To Lolo We Go

I feel so far behind! We were in Lolo, Montana from July 31st to August 7th and I’m just now getting around to writing this on August 22nd. Yikes! Let’s see how much I can remember from a few weeks ago…

First off, it was tough to leave Bozeman. Speaking for myself (though I think the girls too), Bozeman was really great. But it was time to move onward and westward, so we continued West on 90 to the little town of Lolo, just outside of Missoula, Montana. I booked the Square Dance Center and Campground in Lolo, where our arrival broughxst the average age down to 72 – give or take a few years. In my head, we would get to take a dance lesson or two and try out square dancing for ourselves. That’s not exactly how it worked. Before this I also thought that square dancing and line dancing were similar or even the same thing. Nope, not the case.

Square dancing (at least how we saw it) is done in pairs grouped together with everyone following instructions from a caller who waffles between singing along with the music and calling out the dance moves. It was not easy to follow. It was, however, very impressive to see 60, 70, and 80-year-olds, maybe even a stray 90-year-old, out on the dance floor following the caller’s instructions without missing a beat. The calls were like: “Side square – touch your girl, follow your neighbor and spread, all the couples circulate one way. Swing back. Side space ranch square. Boys trade!” Luckily when we checked in we were quickly informed that only experienced square dancers should get on this dance floor – and they weren’t kidding.

While the Square Dance Center offered weekly intensive classes for couples looking to expand their skills, they were not equipped to teach kids. And since it appeared as though not much had changed there in 35 years, we weren’t going to push it. We were content to watch a few lessons and a couple of the evening performance sessions, where we sat on wooden benches on the outside of the dance hall, gazing in awe at the newness and uniformity of it all. The girls were quite the attraction for the dozens of grandparent and great-grandparent age couples, many of whom made a point of saying hello and telling us how neat it was that we were there – “the next generation of square dancers!”

We couldn’t let too much time pass in the mountains of Lolo before we found ourselves on another hike. When we first arrived, it was quite hot and more humid than we were used to, but we found a relatively shady and short hike to tackle. We then hiked a different trail in a similar spot the next day but found ourselves on wildly different terrain. The second hike began as a tough uphill climb and we pushed the girls more than we ever had in the past.

We hiked up past the tree line, and back and forth on short, grassy switchbacks. As we approached the top, my gps watch (always keeping track!) told us that by the time we got down this would be our longest family hike. Since we were so close to the top and hoping the view would be worth it, we strongly encouraged the girls to make it to summit. Ok, we sort of didn’t give them an option because Alex and I really wanted to see the top. We figured the way back would be all downhill, so we just had to make it up and we would be in the clear, right?

In fact, that is basically what happened! Hey - we’re starting to figure this out! We slowly but surely made it to the top and saw a very muted view of the city through the wildfire smoke. Though I bet it offers quite the view of Missoula and the surrounding valley on a clear day, we still had an amazing view. After some snacks and shenanigans at the top we cruised down the hill. Willa, the queen of second winds, led the way and we cheerfully ran the last ½ mile down the hill. Master hikers, these girls.

The rest of our week in Lolo was fairly low-key. Alex worked during the day at a co-working office in downtown Missoula so some days we drove him in and spent the day in the city. Of course we toured the local parks and playgrounds. We even found one that had a carousel. I used to love rides, but I am either out of practice or mom life threw off my balance and equilibrium (probably both), because after a minute and a half I was ready to stop spinning in circles. Are all carousels alarmingly fast?!

On the days when Alex took the truck and left us stranded at the campground we played by the creek that paralleled the property, tried out whiffle ball and mini golf, and lounged in our hammocks by the RV (for exactly 7.5 seconds before sister fights broke out. Note to self, two hammocks are one hammock too short).

The big news of the week was two-fold. First, Willa learned how to ride her bike! She had been practicing a little bit throughout the spring and early summer without training wheels, but this time it just clicked. She was ready and she made it happen - on the gravel campground road, no less. It was very impressive. She had it in her head that she was going to do it and sure enough, she was off!

The other excitement for the week was that our little Elsie girl turned 8 years old! My first and biggest baby is 8! How can that be? I have distinct memories from when I was 8 and I remember feeling like one of the big kids. It feels unreal at times that I have a child who is SO OLD. But it’s true, Elsie turned 8 in Lolo at the Square Dance Center. We celebrated with a banner in the living room, a birthday breakfast out, a new watch (cracked pandora’s box here because she loves tracking her steps now), and a long sought-after Minnesota Vikings-themed birthday cake. It was a good day, one that I hope she remembers when she is my age.

One of the last nights we were in Lolo we drove further west toward the border of Idaho in search of another hiking trail. I use the AllTrails app for suggested routes and distance approximations and this time it led us to a back country mountain neighborhood with oddly close together houses and an abundance of “keep out” signs. We found the trailhead at the end of the road, but abutting it were 3 separate driveways, all of which with “no parking” signs. So… we could hike the trail, but we couldn’t find a place to park the truck while we did it? It was strange enough (read: Deliverance) that we decided to skip it and find somewhere else. We noticed on our drive out of the neighborhood that the same man on a 4-wheeler who greeted us when we drove up was there when we drove down, as if he was waiting to escort us out. Maybe it was all in our heads, but I’m glad we decided not to chance it. I think he had a banjo?

The trail we ended up on had a more clearly marked trail head with designated parking and even a pit toilet! What luxury! But the trail itself was more like a goat path. It began deep in a tall pine forest that allowed nothing but thin streams of light to pass through. The trail clearly had not been maintained for some years and it could not have been well-traveled, despite the infrastructure surrounding it. At the start of the trail we were met with the same “This is bear country! Bring your bear spray!” signs that we had seen previously, so by the time we ran into a fallen tree blocking the trail we got nervous that hiking at dusk through dense forest on a goat path with three small children may not be a great idea. Are we newbies who overestimate the dangers of the woods? Maybe. But this particular trail was not worthy of braving. Instead, and through echoes of protest (“this is not even a real hike!”), we followed an old logging road, still enjoying the sweeping evergreens blanketing the horizon in all directions.

Soon after, it was time to leave Montana, but not before a quick little mountain trail race. A few weeks earlier I googled around for a running race I could do in one of the areas in which we were staying. I enjoy having something to look forward to and train for that is just for me. I found the Snowbowl 15k, which was scheduled for the morning we were leaving Lolo. It was held just outside of Missoula. Perfect. I quickly signed up.

A few days before the race, when I was a feeling under the weather and questioning whether I should even try racing, I looked up the details for the race. To my surprise, 15k is 9.3 miles (Ok, I thought, I can handle that. I ran 13.1 in mid-June, which wasn’t THAT long ago, right?), and this course was on a trail (Great! Something new!). The real shocker was that it was at a ski resort (also known as a mountain), which I knew when I signed up, but I had failed to read the details until that moment. It was at that point that I learned that the course ascended a quick 2,400 feet up the mountain and then back down again. Huh. One of the last hikes we did - the one that took us over the tree line and had the great Missoula view – had an elevation change of just 800 feet. This would be a much, MUCH longer and higher climb.

Luckily, my cold didn’t last long and I felt ready to go on the morning of the race. Who am I kidding, I was pumped! It would have taken a LOT to keep me from the starting line. Keeping with the theme of flying by the seat of our pants, I looked up directions to the race as we pulled out of the campground parking lot early that morning. I figured we would just drive the whole rig – RV and all – to the ski resort, park in what had to be a large on-site parking lot, and Alex and the girls would hang around the resort while I ran. That would have worked, except that my search revealed that the road to the ski place had multiple switch backs and online commenters warned “use caution!” “The last 5 miles are gravel and tricky to maneuver.”

In a last-minute scramble we decided to drop the RV in the parking lot of the local Walmart. Walmart is one of several retail stores (Cabela’s, Cracker Barrell, etc.) that allows RVs to park overnight in their lots. While we weren’t staying overnight, we figured we would arrive pretty early in the morning and would only be gone a few hours, so it would be fine. Hoping no one would back up to our hitch and steal good ‘ol AdventureRoss (long story – Elsie named it), we unhooked and headed to the mountain.

We were quick to congratulate ourselves for dropping off the RV after arriving at the mountain and passing signs encouraging drivers to “chain up” for the tough winter roads ahead. Luckily we missed the snow by a few months, but the dust was wicked, the road was rough, and the RV would not have come out of that experience in great shape.

The race began on a downhill but turned around in a hurry. I think I ran for the first mile, maybe a smidgen more, without stopping – no small feat, let me tell you. It seemed like I should have been much farther along when I checked my watch and saw 1.23 miles. It was then that I decided to pace myself on the uphill and, with permission tacitly granted from several runners turned walkers near me, I alternated between a slow jog (a/k/a “slog”) and a walk. The scenery was increasingly spectacular. After a week or so of questionably smokey skies, the smoke cleared and blue sky smiled down on us. I had to remind myself now and then to look up! Yes, this is a race, but the views are incredible! And I never get to hike up this high with the kids!

I succeeded in slogging my way to the top of the peak, which was even higher than my pre-race, ground-level expectations had put it. I even got to run full stride during a few flat(ish) breaks in the trail. When I finally made it to the top, trudging hands-on-knees, one leg at a time up the rocky slope- a man and woman jogged by me to start their descent. “Cool” I thought, “I have been trading places with them all race, it will be nice to have someone to run with and hopefully pass on the way down.”

By the time I put one foot on the downslope of the trail, the couple had disappeared. They had completely vanished into the hillside. I figured they had veered off trail to go to the bathroom or something. There was no way they could have made it beyond sight already. Spoiler alert, they had. Despite me looking ahead for them the entire way down, fully expecting to run them down and pass them, they easily beat me. What was I thinking? I am the outsider in these parts! These people have experience running up and down mountains. I may have lived near the top of one of the biggest hills in Minneapolis, but that is chump change compared to this.

What a blast to run down a mountain trail. Seriously, I am hooked. The entire descent (all 4+ miles of it), I felt like a kid playing on the coolest natural playground there is. I was channeling my inner Elsie/Willa/Audrey, grinning from ear to ear all while grasping, perhaps for the first time, why it is so hard for them to NOT run on the downhills – rocks and roots be damned. I was cruising. It felt dangerous, like a high-risk game I couldn’t lose, but one I could win more if I went faster, so I did. I could tell I was not quite in shape enough for the speed I was generating, but I leaned into the decline anyway, totally accepting the inevitable soreness that would follow. I did end up passing people, not a ton, but enough to keep it enticing and to encourage me to speed around the bends looking for my next victim.

As thrilling as it was, I was glad to see the finish line after an hour and a half (1:36 total) of exertion. I was physically beat, but on a days-long endorphin high. Alex and the girls were champs to hang around for me and cheer me in. Thanks, Al, for letting me do that - just for me.

[Alex Addition: She won’t tell you, but Annie was the 8th woman over the finish line. Out of 113 total experienced women trail runners. I saw everyone at the starting line and I can assure you there were no casual runners signed up for this thing; it looked like a Crossfit promotional video. And she finished 8th. Just amazing.]

Thankfully the RV was still there, in the Walmart parking lot where we left it. And then… off we