It’s all downhill at Snowbowl - In summer, mountain bikers take lift up for fast ride back to resort’s base
By TIMOTHY ALEX AKIMOFF of the Missoulian
The alarm comes ripping through my dreams like a chain saw through pudding.
Bleary and confused, I reach for the source of such irritation and pound my clanging cell phone against the nightstand to no avail.
Normally, were it a school day, I’d roll out for my morning routine of showering, waking the kids, making breakfast and carting everybody off to school and work.
It sounds like a lot, but my wife works nights, so letting her sleep in has its advantages.
But this is a Sunday morning, and the alarm has sounded not for school, or church, or some other reason. It has sounded to wake my wife up so she can pack the kids into the car and head off to visit family in Oregon for a week.
Short on vacation and with too many stories to tell, I won’t be joining them this time.
In the few minutes between sleep and waking, I run sluggishly through some ideas of how I’ll spend my first day sans kids, sans wife, sans responsibility.
A worker prepares to take a mountain bike off the Grizzly chairlift at Montana Snowbowl recently. The lift is available to bikers and others noon to 5 p.m. Friday, Saturday and Sunday through Sept. 7. Photo by TIMOTHY ALEX AKIMOFF/Missoulian
Images of long stretches of short-cropped green grass with little white balls flutter through my imagination, while sturdier pictures of my fly rod buckled to breaking, playing tug-of-war with a fat trout, parade through my head - and off in the distance, a tantalizing thought begins to take shape.
My mind drifts back to winter, not that many months ago, and I see snowboarders and skiers caroming down the white walls of Montana Snowbowl.
But as is usually the case with me, my mind is tripped up not by the memories of the feelings of ice cold wind on my face and the rush of dropping straight down a mountain’s face. No, my memories are triggered ever by food.
In this case, it was the delightful aroma of a wood-fired pizza at the Last Run Inn and the spicy tang of a big Bloody Mary to wash it all down.
And to combine that with my passion for going downhill fast would be a thing of beauty and reverence.
Some people unwind in the serene waters of a spa, while others prefer a beach and a nice book.
My favorite way to unwind is to be flying down a screaming-fast single track, the greens and browns of nature a steady blurr through my sunglasses.
I’ll admit that riding up in order to ride down is not the most relaxing of activities.
So to be able to drive my bike to Snowbowl, have a guy lift it onto the chairlift, which moves it up the mountain where another man removes the bike and places it in a downhill-facing position, is a bit like having your cake and eating the whole thing yourself.
For someone whose life seems to be going by at the speed of light, activities that capture or enhance that feeling are more appropriate than activities that try to arrest the forward momentum.
Case in point: I don’t do back rubs, massages, mud baths or anything that requires sitting and waiting for another human being.
This is not relaxing to a Generation Xer with three children who have little wind-up wheels on their backs that I’ve never figured out how to turn off.
This is as close to pampered as it gets for me, but it doesn’t get much better either.
At noon, I’ve unpacked my old mountain bike, which is not the good mountain bike I bought after I got married, then sold to pay for diapers or some other expense my children seem to constantly incur.
Decked out in biking shorts that might be 10 years old and a ratty old T-shirt, I didn’t exactly fit the scene.
The other downhillers wore outfits that looked part-medieval battle armor, part-spacesuit, and their bikes looked more like 500 cc dirt bikes with wheels as wide as a car’s would be.
Turns out those fantastic new bikes are like riding a Cadillac down the steep and potentially treacherous terrain at Snowbowl.
Smiles and snickers from a crew of riders from Helena greeted me as I pulled on my helmet and turned toward the Beargrass Highway, a 5.5-mile single track that winds through the forest on the face of Snowbowl.
I brushed their looks off with the thought that they must be jealous of my old-school ways.
Those snickers turned into guffaws as they whipped by me with all the noise and clatter of a band of Hells Angels.
My ego wasn’t the only thing that suffered bruises and cuts.
There were several over-the-handlebar moments and at least two or three minutes of rapid confession before what seemed sure to be my inevitable end.
Halfway down the Beargrass Highway, and while picking my way carefully among sharp shale stones, I lamented not having brought a spare inner tube.
But these are natural thoughts when you are going downhill fast.
With a short prayer of thanksgiving, because it was Sunday, I reached the base at Snowbowl.
And without further delay, I traipsed into the bar and ordered a wood-fired pizza for myself.
I don’t know how many calories fear burns, but I figured it must be enough to eat a whole pizza.
And I don’t know if you’re like me, but when some things in life are as good as a Bloody Mary from the bar at Snowbowl, you just don’t ask what’s in them.
All I know is there is enough black pepper to kill a full-grown rhino.
The most difficult part of my day - deciding the three toppings I?wanted on my pizza - ended after I selected jerk chicken, roasted red peppers and mushrooms, a new combo for me.
After that, it was time for some therapy out on the deck in front of the Last Run Inn.
Unwinding for me is long process of letting go of everything I hold on to tightly - too tightly. Sometimes going downhill fast with no chance to take in the scenery, only the feeling of moving faster than life, can make me forget the worries and troubles that I need to unwind from in the first place.
After thoroughly digesting lunch, it was time for one more run. Back up the Grizzly chairlift where all my needs were attended to by liftees and the breathtaking views and cool breezes, and downhill fast again.
This time I chose to go down Second Thought, a meandering cat track with water bumps that launched me into mid-air unsuspectingly and rather ferociously.
After a few more bumps and bruises to add to the day’s collection, I learned, as some do, exactly what to look for and expect and cruised unhindered back down the mountain - fast.
Reporter Timothy Alex Akimoff can be reached at 523-5246 or at tim.akimoff@missoulian.com.
