Moose Encounter (AJ)

It took all of three hours to get off the plane and onto a mountain bike when I arrived in Bozeman.  I began my climb up the Bozeman Creek Trail to negotiate what locals call �The Wall of Death.�  As I cycled up the double track, I had to remind myself to take in the scenery since Iowa doesn�t offer pine cover mountain views.  But before long I was again gazing at the earth as it swept beneath my front wheel.  It�s not enough to enjoy the scenery; I have to put myself through a little misery to make it all worth while. 

 

I was aroused from the hypnosis by the thunderous of hooves coming down the trail toward me.  A bull moose with antlers spanning five feet was charging down the trail straight toward me, 30 yards and closing fast.  I had very little time to plan an escape or defense; at this point both were futile.  I hobbled my bike off the edge of the trail to give him the widest berth possible.  My mouth gapped open and my shouts were merely Porky Piggish mumbles.  �Excuse me but abadiababa...�  The tall muscular shoulders flexed and shook under his black hairy hide with each step.  As the bull strode past me, nostrils flaring, I looked him square in the hairy eyeball.  I read his look to say, �If this dog wasn�t chasing me, I would have at you, tourist!�  The leggy boxer mix, probably bread for moose chasing ability, called off his chase as he approached me.  Satisfied with his handy work, the dog trotted back up the trail.

 

I watched as the moose veered off the trail and crashed down the slope to the stream below.  The experience left me more confused than scared.  I returned to the saddle and the trail ahead. 

 

As I approached the single track or �Wall of Death�, a light rain shower was making traction on the rock and roots a challenge.  I was disappointed that the conditions forced me to walk a few sections, but Mom would be happy I returned home in one piece.  The clouds broke and the sun shown on Mystic Lake when I topped the trail.  What a sight.  I held on to a false optimism that the sun would remain for the rest of my ride.  I decided to take an extra trail up higher on the ridge and climb to 7500 ft before descending and returning to town. 

 

A second and stronger thundershower caused a retreat to lower ground.  I didn�t take time to calculate the odds of surviving both a moose encounter and a lightening storm, I pointed my wheel down hill and pedaled hard.  I wished I had a speedometer as I descended the double track.  The rain stung.  The tires kicked up sloppy grit.  I got soaked from both sides.  And I loved every minute of it. 

 

After a long hot shower, it was time for refreshment.  A quick search of the well stocked cooler in the hotel room yielded an agreeable beverage for this moment.  A Fat Tire Ale.  I reflected on the days ride with a sense of satisfaction and bewilderment at the moose encounter.