June 17th has a habit of catching me mid-motion. Sometimes literally, sometimes just in my head, but always moving toward something.
Back in 2003, the anticipation was almost too much to contain. Two weeks out from my first real vacation ever, flight numbers memorized, itinerary printed... Alaska was calling and I was already gone in my mind.
Fast forward seven years and the weather in Missoula had other plans. Cold, wet, molding shoes, a missed race in Boise. June 2010 felt a lot more like February, and the soul was starting to notice.
A year later, still in Missoula, still wet, but something shifted. Bad coffee, numb fingers, a distress text from a stranded rider... and yet somehow the night turned beautiful. The la-la-landers always see the wildflowers first.
Then came the quieter entries. Fairy Lake, reached and returned from safely. A promise of photos to follow. A ride with Snuggles through wildflowers, a cracked beer, and some hard thoughts about what it means to actually be a decent human. A rant about bikes that needed no further explanation. A glance back at Cathedral Gorge, longing for the roaming days before schedules closed in.
And most recently, a manta ray in a Seattle aquarium taught a lesson about patience. Bureaucracy churning, deadlines looming, promises unraveling... but the coolest moves are the quiet, deliberate ones.
June 17th keeps showing up, year after year, with mud on its tires and something worth saying. That feels about right.