Tour Divide '24 Part 2

Day 9

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once again, I had to resuppy 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

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

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

 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

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

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

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

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

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.

Divide Ramblings

It takes a little bit of crazy to race 350 miles across Georgia; it takes a good bit more to race 2700 along the Continental Divide. And yet, there is another level still: the people who seem to enjoy these things. I know I'm still somewhat sane because I can admit that bikepacking sucks a lot of the time - when you're tired, hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, and pushing a 50lb bike uphill still a long way from resupply or proper rest - it's not fun. But covering large distances day after day under your own power is kind of awesome. 

It's funny how much food can play with your emotions. In everyday life, you might get 'hangry' if you don't eat for a while, but when bikepacking, that little bit of irritability quickly turns to frustration, self-doubt, and general negativity, at least for me. I start to question my motivations to keep going, sometimes not even realizing I'm just hungry. But as long as I remain reasonably fed and watered, however, I can usually enter a kind of Zen state where the miles tick by and I accept equally the challenges and rewards as they come.

In the last couple of weeks, when I got to thinking too much about The Divide, my stomach would do a little summersault. I would then seek out that Zen state - I know I've prepared as much as I reasonably could. Training has been successful. Gear is ready to go (although, the tinkering never ends). The last big hurdle is the psychological one. I don't know how to mentally prepare for something of this magnitude. The idea of a 2700 mile ride is much too wide and spiky to fit between my ears. My motivation to complete such a task is questionable. But sitting here in the Canadian Rockies is incredible. The mountains alone are enough inspiration to start. 

Vista: Choose Your Own Adventure Edition

 "Now, I don't mind a bit of a breeze, if anything I prefer it, but thon was aggressive. So I says to myself, 'Colm, this is no day for a do.'"

     - Uncle Colm, Derry Girls

Should've listened to Colm, this was no day for a do. I'd been watching the weather forecast all week, it was looking pretty wet Wednesday evening into Thursday morning. But it was only when the storms approached Nashville, that I knew I should wait this one out - tornado watches/warnings, flash flooding, hail, damaging winds. And this wasn't isolated thunderstorms but a massive cold front rolling across the state. I didn't want to camp in that, much less ride through it. It looked like the rain would stop by noon on Thursday, so I decided to just drive over in the morning and get a later start. A few riders started in the thick of it, several more waited for the worst of it to pass but would still be riding for hours in heavy rain. I don't mind a bit of rain, especially in the middle of a ride there's not much you can do, but it was an easy decision for me to wait out a torrential downpour when the rest of the weekend looked beautiful.

I was hoping to be riding by noon, but when I got to Fireside Outpost, it seemed that a few creek crossings around mile 40 were impassable due to the rain. So I ate lunch and waited to see what other riders did while weighing my options: I could ride a shorter, completely different route - a little disappointing after all that prep and planning. I could wait until Friday morning - sitting around all afternoon with nothing to do. I could ride the route backwards - completely derailing my resupply plan. Eventually, a few riders found a detour and at least one made it across. I decided to just go for it. It would be another 4 hours until I got there, maybe the water would be a bit lower.

I loaded my bike and started riding at 2:30pm. For the first hour, the trail had turned into a creek. With the big creek crossings coming later, there was no point in trying to stay dry now. I got completely soaked and muddy from the chest down. But an hour and fifteen minutes in, I hit dry gravel. Another fifteen minutes and I was noticeably dryer. I cruised on, keeping the pace high but sustainable, and more importantly just kept moving. 

Around 6:30pm I got to the creek crossings; they looked deep but passable. I lifted my bike onto my shoulders and started wading in. I was told to go right on the first one to avoid rocks on the left. When the water got to my waist, I got a little nervous. When it got to my belly button, I thought, 'Oh shit! I don't know if I can do this.' I wasn't even in the deepest part. I shuffled back a little, still waist deep, then shuffled left and felt a large rock against my thigh. 'What the hell is that rock doing there?' I put a foot on top of it. It was wide. I stood up on it and realized that was the road. I had gone too far right, and now the water was only knee deep. With renewed confidence, I shuffled forward again, making sure to have solid footing before moving the other one. The water got up to my waist again, but I could tell that was the deepest part. I continued on across. That wasn't so bad. At least my shorts were clean now. One down. Two to go. The next two were wider but not quite as deep. I stayed in what seemed like the middle of the road, using the same strategy of bike on shoulders and shuffling feet. I was excited to have made it across with relative ease, and now there were only a few more miles to the first resupply in Tellico Plains. 

After Tellico, it would be another 130 miles to the next food stop. (There are a few places in between, but they would probably be closed when I went by.) Rather than trying to add up calories, I just figured I would need a snack every 10 miles or so. I finally got brave enough to leave the granola and Clif bars at home this time, knowing they become unappealing after the first few hours of riding. I opted for Snickers and Honey Buns. Turns out I can get tired of those too, but at least Honey Buns go down easily - 230 calories and hardly feels like you ate anything (which can be a good thing). After loading up on junk food and water and chugging a Gatorade at a gas station, I headed up the road for a burger at Tellico Beach Drive In. I stopped just long enough to wolf that down and change into dry socks. It was pretty much dark at this point, but I felt ready for several more hours.

The burger kept me going for quite a while, up and down the hills. I knew I was missing a lot of good scenery in the dark. The roar of the river could be deafening and at times would echo against the rock face on the opposite side of the road making it sound like I was in the middle of it. At one point, away from the river, the frogs were almost just as loud. I came across Kyle, attempting to sleep in the road, not having much luck. He convinced me to try to make it to Indian Boundary to sleep under the pavilion in the day use area. It was after midnight, and I was getting pretty sleepy. The late start meant that my legs were relatively fresh, so I kept going. I had picked up a Red Bull from the gas station earlier for this situation, but I was scared to drink it. My brain wanted sleep, not caffeine. I was afraid if I drank it, I would still want sleep but not be able to. A little before 2am, I found a turn-out on the road and decided to just sleep there. I laid out my bivy and immediately had bugs crawling over it. I shook them off, crawled in, and zipped up the bug netting as quick as I could. I was asleep in minutes.

An hour and a half later, I awoke to a large creature running off into the woods. I don't know for sure, but it sounded like a hog. I laid there for another 15 minutes wanting to fall back asleep but listening intently. It didn't sound like it had went very far. I didn't hear anything else, but I was too alert now. I cracked open the Red Bull, packed up, and hit the road. Five minutes later, I was rolling through Indian Boundary Campground. I continued on to the day use area, planning to refill water there, only to find the bathrooms locked and the water spigot shut off. Bummer. I had less than a liter but didn't want to double back to the campground (which may have also been shut off). I felt well hydrated. It was dark and cool out, and all I really had to do was make it to the top of the Skyway (just the biggest climb on route). After that it would be an easy descent to the game check station where I knew I could refill. It was a little risky, but I went for it.

The climb up the Skyway was long but seemed easier than last time. I didn't see a single car the whole way up. Sunrise approached as I neared the top. Descending would be much easier and faster in the daylight. I rationed my water a little bit, and it was just enough. I filled my 3 liter bladder all the way at the game check station, knowing it was another 60 miles to Copper Hill. About 20 miles later, I came across Jason and Chris. We rode together to the top of Buck Bald and would leap frog one another for the next 40 miles or so. The ridge road/trail before Harbuck had several trees down. I thought these were bad. In hindsight, they were nothing. It was around noon, and I was getting a little sleepy. I thought I might have to stop for a nap, but the chunky gravel descent into Harbuck woke me up. I rolled up to Vic's convenience store, craving some real food and a Gatorade, only to find it closed due to a family emergency. Bummer. 

It was another 14 miles to Copper Hill where I stopped at Kenny's Pizza and Subs for a chicken parm sub and a root beer. Total gut bomb but it hit the spot. While I was waiting for the sub, I checked Trackleaders for the first time since starting. I had expected to catch some people at some point during the ride, and I had only seen 3 other riders so far. So I was quite surprised to see I had caught and passed everybody at this point. I still felt good, basically normal - something I can't explain, considering I was 180 miles in and barely slept last night. In my day to day life, anything less than 7.5 hours of sleep and I'm groggy the next day, but something switches when I'm racing. My goal for this race was anything under 48 hours, close to 40 would be awesome. I was 24 hours in with 135 miles to go. The only question was would I need to sleep again. Little did I know, the next 9 hours would break me, along with all my hopes and dreams.

I restocked at a gas station for the next 55 miles and rolled on to Brush Creek trail which was in great shape although a little rough with the rigid fork. The trail to the Ocoee Whitewater Center was flooded as usual and had several trees down, but I got through them quickly enough. Then it was across the river to the Thunder Rock trail system. This is where things got ugly. After a somewhat steep climb up the hill, it was blowdown after blowdown. Like, don't bother getting back on your bike because there's more trees down around the next corner. One in particular was especially awful - a 100+ foot tree lying along the trail on a steep hillside. I left my bike and climbed up the hill to scout for a way through. I then hauled my bike up the hill over the first part of the tree, then down into the middle of it, under branches, over the trunk, sticks wedging their way into my spokes the entire time, pedals hooking onto smaller branches, banging my shins against everything. I stopped to take pictures of this ridiculousness. I said this one was particularly bad, but the other blowdowns were much the same just to a lesser degree. I'm lucky I didn't break a spoke or rip a brake hose or impale myself on a snapped off branch.

Four hours after leaving Copper Hill, I made it 22 miles to Thunder Rock. I was grateful to be back on gravel roads; blowdowns on gravel are way easier to navigate than those on singletrack. It was about 7pm. I really wanted to get through the Sylco trail before dark, but that seemed increasingly unlikely. In the 5 mile stretch before Sylco, as the sun got lower, I saw a whopping 10 bears! 6 cubs, 3 mommas, and 1 by himself. Right before I entered this unmaintained backcountry trail that's hard to follow in the daylight, and it's now 8:30pm - sunset. I was kind of terrified. I didn't want to do this trail in the dark, but no way was I camping anywhere in a 20 mile radius of this place. 

Shortly into Sylco, I encountered the first set of blowdowns - 3 massive trees across the trail but spread apart. I cut 100ft off the trail, then over the trunks, then cut back towards the trail. After bushwacking for 10 or 15 minutes, I couldn't find the trail. My GPS said I was right next to it, but I couldn't see it. I laid my bike down with the headlight on, took my backup light and started scouting around only to find the trail literally 10ft away. I was much more careful navigating blowdowns after that. I would leave my bike on the trail, headlight pointing in the direction I needed to go, then went scouting with my backup light, making sure to find the trail on the other side before going back for the bike. This went on and on. The sections of trail that weren't covered in trees were hardly rideable. On the bright side, I was making enough racket to scare off any bears. Two and a half hours later, I had made it 3.8 miles to the next gravel road, and somehow I was still in one piece and had a functioning bike. But it was frustrating beyond belief. I was done. Any time goals were out the window. I didn't even care if I finished. I just wanted to be back in civilization, and I wanted to sleep.

I stopped outside the Ocoee Dam Deli at midnight - it was closed of course - but there was a steady stream of traffic on the road. I ate a snack and thought about taking a nap until a car looped through the parking lot like they were checking me out. Maybe this wasn't the best place. When I started riding again, I was shivering violently. It was probably 40-something degrees out, I was sleep deprived, exhausted, and a little under-dressed even with my light rain jacket on. I warmed up on the next decent sized hill though. Gravel and trails will keep me awake, but riding on the road, I got sleepy quick. I was in a bit of a pickle here: if I stopped to sleep, I might freeze; if I didn't I might fall asleep while riding. The former seemed much more certain than the latter, so I kept going.

In Benton, the next town over, I found a 24hr gas station where I got some hot chocolate and a Honey Bun. I sat on the courthouse steps across the street and contemplated my next move. I wanted a shortcut back to the start - back to a warm shower, tent, and sleeping bag. But there wasn't one. So I decided to keep following the route to Needle Eye Outpost and attempt to sleep in my bivy until sunrise. I got there at about 2:30am and was probably sleeping by 3am. 

I woke up feeling reasonably well rested for 4.5 hours of sleep and took my time getting packed up, letting my GPS charge. I watched humming birds buzz through the wild flowers and waved to the Mennonite as they went to the market in their horse-drawn buggies. I didn't feel like quitting completely, but I couldn't handle any more bushwacking. I rolled on to the Hiwassee Convenience Mart to restock for the last 65 miles only to find a 'For Sale' sign on the door. I crossed the street to Steelwheel Diner instead and ordered the biggest breakfast they had - 3 eggs, sausage, bacon, hashbrowns, toast, and two massive pancakes - each an inch thick and 8 inches diameter. One of those was equivalent to about 3 regular pancakes. I ate all but one of the pancakes. 

After several miles of pavement, I walked up 'The Wall' and entered the Chilhowee State Park singletrack. It started off just as bad as the day before - tree after tree after massive tree across and along the trail. I decided to take a 'choose your own adventure' approach and said to hell with the singletrack. I cut over to the campground as soon as I could, cutting out about 6 miles of trail. It wasn't an easy decision. The rest of the trail could have been perfectly fine, or it could be hell. I couldn't know until I was in the middle of it, but I was betting on the latter. Finding out wasn't worth getting beat up, slapped, and poked. 

I considered completely bailing out after that, but I remembered enjoying the last big climb and descent so I rolled on. There were several trees down near the top, but they were easy enough to get around. With the amount of debris in the road, I didn't even bother looking at the Smith Mountain trail descent, opting for a gravel detour instead. The rest of the way was peaceful and uneventful. I ended up with 316 miles (same as the official route) despite my shortcut and detour. Total time: 52:30. Bears: 11. Hogs: 4 (sighted, more heard).

Conclusion

Overall, I feel pretty good about this ride. I was beating my previous time by several hours until the blowdowns slowed me down. It helped that my bike loaded with food, water, bivy, rain jacket, minimal electronics and repair kit only weighed 35lbs. I feel ready for the Tour Divide now - at least I don't think fitness will hold me back. It'll be the little things like staying dry, keeping electronics charged, etc. My feet were wet pretty much the entire time on this ride. Not only do things not dry out overnight, things that were dry will be soaked with dew and humidity. That should be less of a problem out west. I could've used some dry underwear, another pair of socks, and a sleeping pad. The rigid fork felt like a jack hammer at times, more so than my old bike probably due to stiffer frame and wheels. Fork choice is still up for debate for the Divide. Such a late start time means little chance of getting through Sylco before dark - I won't do that again. And next time the storm of the year rolls through the morning of the race, I'll just stay home.