Up Over: 8/19/16 Sweet Sixteen turned Seventy

I woke up this morning feeling middle aged, but by the end of the day I was sixteen again.

Rain splashing outside on the window was our wake up call. Watching and waiting, we tracked the storm on Doppler until it was just past. Our plan - to follow this front east and enjoy the cool temperatures before the next wave of heat arrives. Struggling into my birthday (rain) suit, I put a brave face on the day. No matter what, it was all going to be good, and it was.

As we rode out of Red Lodge, the clouds parted, making a path that ushered us into the last best ride of our trip (maybe). Zigzaging southeast, we rode out of Montana. Sere landscape was punctuated by settlements that could double as ghost towns in Western flicks. The Smith Mine, notorious for a coal mining disaster that took over 70 lives, lay eerily abandoned.

Then we plunged into rugged Wyoming at its best. A new road for us, Route 14A, the Medicine Wheel Passage through the Big Horn Mountains, swept us into its magnetic mysticism. Sage dotted desert erupted into rose colored cliffs that pulled us up into the rare air. After a stop at Big Horn Lake, Jules gave me a birthday surprise I'll never forget.

A sign for a campground called the Dead Swede got his attention. Time for a picnic! I looked at the road and the warning signs and said no thank you. And yet he went on. For two miles Jules and Rascal manhandled a crowned single lane road that looped through what seemed like hundreds of switchbacks as we rose 2000 feet. No grace was given by a guardrail. As bike and man worked the road, I whimpered in the back seat, wondering if I would make it at least one day past my seventieth birthday, sneaking glances down at the road as it unraveled behind us.

Then we reached the top. I breathed again, looked at where I was and felt more alive than ever. Isolated from the world, we picnicked in paradise and celebrated life.

I enjoyed the return trip much more because I knew what to expect and there had been wine with lunch. With eyes wide open, I willingly leaned with Rascal and Jules over the abyss. The road contorted below us as we slowly twisted our way down from the clouds. Back on the improved highway, I relaxed, but not for long. The Medicine Wheel still had work to do.

In order to get over the mountain, the road swept us higher and higher into thin air that dropped in temperature by the minute. Splayed out below us, the Big Horn Basin stretched into infinity, receding in our sights as we rose to the summit. A grand tease, the road would crest one peak, only to carry us through another series of upward twists.

At close to 9500 feet, signs warning of steep downgrade and brake checkpoints told us that the climb was over but the fun was not. Working just as hard in the descent, Jules geared Rascal back, keeping her from flying. Miles of downward spirals brought us into the basin and a straight ride through a vast array of sage and rock.

We took our boots off in Sheridan, an oasis in this Wyoming desert

On the occasion of this significant birthday, Jules took me on a joyride that made me feel like I was sixteen - courting danger, going against reason, being bad and thrilling in the sensation of freedom. He couldn't have given me a better gift. As we end the day, my nerves are still tingling from the ride. My gratitude to him for pushing my limits and keeping me forever young is overwhelming.