Years ago I read an article about a man in his 70s who had been hiking for 50+ years and his explanation for his love of the activity was simple and personal: he didn’t live in the backwoods so hiking was his way to commune with nature. The rest of the article invoked words and themes you would associate with such sentiment; spirituality, essence, sacredness, mother earth, and being one with nature.

That’s not me. Google “communing with nature” and you get this. That’s definitely not me (however if you scroll down far enough you’ll find a poster of Spock, I do like Spock). To be fair, being amongst nature makes the podium when it comes to the list of reasons why I like to hike but it’s no higher than bronze and probably will always be stuck in third place. Taking the silver is it is my favorite way to exercise because as I get older, running becomes less and less appealing. Especially since running was never very appealing to me in the first place. What about cycling? We’ll get to that.

Speaking of first place, the gold medal reason I hike is simple and personal as well: I enjoy being inside my own head. I enjoy resolving, dissecting, unraveling, elucidating, analyzing, breaking down, and plain ol’ trying to work out the numerous issues, regrets, non-problems, or affairs of the heart clanging around this tin can head of mine. There are years and miles of material in there. Or maybe I just enjoy my own company. Either way, it’s a helluva lot cheaper than therapy.

The guidebook Day Hikes Around Bozeman describes the hike to Lava Lake as “a steep, uphill trail through a narrow, forested canyon of pine, spruce and fir trees.” It is a three-mile hike to the lake, shorter than my usual hikes but I’ve been told it is a nice hike and the lake is beautiful so I pack a small water and snack for the out and back. I’ve also been told by a local hiker she has seen a black bear on the trail. Even better.

The first mile is a steady uphill which takes some effort but doesn’t come close to “steep” status. Most of the trail and surrounding area is shaded by the dense cover of the summer foliage above which keeps the temperature at a very comfortable level but also puts the trail in a strange soft-glow shade of daylight. The slight elongated S-turns of the placed-perfectly pine needle covered dirt trail give parts of the hike a movie set/fairy tale feel that looks too perfect to be real. I stop and take in the scene before off to grandmother’s house I go.

The trail parallels Cascade Creek, crossing over several brooks and tributaries. Some are small enough to be crossed by hopscotching over rocks while others are crossed on log bridges ranging in sizes from large and sturdy to a make shift “bridge” of small logs laid across the flowing water.

Depending on the complexity or strenuousness of the hike I choose it is at the mile and a half to two-mile mark when my mind knocks on its own door and asks itself to come out and play. Usually on the first mile I think about a to-do list, which bills need to be paid and when, and run through my calendar in my head. After working through that, the real fun begins. The stuff way back in there.

Earlier in the week I had met a friend for a drink and she showed up on bicycle. A bicycle? When was the last time I had ridden a bicycle? 10 years? 20 years? After a bit of scrolling through the mental rolodex I come up with two instances of riding a bicycle in the last twenty years. One was due to necessity and the other peer pressure. I didn’t enjoy either time. It’s only been in the past few years when I moved back to California did I publicly admit this conclusion- I don’t like the bicycle.

Not for transportation, exercise, or recreation. Not for anything. It hurts my ass. It takes too long as an exercise. I HATE bicycle helmets. Unless you are in the middle of nowhere, you have to stop all the time. The shorts suck. The tires blow too easily. Every time a pack of bicyclists pass by, they are having the dumbest conversation. Fat riders in cyclist jerseys. That Armstrong guy. Stoned dudes wearing flip-flops riding pastel beach cruisers in that lazy circle thing they do. The only good thing about bicycles is Breaking Away.  And the bicycle bell- “Bringy-Bringy”. End of good things about bicycles.

It started early. The earliest memory I have of ANYTHING in my life is falling off my tricycle and bloodying my chin. Not far after that on the memory slideshow is learning to ride without training wheels (Yes!) only to destroy my bike after crashing while riding down a hill (Noooo!). My parents remedied this by buying me a new bike for Christmas (ok, SANTA brought it) which was the envy of the neighborhood. So much so it was stolen that February. Neither my parents or Santa were bringing me another bike anytime soon so I was given my sister’s bike to ride. She didn’t ride it (smart girl my sis) so like her outgrown and deemed androgynous horse t-shirts it was passed on to me. It was a purple girl’s bike with a pink and yellow-flowered banana seat. And just like the t-shirts, I hated it. I went from elation to devastation to humiliation in under 60 days. Some would say I’ve never recovered. I would definitely say it.

In junior high, kids rode bikes around the neighborhood. I walked. In high school, thankfully my parents bought me a motorcycle (my aversion doesn’t extend to the motorized version) until I got a car. In my early twenties a friend suggested we complete a mini-triathlon. I bought a bike, trained, and completed it. Afterwards I threw the bike away. In a dumpster. I hated that frickin bike. As an adult twice I’ve been given bikes by friends. Here, take this. Each time within two months I had donated the bike to Goodwill. I dated a girl who LOVED her beach cruiser. “You just have to get a bike so we can cruise together.” We broke up.

Up ahead I see the trail open up to a small clearing and leave the soft light of the shaded trail. A large thirty foot high pyramid-shaped stack of boulders is on my right and I follow the trail around the edge of the boulders. Passing the rocks Lava Lake comes into view and the view is stunning. The lake is a smooth and shimmering black sheet of water that appears sinister as it does beautiful. It looks very cold and very deep and I have no plans to test my speculation. Across the small lake the tree covered rocky earth steeply rises to a small peak on my right and to my left is a larger snow-covered peak. More peaks appear in the distance. Patches of ghost white clouds give the sky a brighter shade of blue, if that is possible in the bright blue Montana sky.

I climb up a few boulders to a flat spot where I can eat my snack. This is a short hike so all I’ve brought is a bag of pretzels and a piece of chocolate. The pretzels taste better with the view- anything would taste better with this view- and before long I’m not eating alone. A lightening fast but tiny chipmunk climbs on the rocks below and darts in every direction either looking or hoping for food. I fulfill both by tossing down a small piece of pretzel. Then another. And another. I watch all three disappear then close my eyes, inhale a deep breath, and exhale. The slightly chilled and uber-clean air feels great in my lungs. I repeat a few times.

This short of a hike doesn’t require much rest at the turnaround and though the view is spectacular I pack up and get ready to return. Besides the chipmunk I see no other signs of animal life. My friend had cautioned me about hiking alone but along the trail I come across several solo hikers. She had also advised me to make noise as I hiked (I’m not sure what this means or how it is accomplished when hiking alone) but none of the other solo hikers make any noise. They hike, and say hello. If I was a bear, this is where I would live but apparently I am not a bear.

The hike back is both downhill and uneventful. Like most “backs” of out and back hikes, the newness is gone. I think about the next hike on my list, whether I should give dating a try during my stay here, how amazingly cheap drinks are compared to Los Angeles, a beautiful girl named *****, my own ridiculous and insanely impractical ideas on how to survive a bear attack, and remind myself a thousand times I need to work on my novel.

The bicycle issue is resolved for now. Or at minimum elucidated.

RBB