Something about March 31st brings out the reckless optimist in me... or maybe just the glutton for punishment.
Take 2008's 91-mile odyssey to Thompson Pass, where I went hunting for sunshine in the middle of Montana winter's extended curtain call. The beauty was worth it, but my legs filed a formal complaint. Fast forward to 2010's Devil's Slide race, where I went full tactical, practicing "wheel holding" for an entire lap before unleashing hell on that final climb. Perry's puzzled look when I quietly passed him? Still savoring that one.
The pattern holds. 2012 found me attempting doubles, trying to whittle life down to just "biking and eating." 2013 proved I'd succeeded, riding myself into keyboard-sleeping exhaustion. Then came 2014's April Fools fake-out, teasing Vegas while actually shredding Lewis and Clark Caverns, because nothing says "fooled you" like beautiful curves of dirt.
The date kept delivering. 2018's Moose Creek expedition featured monster-truck bikes in Winter Wonderland. 2020's shelter-in-place meant making the most of Livingston's "winter hell" before lockdown. And 2024 brought Pumpkin Spice back, eating up spring trails with that familiar grin.
March 31st seems to whisper: push harder, ride longer, embrace the beautiful stupid. I'm listening.