Twenty-three years of April 2nds, and the common thread isn't the weather, it's momentum. In 2003, I was so exhausted from road biking that balancing the books became impossible. In 2004, I was scrambling to leave Connecticut for Montana's mountains, downsizing possessions and saying goodbye to Sleeping Giant. By 2008, I'd made it to Montana and was fighting to protect alpine single track along the Great Divide, while also searching for trails to practice on despite being drained from overdoing it the week before.
The pattern continued. In 2010, I stumbled through a Thursday Night Ride after four hours of sleep, witnessing what I can only describe as summit witchcraft when the temperature dropped fifteen degrees instantly. 2012 brought exhaustion from Missoula-Bozeman commutes and a new 29er titanium bike I couldn't resist. 2013 had me reflecting on Pain showing up uninvited on rides, like an annoying coworker. My 48th birthday in 2014 found me walking the Vegas strip instead of mountains, while 2015 brought a Trail Creek Cabin fat bike adventure through packed ice and slush.
2020 hit different, seven-degree morning walks during early COVID lockdown, grouchy about Livingston weather and scared about the pandemic. 2024 softened with swans at Seeley Lake, nature's "quirky patchwork" of melted and refrozen snow. And 2025 brought everything full circle, camping with friends at Corrick's River Bend, finding joy in shared trails after years of solo adventures.
April 2nd keeps teaching me the same lesson. Life's best moments arrive messy, exhausted, sometimes scared, but always moving forward toward the next mountain, the next friend, the next fire.