Missoula Monday

April 11th, 2016

Sleep is always hard to come by the night before any big event. Mind racing with what the next day holds and all the ways it could go great, or not great.

I had packed up the car once again with roof box stuffed, bed set, and audio book loaded. Tomorrow would be a grueling 13 hour dash from Denver, Colorado to Missoula, Montana. There, my friend Max was waiting for our adventure as we worked our way east to our summer employment.

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Alarm clock screaming at 5 am, I awoke in a haze but jumped to it. There were a lot of final details to take care of before my self-imposed 6 am departure time. With each to-do item ticking off with each minute that ticked by, I head out to my car with my final backpack. Next was securing my bike to the roof as it was too tall to fit in my parent’s garage. The final step was once again to say goodbye, for now, to my parents and head off.

The sun slowly began to rise off to my right as I dashed for the Wyoming border. Today was just a dead sprint to the finish, no stopping and wandering, no photo shots, just fuel for me and the car. Stretch breaks were few and far between, only coming with a full tank for either me or my home. With google maps quoting a drive time just shy of 13 hours, assuming I could go the speed limit, which I couldn’t, and with no stops, which I had to take, it ended up taking 16 hours.

I rolled into the hilltop house with the final stretch up the steep, rutted out dirt drive way as the last rays of sun light kissed the nearly black sky. I made it! Max came out to greet me, as well as Toby and Cooper, his ever energetic dogs. A quick chat and meal, and we retired for the night, the next week to be stuffed with jam packed days of fun, stress, and sore cheeks from so much laughter.