Pattee Canyon: A recreational area of ample opportunity, only a bike ride away.

Editor’s Note:  This is the final installment of Sleep When You’re Dead. We wish Mr. Harder the best of luck in his future endeavors and are honored he called page 10 of Off the Grind home for 26 consecutive months.  All of the past SWYDs will be archived online at OffTheGrind.com.

It’s weirdly lit as I roll through Missoula, the orange street lamps striking a bizarre glow against the just-blueing morning sky. I wipe the crust from my eye, turn on my taillight and tap “shuffle” on the iPod. A one hour remix of Miles Davis’ “On the Corner” album starts filling my ears, immediately a perfect distillation of mood, sky and season in a single tune. I click through gears and find my stride, and realize I need to turn up the volume. Now I’m totally a late bloomer on this headphone thing, and I’ve actually never in my life worn them when riding my bike. I’ve always wanted to be able to hear what’s happening around me. But the music sounds great, and I move quickly towards Pattee Canyon.

This canyon is my local refuge, and I escape there often. It’s so close to town and has so many options, like a quiet, low-angle trail network that’s an ideal morning option for my aging dog. It’s popular disc golf course is a solid challenge of technical, tight and fun holes. Stargazing from the high, dark meadows is nearly always better than in town. And my occasional singletrack needs get met there, too. All just minutes away.

But most importantly, thanks to a public land acquisition in 2003 of the Cox Family Property, Sentinel’s southside meadows provide a killer mountain or cross bike linkup from the valley floor. By using Mt. Sentinel’s Missoula-side trail system, cyclists can connect to the upper trails via beautiful hidden meadows before singletracking through old growth Ponderosa pines. There’s even a recently-added “mountain bike descent trail” that switchbacks pleasantly down the face while at the same time bypassing a well-used-pedestrians section of gated road. For southside Missoulians, it’s the perfect quickie getaway.

But this morning I’m riding up the road, to the upper trailhead and then down the trail that ends near the University’s golf course. The trail is just now free of snow, but already mostly dry.

The first time I rode a bike up this canyon road I was a sophomore at UM and a total mountain greenhorn. The hill kicked my Midwestern ass in short order and I know it sounds funny but I was so pooped that I ended up thumbing a ride in the back of a truck to the top. Really. But running around Montana for a while now has provided me with a different perspective of hills, and this loop has become much less of a big deal. This is a good thing.But running around Montana for a while now has provided me with a different perspective of hills, and this loop has become much less of a big deal. This is a good thing.

I shift up into the lower canyon’s widest clearing and realize that I just became the Watched Thing in the Valley, a handful of horses and deer all focused on my strained pedaling. Miles’ trumpet is pulling me forward, and Mount Dean Stone is getting it’s first rays. I tuck away my headlamp before the road changes to gravel.

I turn up Larch Camp Road, switchbacking to a backdoor single-track access to Pattee’s upper trail system. I’m in my lowest gear, breathing hard while the Miles’ dissonance starts getting annoying. I’m about to skip to the next song when I see a logging sign, and then a feller-buncher cutting through a tree.

Pattee Canyon Recreation Area’s upper trails maximize a relatively small space by strategically packing in a lot of trails per acre. A hilly and unremarkable landscape has made it a reliable place to get turned around, even when staying on the trail. But most important to me has been the area’s soft, duffy, pine needle pathways—they’re easy on my semi-persistent foot pain. The trail layout worked exceptionally well when the forest had not just a nice canopy but also a moderate understory of smaller trees and willows to hide the sounds and views of people and dogs, often walking in surprising proximity. But while it was effective at providing solitude, it was also thought to be more flammable. And so now it’s been thinned, the terrain is more open and homogenous.

Tremendous Western Larch and ancient Ponderosas remain from the previously diverse forest. I watch, a half-mile away, while a feller-buncher neatly stacks a small log deck, while Miles seems to riff off the hydraulics.

Back on the pedals I cross the road and cruise through the picnic area, past the disc golf course, across the power line road and down to Crazy Canyon. Another couple of minutes towards the Sentinel/University Mountain saddle and I’m slipping off the old road through pleasant singletrack before entering into the bright Cox Meadows, bombing down into town, wind whistling through my ears as Miles blows his big bad horn in perfect synchronicity.

I’m in top gear as I pull onto the asphalt, and when I beat the sun to my driveway I know I’ll make it to work on time. •••