Gray, they sky, the earth and everything in between is gray, gray trees, gray dirt, gray water, gray animals, gray everything! We are barely frozen, miserable (but not deeply cold at all) and wet. Whatever is gray is nearly always wet. The damp breeze embraces everything with the affection of a cold shower. This is winter in southern Ohio. In Dayton I am sentimental about August, (not because of the pathetic winter temperature) because of the lack of everything else. It's like hibernation for my eyeballs. I need some contrast.

Last night the south wind forced rain from the sky in thick drenching mists. Three times I tried to ride my bicycle home from the studio. Each time I was completely suckered by a lull in the storm. Within moments from pedaling out of the old warehouse I was soaked and nearly blinded by the wind driven rain. I turned my back to the storm retreating to the old loft. After the third attempt I hung my cycling clothes in front of a fan, drank a shot of Talisker and fell asleep. This morning the wind had moved to the north and the clouds were less corpulent. At dawn I pedaled south through the empty city towards the river bicycle path with the frozen gale mostly behind me and only a few bits of ice blowing at my back.

Birds of prey were thick in the marshes. Pigeons mobbed together into a solid lumpy mass on the power lines while soggy grasses lay flat under the blustery steel sky. The last yellow leaves hung dripping and beautiful on black trees. Geese were silent and huddled in the wind. This Thanksgiving morning the door to winter was wide open. I zoomed through the cold wet gray into my sleeping neighborhood, tires humming along frigid empty streets into my drive past the empty stalks of the dormant garden. There it was, alone, sticking out against all the muted greens and browns of rotting leaves. It's head pointing up into a merciless winter sky. Like the last soldier in some epic battle, a daisy now months out of season.

Plus je vois l'homme,
Plus j'aimie mon chien -Pascal

Lupin (or it could be Lupine - I tried phoning her to get the correct spelling but she doesn't like talking on the phone) lives joyfully on the bank of the Gallatin River a few miles north of Big Sky Montana. The Gallatin's frigid water covers a rocky river bed where Lupin likes to show off her skill by jumping into the fast mountain current, dive down and pull up rocks from the river bottom. Really she is a bit obsessed with the trick. Throw a small rock in from the bank and she dives right to it but a bigger rock is what she wants. She picks up BIG rocks and drags them on shore with her tail wagging and eyes sparkling. The trick has taken a toll on her teeth and age has stiffened her joints but regardless of the pain, her joy is explosive when she gets a chance to show off for someone new.

Lupin is equally fond of a comfortable bed as she is of a fast flowing mountain river. Somewhere I have a negative for another photograph that shows Lupin in her water element. I'll be printing that soon.

An amphibious mountain goat, frisbee champion, gentle gypsy is a hard sort of dog to find and an easy one to love. She is a perfect friend for the beautiful woman that cares for her.
Like Lupin, people living in the mountains of Montana are a soothing mix of massively rugged vitality and gentle wisdom. Thanks to Becca for her warm hospitality and all the love she and Lupin share with my family.

So..
How does this relate to bicycling? A couple of hundred yards from Lupin's home, on the other side of the Gallatin River is a fire road that ends 30 miles up Squaw Creek Canyon in a single track trail. The trail descends the opposite side of the mountain range to a spot near Chico Hot Springs on U.S. 89. Chico Hot Springs is about 20 miles north of Yellowstone National Park's North Gate at Gardner Montana. 5 miles past the north gate is Mammoth Hot Springs where U.S. 89 meets U.S 212 on the 18 mile eastward journey across the north end of the park to Tower Junction. At the junction, U.S. 212 turns north for a 30 mile trip across the incredible Lamar Valley.

The Lamar Valley is possibly the wildest place (in terms of wildlife) in the lower 48 states.
In little more than an hours drive across the valley I saw moose, bear, elk, antelope, bison and wolves (and 2 cars - not including the biologists tracking the wolves with a radio antenna). The 30 miles up the valley from Tower junction to Yellowstone's remote northeast entrance near the alpine village of Cook City could be among the coolest, single day, bicycle road rides on the planet.

Lupin's house to Cook City is about 150 high altitude, bicycle miles with lots of it on the dirt. In respect to the extremity of some of the route and the overall massive effort and sensory gratification of the entire route, I am thinking of 5 days over 4 nights with lots of trekking, photos and binocular time. The tour will need a bear savvy guide to keep the riders from struggling with the mishaps of complete ignorance in the harsh environment. I know how to survive in the deserts but the big mountains of Montana's grizzly country is something else. It just so happens that I know people for the guide job. We just need to figure out if it would be possible to pull a trailer behind a bicycle down the single track trail on the east side of the mountains (for Lupin of course).

What do you think? Mid September of 2007