Twenty-two years of March firsts, and the throughline is almost too perfect. There's always something going down, always something to push through, whether it's mom's latest photos arriving back in 2004, or snowshoeing up Lolo Peak Ridge only to get the intimidation talk from some landowner's thugs. The pattern holds... websites crash, FutureHosting goes belly up, and then suddenly free rent and taco money appear like cosmic compensation.
The morning routines are sacred. Coffee, planning, then chaos. In 2007 it was cooking breakfast by headlamp after a power outage, graupel pelting the face during rides. By 2008, I'm unattached and hunting for team support, realizing that a trail is just a trial of skills. That wordplay still holds up.
The adventures grew. 75-mile Bitterroot explorations chasing down Woodchuck and Burnt Fork Roads. Blue Betty arriving, that Turner Flux making me sing like a fool. Then the heavy stuff... 178 miles in 24 hours at Canmore, passing out in the woods, spreading Marcy's ashes mid-race. That one still hits different. The RMVQ exists because of her spirit.
Websites migrated, platforms changed. Friends got tracked via dots on screens while Mo motored toward Fairy Lake. Togwotee became tradition, harsh and beautiful. Cape Lookout with Team MoBill, freezing rain be damned. The perpetual wandering continues, squirrels playing chicken on the trails.
And now, navigating Montana's diagnostic landscape for answers of a different kind. Twenty-two years of March firsts tell me this: whether it's ridgelines or paperwork, you just keep pushing forward.