 23rd keeps showing up with the same message. Keep moving. Even when work sucks, knees hurt, or you're questioning every life choice on a sketchy corner.