Tour Divide '24 Part 3

Day 17 - 121mi

Liam and I woke before dawn and left the bunk room in Salida as quietly as we could. I hadn't resupplied the night before and therefore had no coffee. I wasn't exactly sure where the next resupply would be. Those first five miles were rough, but in Poncha Springs, I spotted a gas station that was open early. I stopped for canned coffee and a Honey Bun, even though I had several already, then continued down the road feeling much better. 

Next up was Marshall Pass, another railroad grade climb that was fairly enjoyable. I stopped at the top for a sandwich, then descended into Sargents, stopping at the trading post for yet more food. It would be another 110 miles before I saw civilization again. 

 

 

The next stretch was fairly uneventful. I rode through a small shower on my way up the climb, then descended into a beautiful valley. Riding along a small reservoir, I spotted several white pelicans. The sun sank as I made my way up the next climb. The light faded as I descended, meanwhile a storm brewed ahead of me. I was hoping to get closer to Del Norte, but the storm had me looking for shelter. Halfway down, I came across Stormking Campground; it was deserted. I scoped out the pit toilet and decided to set up camp under the covered entrance. I ate dinner and watched the storm move in. A brave soul or two passed by on the road, heading into the dark rain and thunder. I did not envy them. I was glad with my decision to stop a little early, knowing I would sleep comfortably.

Day 18 - 119mi

It took longer than I expected to go the next thirty miles to Del Norte. A small 700ft climb didn't help, but I got there in time for second breakfast. Several other riders were in town, moving slow after a long push from Salida and/or riding through the storm, I imagine. I ate and recharged electronics at a small diner then restocked food at a small natural/organic grocery (all I could find). I then headed out of town and up Indiana Pass, the highest point on route at 11910ft. It was 173 miles to Abiquiu, NM with only limited and unreliable resupply in between. 

I had my GPS set up to show the elevation profile of the next 1.5 miles at the bottom of the map page. It even color codes the gradients: green I can stay seated, yellow means standing and moderate effort, orange is hard but usually ok in small doses, red means get off and walk. I knew this would be a long climb, but I didn't realize how difficult it would be. The GPS showed almost solid orange. It was just slightly too steep to be rideable; I probably walked six to eight miles out of eleven climbing 3000ft. (That's not even the whole climb, just the steep part.) It took hours. It had been misty on the way up and was chilly at the top. Unfortunately, it was not all downhill from here. I descended half a mile through mud, then more climbing and more mud, then rolling terrain and more mud. Finally, the descent came. I flew past Aaron picking his way through the rocks. With 2.6in tires, it was rare that I had to hold back on a descent.

Another small climb and more descending led to Platoro where there were several lodges and campgrounds. I rode through looking for a restaurant or general store. One had just closed, another had been closed for a while. A couple riders had reservations at one of the lodges that featured Airstream trailers that were more cabin than trailer. I pressed on to get in some easy miles; there were several campgrounds coming up. I made it to the furthest one as it was getting dark, but I didn't feel like paying $20 when I would be gone by sunrise. 

Riding on meant climbing the next pass - a relatively small, five mile climb. My knees didn't want that, but I rode anyways. At one point, my right knee started popping with every pedal stroke. I knew I was asking too much, but options for stopping were non-existent. Ten miles later, I reached the next turn where there was a gravel lot next to a public coral. This spot was very exposed, but I was out of options. It was a clear night, I just hoped it would stay that way.

Day 19 - 91mi

It did not. At some ungodly hour, the bottom fell out. I battened down the hatches of my bivy while buckets of water came down and slept as best I could. The next time I awoke, there was some light in the sky, but it was still raining lightly. I went back to sleep. I awoke again after sunrise. It was overcast, but the rain had stopped. Everything was drenched. 

I packed up, wringing things out and trying not to get stuff muddier than it already was. I still had about 90 miles to Abiquiu. A few miles down the road, I crossed into New Mexico. The last state. Practically the home stretch. I was excited, but little did I know the next 30 miles would be the slowest, if not the hardest, of the whole route. I walked a good bit of the next climb; I'm not sure if it was actually that hard or if I was just exhausted. When it leveled out, I hit stretches of peanut butter mud. 

When the road became rideable again, I saw a pack of dogs up ahead. A moment later I saw sheep and a man leading a horse - an actual shepherd. The dogs were friendly and so was the man, though he knew about as many English words as I knew Spanish (only a handful). Nevertheless, we stopped to talk for a minute. Mucha lluvia anoche. Yup.

 

 

Riding on, I knew there was 10-15 miles of singletrack coming up, a section of the CDT. This was a new addition this year; I was looking forward to the change of pace... I would be sorely disappointed. Calling it singletrack is being generous. This was a glorified cattle trail. The parts that weren't steep were so heavily divoted as to be nearly unrideable. The trail disappeared in places and went straight up the mountain in others. This trail has no business being part of a bike race. 

After a few hours of hiking, cussing, and rest breaks, I made it to a road and a campground. I had intended on filling up water here, but the three spigots I checked were either shut off or broken. A little disappointing, but I had plenty to get 20 miles to Vallecitos, where there was a river and maybe a community center.

At some point, I came across a fifth-wheel that had slid off the road. A family was sitting on the shady side waiting on a tow truck. They asked if I needed anything. I could've used water and food, but I declined. 

I stopped at the Vallecitos River and filled my water filter bag. I still had some water, but this would be my backup - I hadn't needed to use my filter since Canada. A couple blocks later, I saw the sign for the community center/library and found a working spigot right out front. I dumped the river water and topped off for the 30 miles left to Abiquiu.

It was getting late, my only food was half a can of Pringles. I was racing to get to Abiquiu while something was still open. Otherwise, I was going to have a very sad dinner. The descent to El Rito was a blast. I was absolutely flying, hitting the apex of every turn on the smooth dirt road. I hit pavement as darkness closed in. I pedaled as fast as I could, rolling into town at 9:45pm. Everything was closed except the Family Dollar which was open for another fifteen minutes. 

I bought more food than I could carry - a box of pop-tarts, a pack of precooked sausages and buns, drinks, and icecream. I ate the icecream while I figured out where I was going to sleep. The only hotel was exorbitant, so I settled on a small trailhead half a mile back. A couple of cars were parked there. I thought they had the same idea, but they soon left. I draped my sleeping bag over a tree branch, hoping it would dry out while I ate a (quite satisfying) dinner of cold sausage dogs. I was in the desert now.

Day 20 - 81.5mi

I met up with several riders at the local gas station where I got two hefty breakfast burritos and restocked for the short, 75 mile stretch to Cuba. We commiserated over the difficulty of the previous day; nobody had enjoyed that. Up next was perhaps the longest climb on route - 4500ft over 30 miles. I wasn't exactly anxious to get going. I took my time with the hearty breakfast while I scraped some dried mud off my bike and made sure everything was good to go.

The climb turned out to be relatively easy; it was all rideable anyways. A good stretch of it was a bit technical but well suited for the single speed. It was a nice change of pace. I hit some rolling terrain for a while, dodging a storm or two, then finally a fast descent to Cuba.

I met up with some other riders at the McDonald's. I would usually pass on fast food, but I couldn't turn down cheap calories. It was early still, but I was getting pretty desperate for a shower and laundry. Plus the last two days had been rough; I figured it was ok for today to be an easy one. Liam and I split a room. I took my bike to a car wash, rinsed my clothes in the shower (the motel didn't have laundry), and restocked for the next day. I also took the time to sew a velcro strap back onto my top tube bag with the needle and floss from my repair kit. The strap had started to rip the first day in Colorado and the bag had been flopping around ever since.

Talking with Liam was a bit funny. He's from the UK, where I've since learned that all of the road signs are in miles and yet cyclists use kilometers. Talking about the route, we both kept converting distances, almost like a different language.

Day 21 - 158.5mi

The stretch to Grants was 117 miles of pavement; this was news to me. I study distance and elevation before races, but surfaces not so much. I find most maps to be pretty unreliable for determining what's paved and what isn't, and satellite maps are too tedious. Plus, you don't want to know everything about the route before you ride it.

We left before sunrise, Liam would be a lot faster with his geared bike. The forecast called for northwest winds; the route headed generally west for 50 miles before turning south again. The wind was calm to start but would pick up as the day went on. I didn't waste any time on the first section; only a brief stop at a gas station.

I made it to the turn without too much difficulty, then had a tail wind for the next 60 miles. By the time I made it to Grants, it was blazing hot, and my butt hurt from sitting all day. Normally I get some variety between standing-pedaling and walking, but I can't stand and pedal on flat/easy gradients. 

I rode through town looking for somewhere to escape the heat. It was July 4th and a lot of places were closed. I was craving pizza and went to two places that were closed before backtracking to Pizza Hut. I chugged a few glasses of Coke and charged electronics while I waited on the pizza. 

I felt pretty good leaving the Pizza Hut, but 5 miles down the road, I was dying again. The heat was wicked. I stopped at a gas station for more fluids and a final resupply before heading towards Pie Town and the Gila National Forest. The route followed more paved roads. I was grateful when the sun started setting, but my butt was in serious pain. I had to be very careful going from standing back to seated. I found a trailhead to camp at as it was getting dark. My legs could've kept going but my rear was done. 

Day 22 - 135mi

A few miles after leaving the trailhead, I finally turned off of the pavement, back onto dirt. It was about 30 miles to Pie Town. My chain was so loose it fell off three times in this stretch. While I was riding, I tried to think of various make-shift tools to try to turn my bottom bracket and tighten the chain. I came up with a few ideas to try once I got to Pie Town.

 

I met up with a few other riders at The Gatherin Place where I got pancakes, eggs, and bacon for second breakfast, and the obligatory pie and ice cream for dessert. I tried all of my ideas to tighten my chain, with no luck. Finally, I asked the restaurant owner if he had a pipe wrench I could borrow. He found some large channel locks that did the trick - leaving a few scratches but an absolute lifesaver. I was concerned about the chain being worn out and breaking, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I then geared up for the 175 mile stretch to Silver City - the longest stretch between resupply of the whole route. There were a few potential water sources along the way, but nothing I was willing to count on. I left Pie Town at full capacity: 6.5+ liters. It was a heavy load, but I wasn't taking any risks.

I made my way into the Gila. It was warm out, but nothing like the previous day. "Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet." echoed through my head. I had been listening to Dune on audiobook the last few days. This was certainly an arid landscape, but not what I would call desert. Still, the book seemed appropriate. In the book, they have "stillsuits" that recycle urine and body moisture, so that a person only loses a thimbleful a day. And here I was just peeing out 20 ounces at a time. So wasteful. 

The day dragged on. Gravel, gravel, and more gravel roads winding through mildly interesting landscapes. It was strange, here I was nearing the end of this 'big thing', the Tour Divide, and I'm just bored and ready to be done. At one point I stopped and played Sudoku on my phone just for some mental stimulation (while eating a snack and airing out my feet). Pushing on through difficult terrain or crappy weather is easy, because eventually things will change. Boredom is indefinite, or at least it felt that way.

One hundred miles after leaving Pie Town, I arrived at Beaverhead Ranger Station where I found a pit toilet and water spigot. I stopped to eat dinner. At the rate I was going, I had enough water to get to Silver City, but I got some extra just in case. I didn't see anything prohibiting camping here, but I decided to go another half mile down the road. I found a nice piney area next to the road and set up camp.

Day 23 - ~108mi

I woke up well rested before sunrise, knowing this would likely be my last full day on route. Shortly into the next climb, I stopped to shed layers and came upon four other riders. It was strange for the five of us to come together at the top of a random hill out in the middle of nowhere. I squat down to adjust something on my bike and heard a POP. I looked down to see one of my shoe laces had broken. With only 200 miles to go, I wasn't too concerned about it. I just wrapped some duct tape around my shoe.

I was expecting the 75 miles to Silver City to be similar to the previous 100 miles from Pie Town, but the terrain became harder and my pace slowed. The road had some short punchy climbs, then the route turned onto another section of the CDT. This singletrack was better than the last, but it was still difficult and slow going. It was a kick in the pants after such a long section with no resupply.

It was blazing hot out again. Shortly into this stretch of singletrack, my GPS died. I plugged it into my power bank; it charged for a couple minutes then shut off. I fiddled with it a few more times, before concluding that it was just too hot to charge. Some sort of thermal overload protection was kicking in. I could navigate with my phone but that was inefficient, so I tried to stay close to Liam and Aaron to avoid that. But mostly, I just used my phone as we all rode at different paces. 

I had expected to get to Silver City in the early afternoon, but it was approaching dinner time when I rolled in. I raced to get to the bike shop before they closed to get my chain replaced. I only had 140 miles to go, but I did not trust it. I opted to let the shop mechanic replace it while I rested, looked for places to eat, and tried to charge my GPS. Eccentric bottom brackets are tricky and I probably could've done it faster, but eventually I got rolling again. He also confirmed one of the bearings was going out, but it would get me to the end.

I rode to the brewery down the street where I got a burger and beer. I contemplated dessert but decided to just get something at a gas station on my way out of town. The sun was getting low, but it was still unbearably hot. I got an ice cream cookie sandwich at the gas station, then convinced myself to go back in and get another (along with more fluids). 

 

With my GPS working again, I followed some singletrack out of town before gravel roads led me into the desert. On rolling hills, I watched the sunset one last time over the wide open landscape. There were no great camping spots; I'm pretty sure it's all private land. I wanted to be a little bit stealthy, so I rode into the night. When it was fully dark and I felt like I was sufficiently in the middle of nowhere, I found a small drainage offshoot to camp in. 

The stars were incredible. I chugged a Peace Tea to re-hydrate before crawling into my sleeping bag. It was pleasantly cool now and there were no bugs to speak of. This last night was the only time I got to do any good star gazing. This is what Tour Divide dreams are made of. It's ironic that every other night had been too buggy or cloudy or I was indoors or under shelter. But this night was perfect. This was it. Tomorrow I would reach Mexico and the finish. I imagined that I wasn't looking up into space, I was looking out. I thought of the enormity of what I'd just done while trying to comprehend that these pinpricks of light in front of me are raging, fiery balls of fusion. Twenty-seven hundred miles is a long damn way; stars are impossibly distant. Pretty soon this would all feel like a dream; another grain in the sands of time.

Day 24 - 106.4mi

I woke before sunrise, eager to get to the Mexico border. In hindsight, I should've ridden through the night to avoid the heat; I didn't realize just how bad it would be. I had a little over a hundred miles to go, but it should be a piece of cake (mostly flat). 

Riding before sunrise, I glanced down at Lucy's collar clipped around my handlebars. I had put it there after she passed away back in March and had left it on for the Divide. I had thought about her several times along the route, imagined her running beside me. My eyes got a little watery every time. The only reason I was here was because she wasn't. She'd been pretty sick, and I wouldn't have left her for such a long time.

The heat came on quick and strong. A tarantula scurried across the road. I stopped at Bowlin's Continental Divide Trading Post. They had tons of knick-knacks, hardly any food. Disappointing. I kept on towards Hachita; the road was painfully flat. I stopped to slap a Rat Bastard Brewing sticker on the sign for the last Continental Divide crossing. In Hachita, I stopped to eat a little and escape the heat for a few minutes. 

Fifty miles to go. Another section of the CDT had been added to this stretch. I suppose it wasn't too bad, but it wasn't exactly fun. The sun was wicked and eventually the trail just disappeared. Route finding consisted of going from one trail marker to the next, carefully avoiding the ferocious plant life. Eventually, the trail popped out onto a highway. Thirty miles to go. Scorching hot, but a slight tailwind. Ten miles to go. I was dying. I stopped to crouch under a small bush and mix up some electrolytes. The wind died. My water was 110 degrees. I chugged the drink mix, which only made me hotter. I wanted to vomit and pass out. What a shame it would be to have to hit the SOS button 10 miles from the finish. I had to keep moving. I couldn't ride too fast for fear of overheating, and I couldn't stop for fear of overheating. I cruised along at minimal effort, just fast enough to get a breeze.

I watched dirt devils race though the flat valleys between the low desert mountains. And then I saw it. The Antelope Well's Border Station. As I rolled up to the sign, a small cloud blocked the sun. I sat in front of it, drank a hot Coke, and ate a sandwich while a handful of cars crossed the border before it closed down for the night at 4pm. After the guard closed the gate, I moved to the other side of the road. The wind was ripping, it was like being in a convection oven. I leaned my bike up against a fence and stretched my rain jacket across the saddle and handlebars to create some shade. With my task complete, I laid down to die. 

Epilogue

Though there was no more riding to be done, death did not come. Not that I could've ridden anymore in that heat. I had less than a pint of water left and that was near boiling. I was planning to be picked up by Jeff - a guy that runs a small business picking up and dropping off Divide riders and CDT hikers. He had said he would pick me up but his texts weren't the most reassuring. I had aimed to have enough water to ride back to Hachita, worst case, but that didn't pan out. I was stuck. I contemplated my options. I could ride back under cover of darkness. Or sleep here and hitch a ride in the morning. There were other riders not far behind, hopefully they had an exit plan that didn't involve more riding.

Eventually, two other riders showed up, then Jeff shortly after that. We waited on a fourth guy to finish, then piled in Jeff's Volvo and drove back to Hachita. Less than 24 hours later, my bike was in a box, and I was on a plane headed home.

Afterword

The question everyone asks is, 'Would you do it again?' Maybe. Historically, I only did TNGA every three years, so maybe in five to ten years, I'll be up for it again. A big part of that is I don't want to train for it, but also it's just really long and gets a bit boring after a while. I can't imagine doing something like a thru-hike that takes months. There are other routes I might do though - Arizona Trail, Colorado Trail, Hope 1000 (Switzerland). Overall, I think 300-400 mile routes are more fun; that's where I can really push my limits, compared to the Divide where my pace had to be sustainable. A long weekend of suffering is plenty for me. A sub-48hr TNGA would be pretty epic.

My riding has been slacking since the Divide. In a way, I feel like I've accomplished the biggest goal there is. I'm not interested in anything longer than that and smaller goals no longer seem like a challenge. There's always the challenge of going faster, but as I discovered on the Divide, my joints would not hold up to that. There is a concern that I took ten years off my knees doing this, but they seem to be back to normal now. Maybe with more, fully loaded training I would adapt. I did lots of long rides and several semi-loaded rides to train for this, but fully loaded isn't just slower, it's a whole different beast. A lighter rig would be faster/easier, but I don't see a reasonable way to cut a significant amount of weight. Unless I ditch the sleep kit, which some people do, but that sounds awful.

Finally, you can't replace a dog, but there are plenty that need a good home. A listing on Pet Finder had caught my eye before the Divide - a shy, five year old pup who had been in a shelter for a long time. If he was still available when I got home, I would have to go meet him. And that's just what I did.

Charley

Big fan of snow

Lucy going to the Lungbuster race in Ridgeland, MS - 2012

Tour Divide '24 Part 2

Day 9 - 126mi

 

 

I awoke at first light to a loud snort. I peered into the darkness in vain, searching for the source of the noise. It sounded like a moose or a cow, but I never saw anything. It was a chilly, damp morning, but at least the bugs had died down. The back of my calves were burnt from the day before, so I decided to wear my tights for the next few days. I packed up and was rolling by sunrise, bumbling along on flat, bumpy roads. Flat roads are the most painful on a singlespeed. I couldn't put any of my weight into the pedals without spinning out, so it all went to my butt and hands, which were sore from the previous day. A few miles in, I heard and then saw a male moose clopping down the road. I took a couple of pictures but couldn't really get close enough.

After a couple hours, the road turned upwards. I was climbing out of the reservoir, thankful to be done with that section. I crossed Red Rock Pass and zoomed down to another lake. I passed a marina that looked like it should have been open but wasn't. That was disappointing; I needed some real food after only passing the one small gas station yesterday. The route turned onto some flowy doubletrack - a nice change of pace - then onto some dusty ATV roads. 

A few miles later, I was in Island Park, Idaho where I got second breakfast at a hotel's buffet. It wasn't until then that I realized I was in fact in Idaho. I checked the map on my phone to see where that had happened - Red Rock Pass. I resupplied at the grocery store next door and ended up with way too much water. I wasn't sure what to do with the excess until I remembered I had extra capacity in my backpack.

A few pounds of water doesn't sound like much, but it didn't do my butt any favors on the next stretch of flat, dry, dirt roads. Clouds of dust chased ATVs as they zoomed by. Most people would slow down a bit as they passed to minimize the dust; I appreciated the gesture, though I'm not sure how much good it did. I stopped and talked to a couple of cyclists out on a day ride; they had toured the route the previous year. They mentioned some nice campsites and swimming holes coming up, but I was racing, not touring. I couldn't stop at those right?

More dusty roads led to a rail trail. I knew the river was close, but it was several more miles before I saw it snaking down the valley. I came to an opening in the trees and a steep rocky path leading to a turquoise swimming hole. The water was too tempting. I was hot, dusty, and hadn't showered in 5 days; I was going for it. There was a campground coming up with possibly easier access, but as I was planning to strip down to my underwear, I figured relative privacy would be a little better. As expected, the water was ice cold. I scrubbed the dirt off my legs and forced myself under a couple times. It was lovely. I sat on a rock and drank a Coke while I dried out. Soaking in the warm sun after the cold plunge, listening to the clear blue water roll by was one of my favorite parts of the whole trip.

Too soon was I riding again. The river was wide and shallow near the campground, and there were dozens of people in tubes and rafts. Glad I stopped where I did. Rolling hills led to high farmland where I caught my first glimpse of the Tetons jutting out of the Earth. Back in a forest, I lost sight of them. More dusty roads, trucks, ATVs, and a never ending climb led to the Wyoming state line. More climbing led to a ski area and finally a descent. There were lots of nice campsites here, many occupied, but there was a restaurant/hotel coming up and I was hungry. Also, the mosquitoes were ferocious.

I got a (pricey) burger, salad, and beer. The rooms here were extremely pricey and probably all booked up anyways. I imagined the campground was the same. I figured I could just find a quiet spot on the side of the road somewhere. I spent way too much time looking for one, before settling on sleeping underneath a small bridge. There were a lot of large, nasty bugs on the underside, so I didn't sleep directly under it. I just hoped I wouldn't attract any attention. 

Day 10 - 68mi

I woke up before sunrise, sweaty and damp - not a good night's sleep. I wanted to sleep more, but dawn was approaching and I needed to get a move on. I soon crossed into Grand Tetons National Park; traffic picked up early in the park. I scoped out a few resupply options on the map, expecting to have to wait for one of them to open, but the first convenience store I came to already had a lot of people going in and out. I spent too much time here eating breakfast sandwiches, sipping coffee, and trying to wake up. I still had some food from the day before, but I topped off my snacks as it was a long way to Pinedale. I knew there were some lodges along the way but didn't know what I would find for sure. 

I made my way out of the park, following winding roads and rolling hills, occasionally catching a glimpse of the Tetons behind me. After a few switchbacks on the first steep climb, I was struggling. I laid down against the hill on the side of the road, not quite falling asleep but fighting off a deep exhaustion. After a few minutes and a snack, I pushed on. One climb led to another which led to another. A bumpy dirt road climb brought me to a lodge and a highway. I stopped for a Coke and a sit in a rocking chair; they didn't have much else. I tried to find some energy, but my fatigue was unshakable. The highway led to the top of the pass, then onto a dirt descent, passing a campground and Mosquito Lake. I didn't dare stop at that one, not even for a picture. 

A short stretch of highway brought me to Lava Mountain Lodge. There were a couple Tour Divide bikes outside, this was a good sign. My electronics and power banks had been getting low; at the pace I was going they would not have made it to Pinedale. It was only early afternoon, but I would have to stop at least long enough to charge them up. I also unpacked my sleeping gear and spread it out to dry. I didn't want to be crawling into a damp sleeping bag later. The food here was great! I got a pizza and a while later, a burger and fries, eventually giving in to a High Life (or two). My brain wanted to keep riding, but my body did not. I decided to take a partial rest day, having only covered ~60 miles. The shower at the lodge was an utter disappointment. I had no soap or towel, the pressure was terrible, and the coin operated timer ran out way too fast. It was probably less effective than swimming in the creek. 

Joss was staying there too and offered to let me stay in his room as there were four bunks in there and all the other rooms were booked. It was better than the bivy but not by much. It was hot, with no AC, and the window screens were broken, letting mosquitoes in. Thankfully I'd bought some bug spray earlier. It held them mostly at bay, but this was not a recipe for good sleep, which I desperately needed.

Day 11 - 132mi

We woke before sunrise, Joss was a little quicker to get out the door. We had passed each other several times already, but I wouldn't see him again for the rest of the trip. I slept OK, not great, but I was eager to get to Pinedale - 84 miles away. The sun rose and the gravel road turned upwards once again, climbing up Union Pass. Meanwhile my mood fell off a cliff. 

I quickly felt exhausted. That partial rest day didn't seem to have done much good. The road was rough and required pushing up some particularly steep sections. I hadn't had a proper shower in a week, nor good sleep for several days. The dirty socks that I had worn on days 4-6 had become the clean socks once again just by comparison. My knees were always achy. I started to miss home, Denise, showers, clean clothes, and warm, dry beds. And I wasn't even halfway. I didn't see how I could finish.

I thought about quitting - what it would feel like to be on a bus or plane, headed back home, going to work, telling people how I rode half of the Tour Divide before bailing out - that wouldn't make a very good story. Sure, home is nice but getting there, giving up, getting on a plane would feel worse than riding up this hill. Before I ever started training for this ride, I thought to finish, you had to really want it. I knew I didn't have that; my motivations for starting this journey were vague at best. Sure, it's an awesome route, but I knew it would be hard. And I knew it would suck a lot of the time, if not most of the time. But this day, I discovered another group of finishers - those who are too stubborn to quit. I am firmly in this camp. I thought about the pioneers heading to California for the Gold Rush. They had no bail out option. I had no bail out option. I wanted to go home, but I had to get to Mexico first. Getting to Mexico was the way to get home.

I needed music. Something more upbeat than my usual prog rock. I put on some Taylor Swift (don't judge). Eventually the road leveled out and I came to a nice backcountry shelter. I stopped and ate an Italian sub that had been in my backpack since Idaho. (Two days ago!) I figured it was cured meat and cheese, what could go wrong? (Thankfully, nothing.)

The descent was rough and loaded with baby heads. I gave zero shits. I went full send, no brakes. I mean a broken bike is a reasonable excuse to quit, but I wouldn't be so lucky. When the road smoothed out, I came across some touring north-bounders. I stopped to chat for a bit and warned them of the rough climb they had coming up. I did not envy them. I was still a couple hours away from Pinedale, but the roads were easy now. 

I stopped at the first gas station I saw to re-hydrate and come up with a game plan. The prospect of real food was lifting my spirits already. As hard as the morning had been, I wasn't going to stay here. If I kept going, I could make it to Wamsutter the next night and get a hotel there. I went to a brewery for a burger and beer and chicken strips to go. I felt a little sorry for everyone I went near. My clothes were filthy and I probably smelled like a goat. I took the opportunity to download the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy audio book and put a hold on Dune (through the Libby app). The Great Basin was coming up and I was afraid of being bored. Somehow the hold was ready before I left town, but I didn't want to wait for it to download. 

I resupplied at a grocery store but couldn't find canned coffee there. I got two cans at the convenience store across the road - one for now (5pm) and one for in the morning - and rolled out of town. I had a massive tail wind and quickly spun out on the flat roads. Gears would have been nice here; there was no way I was catching Joss or any other geared rider now. 

I was officially out of grizzly country and the landscape changed dramatically again - from low arid mountains to the most vast expanse of barren nothingness I've ever seen. To the south, the land sloped away into a flat emptiness stretching to infinity, simultaneously foreboding and mesmerizing. My mind was blown, my breath sucked out of my lungs by the vacuum of space before me. I rode on.

 

I wasn't in the Basin yet, just skirting the edge. My feet were sweaty and the dirt had penetrated my socks long ago. It felt absolutely disgusting. I attempted to ride barefoot, but that didn't go so well. Instead, I rode without socks and my shoes loose to get some airflow. Shortly after sunset I stopped to set up camp in a patch of dirt on the side of the road. I hadn't seen anybody, car or bike, since the outskirts of town. The wind had died and the mosquitoes had come out. How mosquitoes exist in such a dry place is beyond me. I ate my chicken tenders in my bivy, glad to be out of bear country.

Day 12 - 136.5mi

The sun was still behind the low mountains to the east when I awoke. I don't think a single car had passed in the night, and I felt like I had slept great. The air was dry enough here that for once I wasn't clammy in the bivy. I had a breakfast of canned coffee and a bag of mini donuts as I prepared for 17 hours of direct sunlight (still wearing my tights).

On a short stretch of highway, I came across a nice rest stop with running water. I chugged a bottle and washed my face. In hind sight, I should've topped off the extra bladder in my backpack. Back on dirt roads, I passed another north-bounder, then rode through the ghost town of South Pass City. There were a handful of cars parked in front of houses and what might have been a museum, but otherwise there were no stores to speak of. 

Shortly after that, I rode through Atlantic City (pop. 37). I saw a few people out and about. There was a restaurant here, but it didn't have hours posted. It was just before 10am, but I wasn't going to stick around. I had plenty of food and hopefully enough water for the 95 mile stretch to Wamsutter. I climbed one last hill to get out of the town, then I was in the Basin. Lifeless rolling hills stretched out before me. 

About 10 miles in, I passed a north-bound couple who looked like CDT hikers. I can't imagine crossing the Basin on foot. Exactly 21.6 miles passed Atlantic City, I went off route in search of Diagnus Well. Not because I needed water but just to see it. I had read vague mentions of it online, but only knew where to find it because I had stumbled upon it on Google Maps. Sure enough, 50 yards off the road there was a pipe in the ground with water flowing out of it, surrounded by a small patch of green. A sign read 'Non-potable'. I had read that it was alkaline water; I'm still not sure if my filter would have been effective or not. If I was desperate I would've drank it, but as it was, I still had three liters or so.

A few people had mentioned I should write a book about my journey. I think that would be an awfully short and boring book as the vast majority of the trip consisted of riding in silence for hours on end. A lot of it was awesome, of course, but parts of it were rather tedious and boring. But the Basin was inspiring. Scientists say the Universe came from nothing. Here was nothing. My vague idea for a fantasy/creation story: the entire Universe springs forth from the Great Basin. Maybe one day I'll think of a plot to go with it.

I passed two or three north-bounders in the first half. It's amusing to think that this remote expanse might be traversed by cyclists more than people in cars, but there really isn't any other reason to come this way. I was so entranced by this bizarre landscape, I didn't listen to music or my audio book the entire day. Somewhere around halfway I came across some sort of small industrial operation - probably something to do with oil or natural gas. Shortly after that, the route turned onto barely visible doubletrack that led up a small hill. It felt other-worldly and incredibly isolated. One could get lost out here and never be found. Or run around naked shouting at the top of your lungs, and no one would ever know. 

The last third started to drag on, though I did see wild horses at one point - that was cool. One of them stared me down pretty hard. With 15 or so miles to Wamsutter (about 1.5 hours), I ran out of water. It was hot, dry, and windy. Thankfully, it had mostly been a tailwind, but I was parched. With 5 miles to go, I started seeing buildings, but no sign of a town. It made me nervous. The landscape was so open, it seemed like I should've been able to see something. I started seeing some traffic, then finally, the Love's gas station I'd been dreaming of. I got two Arizona Teas, chugging one while I sat in the shade and searched for a hotel. There were two - one looked a little sketchy, the other was less sketchy, maybe even decent. 

The sun was still up, there was still time to ride more, but the thought didn't cross my mind. I was so glad to be here. I was over halfway. I was going to have a shower and sleep in a bed. I went in to the hotel office to book a room. The lady asked if I had a reservation. I didn't. A terrible look came across her face. They were booked. Then she mentioned another racer had come by, slept a few hours and left. The room had two beds, hadn't been cleaned, but I could have it at a discounted rate. It was perfect. (Worst case, I probably could've bribed another racer to let me sleep on their floor.) Even better, they had laundry machines.

I started my laundry, got a pulled pork sandwich at a BBQ stand down the street run by a family who were also passing through, drank my other liter of tea, took a long shower, turned the AC down low, and passed out.

Day 13 - 81mi

The day started off easy and uneventful. The relatively flat, easy terrain the previous day meant that my knees felt OK for once. I made a large adjustment to my handlebar bag setup, moving the dowel from the top of the aero bars to the bottom. This let me strap the bag back to the head tube and still have space for the brake lines. Now the bag was ultimately supported by four zip ties (one reason I waited so long to do it), but the decreased leverage meant it wouldn't pull my aero bars down. This also allowed a better grip on the aero bars which is important as it's not a very stable position to begin with.

I got coffee and a few breakfast burritos at 'the other' gas station (not Love's) and headed out of town. I started the Hitchhiker's audio book. The flat desert landscape gradually transitioned to rolling hills until, cresting a particularly large hill, a deep valley stretched out between me and the lush green mountains of Colorado. A new state. Wyoming had gone by relatively quickly compared to Montana (as one would expect). The Basin had been awesome, but I was excited to be in mountains again.

A ripping descent and more rolling hills took me to Savery, WY. I knew there was museum here, but whether they had snacks and/or water was unknown. When I rolled through the town, the community center (/school?) had signs welcoming Tour Divide riders and snacks/drinks for sale. I stopped for a coke and candy bar and topped off my water. 

A long winding climb led me to the 'Leaving Wyoming' sign; the road kept climbing. Storms had been lurking in the distance, but now one was getting uncomfortably close. I stopped to put on rain gear just in time; a few minutes later it was raining sideways. It was short lived though. About the time it settled to a drizzle is about the time I heard cheers and a cowbell and saw the sign for Brush Mountain Lodge. I thought it was closed and hadn't expected anything until Clark, CO - another 30 miles - which I was very much hoping to get to before the store closed. Turns out BML had managed to re-open just in time for the Divide. There were more than a dozen other bikes out front; maybe I could stop for a little bit. 

Kirsten was amazing. This place very much had Mulberry Gap vibes - a very chill, easy going kind of place. I was still full from breakfast burritos when I got there, but I ordered a pizza soon enough. Frozen pizza cooked in a real pizza oven was pretty damn good. I looked at the route and talked to others about what was coming up. I wasn't too concerned with getting to Clark now that I had food; I was more concerned with were I might sleep. I had felt great today and wanted to keep going. Sitting around felt wrong; I was 'racing'. But there wasn't any sort of shelter coming up. And the weather was iffy. A warm, dry place to sleep was too hard to pass up; I had roughed it for so long, I could justify another night indoors. The group that was staying here would end up sticking close together for the rest of the race: Liam, JP, Kevin, Aaron, Rob, Courtney.

Eventually, I caved, took a shower, drank a beer, got another pizza. I sat on the porch and pet the dog - a white, Lucy-sized fur ball. I missed my girl. I slept on a couch, hoping to get an early start the next morning which meant skipping out on pancakes. 

Day 14 - 92mi

My watch alarm woke me at 5am, as usual. I ate a quick breakfast, packed up, and headed out the door. A quarter mile up the road, I hit peanut butter mud. It stuck to my tires, quickly building up until they wouldn't turn. I got off and pushed on around the next corner: endless mud. I said screw it, turned around and went back for breakfast. Maybe the road would dry out some, and if not, I was going to need more fuel for this battle.

Pancakes and coffee were well worth it. It was an early breakfast, so I wasn't really losing much time. I doubted the road would dry out in any meaningful way, and I don't think it did. I still wonder if the previous evening would have been better. It had already rained, but would it have soaked into the road? I'll never know. 

The peanut butter mud continued off and on for eight miles or so, but eventually the road surface changed. Then it was a long climb and a chunky descent to Clark. A couple of riders who had passed me were stopped at the store, but I rode on towards Steamboat on a paved but busy road. After several miles, the route turned onto a side road away from traffic. A bike path led me to a river and the downtown area. 

I had read about a really awesome bike shop right on the route where a lot of riders would stop for a tune-up for the second half of the Divide. I never saw such a place. The first shop I came to looked like it was closed permanently, so I rode to another. My chain was quite loose and needed tightening or replacing; it had already fallen off once. The shop was pretty busy, so I asked to just borrow the tools. The wear gauge said it had a lot of life left, so I just tightened it. The wrench for this is big and heavy, and I didn't want to lug it the entire way. But not being able to do this basic maintenance whenever I needed was very inconvenient. I wouldn't ride without it again, but I'd like to fabricate my own light-weight version out of something other than stainless steel.

With the bike tuned up, I went across the street and got a reuben and a beer at an Irish pub. Then I had several errands to run. First I went downtown in search of a sun hoodie. The shirt I had left gaps at my wrists and had no hood, and my buff wasn't the neck protection I thought it would be. I knew the New Mexico sun was going to be brutal. I checked several stores with no luck, until a bike shop mechanic suggested a big chain store down the street. Sure enough, they had just what I was looking for. Then it was on to the Post Office to ship several things home that I no longer needed: passport, wind jacket, top base layer, stuff-able backpack, and riding shorts. I committed to wearing tights the rest of the way, though I did have some off-bike shorts as a backup. Then I needed to resupply; it was a long way to Silverthorne with only Kremmling in between which was two miles off route. I wanted to avoid that if I could. First I tried a convenience store, but they didn't have much. For some reason, chocolate milk and Gatorade both sounded good; I drank the milk first, then chugged the Gatorade. I immediately thought I was going throw up. I held it down, but then I had to go into a grocery store and buy food while nauseated. 

Finally, I got on the road again. Some other riders I met at Brush Mountain were staying in Steamboat, but I wanted to cover some more ground after a relatively short day yesterday. I rode another 35 miles, not as far as I wanted, but I got sleepy when the sun went down. The weather had been iffy all afternoon; I wanted to find shelter. I rode until I got to a campground; luckily it was empty and had a pit toilet. This would be my second night sleeping in a pit toilet; it was fairly clean and didn't smell ...at first. About 1:30am it hit me, and it was awful. I did my best to breathe into my sleeping bag and keep sleeping. 

Day 15 - 98.5mi

The first week was filled with awe and wonder and excitement. The second week had me questioning my life choices. But now I accepted my new routine - wake up and ride south. This was my life now. I did a pretty good job of planning to have a can of coffee in the morning. The few times I didn't, those first three hours were rough. 

The day started with a short climb and a long descent to the campground I had been aiming for. There was a little mud but nothing crazy. Then there was a relatively small, 1400 ft, climb between me and the turn to Kremmling. This is barely a blip on the map, but I was suffering. I thought I had left Steamboat with enough food, but at the rate I was going it would be tight. I decided it would be better to go into Kremmling to refuel rather than try to push through and come up short. Once I was up and over the hill, I went into town and got some yogurt, gas station pizza, and several other snacks. It took forever to get through the line; they were having technical difficulties with the cash register. 

Back on the road, a storm was brewing and seemed to chase me all afternoon. I rounded a beautiful lake. A couple of people that lived along the route were giving out drinks. I stopped at the first one, but the second was on a downhill. I'd been riding slow for hours, I didn't want to lose momentum now. Then it was a long climb up Ute Pass. I was struggling again; it was taking much longer than I thought it should have. After a few hours, I reached the top, stopped to take in the view, and talk with a local rider for a few minutes. A blazing fast, paved descent took me to the highway leading into Silverthorne. 

I stopped in a park on the edge of town to figure out the game plan. It was early evening; I was exhausted. I needed carbs. Lots of carbs. A local guy came up to me and was asking about the race. He said I looked like I needed a beer and gave me a Modelo. I was tempted to drink it there but thought it best to save it for later. I asked him if he knew of any good pasta restaurants around, and he suggested a pizza place I had been looking at that was on-route.

The bike path through the city was lovely - winding along the river, under bridges and overpasses. At Windy City Pizza, I got an enormous plate of chicken parmesan with a salad, and had no trouble taking it all down. That really hit the spot. As I was getting ready to leave, the bottom fell out, complete with hail. I guess the storm had caught up, but it didn't last long. I had planned on riding on through Breckenridge and camping just outside of town, but now that seemed less appealing. How much further could I really ride tonight anyways and would it be worth it? The riders who had stayed in Steamboat had nearly caught up. I searched for hotels and found one in Frisco. It was on the pricey side, but it would be worth it. I followed the bike path up to and around Dillon Reservoir. A marina held dozens of sailboats, something I didn't expect to see in the mountains. 

It was a fairly nice hotel; I kind of felt bad about rolling my dirty bike through the hallways. I showered, drank the Modelo, and passed out.

Day 16 - 115mi

Once again, I had to resupply before I really got going for the day. I ate a pastry in the hotel but was hungry again by the time I got to the grocery store in Breckenridge, 10 miles down the road. I ate several donuts, drank some chocolate milk and loaded up for the day, though it was only 50 miles to Hartsel. 

The climb up Boreas Pass was long but mild. This was one of the 'railroad grade' climbs I kept hearing about. There were several dispersed campsites on the way up, most occupied. It was chilly at the top. I was looking forward to a smooth gravel descent just like the climb, only to see that the route turned onto wet rocky singletrack. Great. Several miles of not-so-great trail dumped me out back onto the gravel road. Then it was an easy descent to Como and South Park. There were no more big climbs until after Salida, but the road to Hartsel should be an embarrassment to all involved in its construction. It was extremely dusty, loose, chunky gravel over a heavily washboarded road bed. With a headwind. I've ridden plenty of bad roads, but this one really set me off. Most 'bad' roads are just unmaintained; this one, however, had been 'maintained' by dumping a pile of gravel on it and calling it good. 

Hartsel was welcome sight after that beat-down. There was a restaurant and a convenience store next door; both were very popular places with cars, motorcycles, and bikes outside of both. I had plenty of food but stopped at the store for a Coke and ice cream bar. There was a north-bound group of cyclists from New Zealand; one of them asked what my favorite part had been. I told her I had really enjoyed the Great Basin. She said I might be the first person to ever say that. (It does have a reputation for being boring.) 

The next stretch of road wound its way through rolling hills. Scattered showers lurked in the distance. I passed JP smoking a cigarette on the side of the road. He's from South Korea and only knew a handful of English words. He seemed like he was always having a good time though. As I was climbing up the small pass before Salida, the rain looked like it was closing in. I put on my rain jacket, but never really needed it. Just over the top, there was an incredible view of Salida: a dark ceiling of clouds cast a shadow on the mountains but the sun shown through in spots with a rainbow behind me. Eager to beat the weather, I flew down the smooth dirt roads.

On the edge of town, I decided to stop for dinner. The massive plate of carbs the day before had really seemed to help; I had fried rice in mind this night but ended up getting Pad Thai at a place downtown. It rained off and on while I ate. The forecast wasn't looking good - scattered showers for the next several hours. Once again, I felt good and wanted to press on, but I'd rather not get soaked in the bivy. However, staying here meant I probably wouldn't make it 150 miles to Del Norte the next day. I wussed out and searched for hotels. They were even more expensive than Frisco. I saw on TrackLeaders that Liam was staying at a hostel down the street and decided to give it a shot. I had never stayed in one before, but they had a bunk available for $40. That would do.

Tour Divide '24 - Part 1

 

That pretty much sums up the entire trip - eat like a hobbit, ride until dark.

Day 1 - 126.5mi

I woke up well rested, drank some coffee while I finished packing gear on my bike, hoping it would fit in the trunk of our rented sedan for the 15 mile drive to the start in Banff. I knew I wouldn't make my scheduled start time of 7:15am but had zero concern. You can't have such a disorganized event and expect people to follow a strict schedule. Also, it's a really long way to Mexico; even a few hours delay would be inconsequential. We stopped at the Banff entrance sign where I put my bike together for a picture. Not wanting to disassemble it again, I rode the last mile to the start where Pete was lined up ready to go at 7:35am. I couldn't start just yet as I wanted to wait for Denise, so Pete decided to wait for me. I didn't really feel nervous - the route is too big to comprehend. I was just riding 155 miles to Fernie, nothing too out of the ordinary.

The ride started out easy enough with pretty mild gradients for the first 95 miles. This area was the most beautiful as far as steep rocky mountains go. Where other mountains could be ridden over or around, these were unscalable walls lining mild valley roads. After several hours, we hit the best singletrack on route. The climb up was a bit steep and punchy; the downhill was a blast - fast, flowy, loam trails. Pete and I got separated on the climb as there were a lot of other riders - some getting off to walk sections. There were a lot of day hikers in a few big groups, surprising for what seemed like the middle of nowhere. The trail dumped out near a lake backed by gorgeous snowy peaks. Then it was several road miles to the first resupply stop - a small campground store at mile 50 - where Pete caught up. I got an upscale lunchable and various other snacks to last me another 100 miles to Fernie. Then it was up Elk Pass into British Columbia. Riding up this powerline doubletrack, a local rider coming down warned us of a grizzly up ahead. Sure enough, 100 yards away was a massive bear lumbering down the trail. We watched him scratch his back on a powerline pole before continuing on toward us. He certainly saw and heard us, but this was his trail. We walked about 30ft off trail into the low brush and watched as he strolled by, heading towards more riders behind us. 

At some point I noticed a small amount of oil coming out of my front brake lever. Not good. I figured my handlebar bag was bending the hydraulic line so much that it had cracked a little. The brake still worked for now, but it would give out at some point if I didn't get it fixed. I would also need to figure out a different way to attach my bag. I checked my notes for a bike shop in Elkford, which is off route but well before Fernie, but no dice. I would have to use it sparingly for the next 70 or so miles and find a bike shop in the morning. 

Just shy of the 100 mile mark, we reached the base of the infamous Koko Claims - a ridiculous, steep, rocky, hike-a-bike pass. I anticipated about 6 miles of hiking, but I rode the first few, which were only moderately steep and not rocky, with a very measured and controlled effort. Pete and I once again got separated. When the trail took a sharp turn upward, I got off to walk with everyone else, somehow passing quite a few people on the hike up the loose boulders. Even though this section was crazy and hard, it was nowhere near as bad as the blowdowns on the Vista last month. (I can't imagine much worse than that.) The top of the descent was no picnic either with large, steep patches of icy snow and mud. When it started to look rideable, I stopped to filter water and put on a jacket. The sun was starting to sink, and it was chilly. Pete caught up again, and we rode the rest of the descent together. 

It was still a long way to Fernie, but there were a couple of campgrounds along the way. We decided to ride until dark and camp for the night. This far north, there's only about 5 hours of darkness, might as well sleep then. Not much point in getting to Fernie at 2am. We found a small, primitive campground where a few riders were already set up, a lot more came later. 

Day 2 - 110mi

I woke up early, before sunrise. There were still 30 miles to Fernie, and I wanted to get to a bike shop right when they opened. Pete slept a bit more; we would meet up later. The road followed a rushing, turquoise river before turning to follow a smaller creek up into the mountains. I shed some layers riding up the small pass before Fernie. I had packed my sleeping pad on the outside of the handlebar bag, using it as a spacer to give my brake lines more room, but that idea was a bust. On the descent, it worked its way out of the straps, forcing me to stop, repack, and tighten everything down. It was only a few more miles to town, I could try something else there. 

The first bike shop I went to was closed for another hour. A local guy had ridden his bike to the bank next door; he asked where I was headed. Of course I told him Mexico and asked if he knew of a bike shop that would be open. He pointed me to one just down the road. I dropped my bike off and went in search of second breakfast. 

The closest place was a small cafe. It's always a bit funny going into a fancy coffee shop as a dirty, smelly cyclist, but a couple of pastries and coffee really hit the spot. I took the opportunity to charge my phone and GPS and checked trackleaders to see Pete wasn't far behind. I resupplied at the grocery store next door, breaking out the stuffable backpack to carry a few sandwiches and a couple frozen burritos among other snacks, thinking this was way too much food. It was only 120 miles to Eureka. 

Back at the bike shop I learned the hose wasn't cracked, the hollow bolt that holds it onto the lever was a just a bit loose. Still, I needed a new way to strap my bag, so I strapped it forward up to the aero bars rather than back to the frame. I met up with Pete and we set off up the next pass. I soon realized my GPS had not charged at all. I tried another cable with my power bank, but no luck. Eventually, I borrowed a cable from Pete that did work.

About halfway up, the weather started to turn. The morning had been pleasant enough, but a cold front was coming through. A tree snapped in half right beside us shortly after we put on our rain jackets. I left my rain pants off thinking they would be too hot on the climb - that was a mistake. A little further we saw a momma moose and her calf run off into the trees. 

It started raining pretty hard, partially soaking through my 10 year old rain jacket and completely soaking the rest of me. I picked up the pace just to stay warm. I stopped at the top of the pass, where it was snowing, to put on more layers and eat a sandwich - another mistake as I got cold pretty quickly. Pete caught up, but I had to keep moving to stay warm. I didn't warm up much on the descent. A couple hours of flat roads brought us to Butt's Cabin - a backcountry shelter - where some lovely, thoughtful person had lit the wood stove. We stopped to warm up, eat some food, and make a futile attempt to dry out. 

Slightly warmer but still wet, we set off up another pass. Pete stopped to filter water. I had plenty, so I kept going. My general strategy is if I have enough water for the climb, I have enough for the descent too. The clouds were still threatening, but rain never came. There was a campground at the bottom of the descent that we had been considering. When I got there, I scoped it out - a few riders were already sleeping despite it being a bit early. I waited by the road for Pete, thinking he would be 15 minutes behind me at most. Several riders came by as I ate my burritos; all but one or two turned into the campground. After 30 minutes, I had to make a decision. I felt pretty good and could have kept going, but the now drizzly weather and impending darkness persuaded me to just camp there. Also, my strategy was to take it easy for the first few days before cranking it up to race pace. (Race pace meaning riding longer, not necessarily faster.) I found a nice spot under some tree cover and crawled in my bivy. 

Day 3 - 137mi

 I woke up a bit soggy; it had been drizzly all night and still was. I had stayed warm in my sleeping bag, but it was freezing out. My GPS said 31, though there wasn't any frozen precipitation. My socks, shoes, and gloves were still soaked along with most everything else. I saw where Pete was camped out. I don't know when he got in, but I was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it 137 miles to Whitefish. We only did 110 the previous day. I really needed to get to a hotel where I could dry out, so I left without waking him. 

The morning started out cold, misty, and miserable on some overgrown doubletrack. My knees were pretty achy from the steep climbs and hard efforts the day before. It was time for some music. It's a huge motivator for me and my ear buds block a lot of sound, insulating by brain from the crappy weather. Maybe not the safest thing to do when there are bears around, but eh... it seemed like a pretty small risk. I put on some progressive metal, Wheel's latest album Charismatic Leaders, and started hammering away at the rolling hills. I got a little too carried away on a downhill and had to slam on brakes to avoid crashing into a dilapidated bridge. After that I turned onto some crappy singletrack leading to The Wall - a short but ridiculously steep trail that shouldn't exist. For most of it, I would push my bike up, hold the brakes, step up, push bike, hold brakes, step up. The trail at the top continued to a gravel road and the last pass before the US/Canada border. The climb up was still drizzly, but at least I warmed up. My ear buds died right before I reached the top where there was an inch of snow on the ground. I stopped just long enough to zip up my layers and plunged into the freezing descent. 

Thoroughly frozen, I popped out onto a paved road. I took my gloves off, thinking cold dry hands are better than cold wet hands, and left them off the rest of the day. A couple miles later I was at the border. It was a glorious site, like coming home. This was the first milestone: I was out of Canada. The landscape changed dramatically from steep enclosing mountains to wide rolling hills with low rolling mountains in the distance. It was also significantly warmer, but as I was still soaked, it didn't feel much better. Several miles of pavement later, I was in Eureka.

I stopped in a cafe for coffee, brunch, charging, and warmth. I really wanted to find a new rain jacket and waterproof gloves, but Eureka is rather small. I checked the forecast: Eureka - 15% chance of rain, Whitefish - 15% chance of rain. Maybe those things could wait until Whitefish. I resupplied at a small grocery store; I had eaten almost everything I got in Fernie. What I thought had been too much was just enough, so I loaded the stuffable backpack once again, uncomfortable as it was.

The road out of Eureka was quite pleasant - paved, mild gradients. But misty clouds covered the mountains. Great. It never rained hard, but it was uncomfortably damp. Nothing was going to dry out. The next pass was otherwise uneventful. The descent lead to Flathead River where I could glimpse Glacier National Park. I regret not taking a picture here - the white snow on the mountains against the gray clouds made it look like the mountains were glowing. Flat gravel roads led to the climb up Red Meadow Pass. The lake at the top was beautiful. The weather had gotten slightly better, but it was too cold to stop. I bombed down the descent, anxious to get to Whitefish.

When the gravel turned to pavement, I thought I was nearly there, but the road went on and on with no signs of a town. Just before sunset, I got to the edge of town and stopped to come up with a game plan; I was tired, cold, wet, and hungry. There was a restaurant really close, but I looked for hotels first. They were a bit pricey, so I went for the cheapest one, which turned out to be pretty decent. Then it was a scramble to wash my bike, give my laundry to the front desk, get McDonalds, escape people asking about the race, shower, and get to bed. I'm not sure what time I went to sleep, but it wasn't early enough.

Day 4 - 116mi

I woke up pretty hungry but decided to pack everything up first before going for breakfast. Clean, dry clothes felt amazing. My knees were achy again and my hands a bit tingly from not wearing gloves much yesterday. I raised my saddle a bit to help my knees and raised my handlebars to (hopefully) help my hands. My handlebar bag had been pulling my aero bars down a bit, due to the increased leverage, so I re-adjusted those and tightened them down as much as I could.

Back at McDonald's for breakfast, I sat with Sami, a racer from Finland, while I searched for bike shops and outdoor stores. I was determined to find a rain jacket and gloves. I also wanted a hydration pack. I thought I would only use the stuffable backpack on a few long stretches but quickly realized I was going to be using it all the time, mostly to carry food. I would also need the extra water capacity at some point.

I picked up some waterproof work gloves from Ace Hardware, a 10 liter pack with a 3 liter bladder from the first bike shop and a women's rain jacket on clearance from a second bike shop. That was all they had, but it fit well enough. I dropped off my old rain jacket on the doorstep of a thrift store; maybe someone will get some more use out of it. 

It was at least 10:30am when I finally got back on the route, but I felt prepared for anything. I was hungry again when I got to Columbia Falls after only an hour of riding. There were some tempting restaurants that I should have stopped at, but I was anxious to cover some ground after such a late start. I restocked at a grocery store and kept rolling.

The route followed rural, residential roads for a while with off and on drizzly weather. I discovered my new rain jacket would funnel air through the hood and out vents in the back. I could stay dry and not overheat. After a while I came across a cafe that I had not expected, but it looked like it had just closed. I decided I could use a good meal and would see what I could find at the Ferndale Market - a gas station about an hour away and a mile off route. When I got there, I saw a burger shack next door, but it too had just closed (it was only late afternoon). No worries, there was A Bar another half mile down the road (a bar in an A-frame building). I got a killer chili cheese burger and a slice of cheesecake. That hit the spot. I needed a nap.

With a very full stomach, I rode on. The route turned to gravel and started going up. After a couple hours, I was incredibly sleepy. There were still a couple hours of daylight left, and I had not covered much ground even with the easy terrain. I thought I was going to have to stop early for the night. I laid down on a wet log for a few minutes and ate an Uncrustable PB&J. I listened to the birds and bugs and thought about how strange it was to be lying here in the middle of Montana so far from home and my normal routine. 

After a few minutes rest, I kept going. Shortly after, the sugar from the PB&J perked me right up. I ate some more high sugar foods and got a good pace going. Just when I was thinking I hadn't seen another human in hours, there was a racer around the next corner. I passed him, then caught a few more. When it finally started to get dark, I saw several more that had stopped to camp for the night, but I kept rolling. The forecast called for rain around 4am. I was hoping to get to Holland Lake Campground to find some sort of shelter. I had learned a bivy alone in the rain is not fun; it was now my last resort. I didn't want another soggy morning. 

Darkness fell. I was still a few hours away; it was time for some music - Tool this time. Pushing on into the night, I finally felt like I was racing. I hesitated when the route turned onto some tight doubletrack - it felt very bear-y. I tried to make some noise as I continued on - not my strong suite. Fortunately, the doubletrack didn't last too long. I knew I was getting close, but the miles went by slowly. The moon was shining brightly when I hit a paved road, faintly illuminating some mountains in the distance. Just a few more miles.

I finally got there around 11:30pm - not too late. I was exhausted but also excited - this was race pace. I rode around a bit looking for shelter and found a nice pit toilet (a.k.a. Montana Hilton). I had read plenty of stories of racers sleeping in them but never had myself. It was clean, dry, bear proof, and didn't smell - perfect.

Day 5 - 97mi

I woke around sunrise feeling like that was the best night of sleep I'd had so far. I also awoke again to achy knees, and when I started pedaling, my left Achilles had a strange pop to it. When I stood on the pedals a tendon felt like it was popping back into place. It didn't hurt but was very concerning. It went away after about an hour. Surprisingly, it hadn't started raining yet, but it would soon enough. I saw another racer breaking camp. He asked if I was going up the pass and said that a lot of people were concerned about snow and had gone around. I was going over or at least attempting. I didn't see how there could be that much snow when there was barely any precipitation here. 

It was a rather long climb with some singletrack near the top. I stopped several times to adjust layers and eat snacks. I was afraid to push too hard and further aggravate my knees or ankles. There was some snow at the top - about an inch on the sides of the trail, the trail itself was clear. After another cold descent, I reached a gravel road. Most of the trees here were dead from a forest fire. The sun decided to peak out, so I stopped to warm up and have another snack.

Wet, muddy roads and rolling hills took me to Ovando, where several other riders were stopped to eat, resupply, and wash bikes. I gave mine a quick rinse, certain it would get dirty again soon enough. I ate a quick lunch, sitting in the sunshine on the steps of the general store - where I also got some Ibuprofen. The restaurant down the road was tempting, but Lincoln wasn't too much further. 

I rode on, hoping to be done with rain. There were scattered showers in the distance, but I managed to dodge them. The next pass was relatively small and mild with lots of switchbacks, but my knees were tired of climbing. The descent was a blast on a winding, dry dirt road. 

I got to Lincoln right around dinner time and caught some other riders at the grocery store. Some were pushing on, others were staying for the night. Part of me wanted to keep going, but my knees couldn't handle another pass. I split a room with two other racers at the Lincoln Log Hotel. After checking in, we went out for dinner at a nearby diner where I got a massive country fried steak with mashed potatoes. Excellent comfort food after such a cold and wet day.

Day 6 - 103mi

Once again, I awoke to achy knees. I had an Ibuprofen, three apple turnovers, and a can of coffee for breakfast. It was in the upper 30s when I started riding, but the forecast was clear for the next several days. I made a new rule for myself to save my knees: if my body weight wasn't enough to turn the pedals, I would get off and walk - no pulling on the handlebars. That meant walking a good bit of the next pass. Parts of it were rather steep and loose; I would've walked a lot regardless. 

The descent was a blast though; it lead to Lama Ranch were I caught a couple other riders and met my first north bounder (touring). I hadn't expected anything here, but I couldn't say no to hot coffee and snacks. Most days in Montana it would be cold until 9am, but by 10am it was in the 80s. I shed all of my layers and rolled on through big sky country. Another climb, rolling hills, and a ripping descent took me to the highway leading to Helena. I had thought there was steep singletrack leading down into town (it was Butte I was thinking of), so I stopped a couple times to double check that I hadn't made a wrong turn. There had been several other riders near me, but now I didn't see anybody. I must have dropped them on the descent. 

Once in Helena, I searched for a bike shop as my chain was quite stretched and needed tightening, if not replacing. There was one just off route. I dropped my bike off and went out for a bratwurst. Beer was awfully tempting, but I resisted - I still had a lot of riding to do today. The shop replaced my chain without adjusting the tension, so the new chain was very tight. It would stretch soon enough, but it made it just a bit harder to pedal. Under normal conditions, this wouldn't be a big deal, but these were not normal conditions. The next climb was agonizing. It started off fine, but it just went on and on, from 4000ft to 7300ft. And it only got worse near the top. Singletrack that might have been fun any other day, just meant a lot of walking this day. To make things worse, mosquitoes attacked the moment I stopped. 

Eventually I pushed up and over the pass, walking down a few steep sections. The sun was getting low, I was exhausted but determined to get to Basin to find some sort of shelter for the night. After a long winding descent, I finally saw an interstate overpass and a few buildings up ahead. I was prepared to sleep under the overpass, but I rode on into town to see what I could find. I wasn't expecting anything. I saw another rider at the community hall, he mentioned I could sleep there, I just had to pay $5 at the bar next door. That sounded wonderful. I walked over to the Silver Saddle Saloon. It looked like they were about to close up, but they offered to make me food. I ordered a frozen pizza and went back to set up 'camp' and plug in some electronics. When I went back to the bar, several more people were there. The guy nearest the door said, "Who're you?" I told him I was in the bike race. We talked a bit, and he bought me a beer. Frozen pizza and a PBR - I felt right at home. This was one of the highlights of the trip, a great end to a tough day.

Day 7 - 116mi

It was another chilly morning with achy knees. I soft pedaled through rolling hills and up the mild climb heading towards Butte. After a few hours, I reached the top of the hill overlooking the town. I was nervous about the steep singletrack coming up, but it was for nothing. I had no trouble on the tight switchbacks. Once in town, I went to a restaurant for second breakfast and resupplied for the 50 miles to Wise River. I had strongly considered searching bike shops for a lower singlespeed gear. I had felt overgeared quite often, and I wasn't sure if my knees would keep holding up. But, I also knew this area of Montana has the most elevation gain per mile. If I got an easier gear now, would I regret it later? 

The next pass was hard but rideable. The scenery was beautiful, and it was a gorgeous day with clear blue skies. I stopped at the top to lie in the grass with my feet up in the air against a fence to drain my legs a bit - something I'd read about online. Maybe it helped. It was a nice break anyways. The view on the descent was amazing - wide open grasslands all the way down to a highway with the next pass beyond that. 

The next pass was Fleecer Ridge, which is a bit notorious, but I didn't know specifically why. The climb was similar to the last, but a bit more rocky. It also felt a bit more bear-y, until I got above treeline. That's where it got steep. I walked up quite a bit of washed-out doubletrack to reach the top where it turned to singletrack. I rode the uppermost section, going down a large rounded hill. The trail got steeper and steeper as I went, until I finally stopped where Joss (another racer) was eating a snack. He mentioned he would be walking from there. That sounded like a good idea - not only was it steep, but it was strewn with large loose rocks (known as 'baby heads' in the mountain bike community). I held the brakes as I walked down the slope, my rear tire sliding sideways as my bike was basically falling on top of me. Eventually it leveled out, and I was able to ride on towards Wise River. 

Several miles of gradual descent led me to the general store in Wise River. I learned they also allowed riders to sleep in the community hall for a small donation, but it was too early. I stopped as long as I could tolerate the mosquitoes and ate a sandwich, then got back on the road to put in a couple more hours. There were several campgrounds along the way, most of them pretty full. I couldn't commandeer a pit toilet with other campers around. I had spotted a shelter on the map at the top of the climb but didn't know what to expect. The climb was all paved with a few switchbacks. I saw several elk and maybe a moose. The woods had very little undergrowth, so I could see back quite a ways. But, this also gave me the feeling of being watched.

Around sunset, I reached the top and continued on in search of the shelter. It was in a small day-use area, no one else around. It was a very nice shelter with a two sided fire place in the middle and a wood stove in the corner, plus a couple of picnic tables. A sign did say day-use only, but eh, I would be out by sunrise. It was too bad I didn't have the energy or the means to start a fire, but then I also wouldn't want to attract attention. I put my bike inside by the door and laid out my sleeping bag in a corner, hoping for a good night's sleep if it didn't get too cold at this elevation.

Day 8 - 156.5mi

A couple hours into sleeping, I awoke to a rustling sound. There was something else in the shelter. I grabbed my light and quickly scanned the floor. Nothing. Then I zeroed in on the noise - near my handlebars. A small mouse was trying to get into my granola bar. I shooed it away and went to lay back down. A few minutes later it was back at the granola bar. I shooed it again, but it didn't even run off far. I put a handful of gold fish on the fireplace hearth to keep it occupied and went back to sleep. About an hour later the mouse was once again attempting to get in my granola bar. I gave it another handful of goldfish and went back to sleep. Another hour and the mouse was apparently not satisfied. But daylight was coming. I shooed it away a final time, ate a quick breakfast, packed up, and hit the road. 

It was a chilly start on top of the plateau, but I was grateful for easy roads. A gradual descent led to farm land where I saw several people herding bison by any means necessary. Some were on horses, some on 4-wheelers, others on side-by-sides, plus a few dogs. It was barely light out. As the sun rose, I struggled on some rolling hills as I still hadn't warmed up. I turned onto a gravel road and after a short hill, the landscape really opened up. I could see mountains way off in the distance and had a feeling that's where I was headed. The long, flat, straight, gravel road led me to a short stretch of paved highway with the occasional farm truck passing by. I shed all my layers as the temps were climbing quickly. 

The highway led to Old Bannack Rd - a very gradual climb that went on and on and on. The distant hills on either side of the valley slowly closed in. The trees became patchy before giving way to grassy ridgelines. On and on I went, only passing the occasional entrance to a ranch. The ranches themselves were mostly hidden in nooks of the valley. Eventually, the ridges on either side came together to form a kind of bowl; the road went up and over. All day, these wide open views had made me realize what a big damn state this was. Cresting the ridge only amplified this feeling. A snowy ridge formed a ring around an enormous valley, some 30 or 40 miles across, with the road snaking it's way down. Buzz Lightyear and the scene from Toy Story popped into my head; there was no sign of intelligent life anywhere. It was hot out, but there was a nice breeze at the top.

I slowly made my way down through the valley. It might've been mostly downhill, but there was still a lot of pedaling to do. A couple more hours, and the road turned out of the valley and followed a creek into a canyon before opening up again. The sun was blazing now and the road quite dusty. A swim would have been nice, but the creek wasn't all that appealing. I came to a highway and turned onto a frontage road. I was pretty much out of water, but I new I had to be close to Lima. As usual, the last few miles before a town seemed to take forever. 

I was disappointed to see the only restaurant had closed, but I saw a few other riders at the gas station. I scrounged around for an early dinner and sat under a small pavilion on the side of the building to escape the sun. This might've been the start of my Peace Tea/Arizona Tea addiction - the easiest way to take down a whole liter and re-hydrate. There was a motel in town, but once again it was too early to stop. Once I was cooled down and hydrated, I pressed on. 

Rolling grassy hills led me to Lima Reservoir and 50 miles of flat roads along the reservoir and other lakes, lined by short snowy peaks. I was riding east now with the sun on my back. My calves were toasted despite putting on sunscreen at least a few times. The wicked sun seemed to hang in the sky; there would be no relief until it went down around 9:30pm. When it finally sunk lower, I started thinking about camping, but on the north side of the reservoir, prairie dogs (or some kind of rodent) could be seen scurrying along every 30ft or so. I didn't like the idea of those things crawling over me all night, so I pressed on until I crossed to the south side. There were no good options here either. I rode on. Shortly after sunset, I spotted a small, flat patch of dirt on the side of the road and stopped to scope it out. A game trail went under a fence right next to it. I checked another spot 30ft away only to find a pile of bones. I rode on. At last light, I came across a trailhead with a grassy flat spot; this would have to do. A melee of bugs swarmed as soon as I stopped. I blew up my sleeping pad, tossed my sleeping bag and bear spray into my bivy, and climbed in as fast as possible. Once settled in, I was asleep in minutes. Tomorrow I would be out of Montana, through Idaho, and into Wyoming.