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
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
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.
Day 8
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.
