A blast from the past from Issue 59 and Aaron Teasdale. Grab a cuppa and enjoy.
I shut the back door, jumped on a bike, and headed for the hills. Through the streets of Missoula, Montana, I rode to where Rattlesnake Creek flows into town from the northern mountains. Through a series of forested parks, my front tyre traced creek-side trails through the city’s outer reaches. Twenty-five minutes after setting out, signs announced the beginning of the Rattlesnake National Recreation Area and Wilderness, and I pedaled into the backcountry. It was 7:30 at night and cyclists spun by on their way out, their rides ending. Mine was just getting started.
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Wow! That is a great tale of camping trips. It must have been thrilling to be able to write ‘ My son loved the mountains just like me.’