Day 17 - 121mi
Liam and I woke before dawn and left the bunk room in Salida as quietly as we could. I hadn't resupplied the night before and therefore had no coffee. I wasn't exactly sure where the next resupply would be. Those first five miles were rough, but in Poncha Springs, I spotted a gas station that was open early. I stopped for canned coffee and a Honey Bun, even though I had several already, then continued down the road feeling much better.
Next up was Marshall Pass, another railroad grade climb that was fairly enjoyable. I stopped at the top for a sandwich, then descended into Sargents, stopping at the trading post for yet more food. It would be another 110 miles before I saw civilization again.
The next stretch was fairly uneventful. I rode through a small shower on my way up the climb, then descended into a beautiful valley. Riding along a small reservoir, I spotted several white pelicans. The sun sank as I made my way up the next climb. The light faded as I descended, meanwhile a storm brewed ahead of me. I was hoping to get closer to Del Norte, but the storm had me looking for shelter. Halfway down, I came across Stormking Campground; it was deserted. I scoped out the pit toilet and decided to set up camp under the covered entrance. I ate dinner and watched the storm move in. A brave soul or two passed by on the road, heading into the dark rain and thunder. I did not envy them. I was glad with my decision to stop a little early, knowing I would sleep comfortably.
Day 18 - 119mi
It took longer than I expected to go the next thirty miles to Del Norte. A small 700ft climb didn't help, but I got there in time for second breakfast. Several other riders were in town, moving slow after a long push from Salida and/or riding through the storm, I imagine. I ate and recharged electronics at a small diner then restocked food at a small natural/organic grocery (all I could find). I then headed out of town and up Indiana Pass, the highest point on route at 11910ft. It was 173 miles to Abiquiu, NM with only limited and unreliable resupply in between.
I had my GPS set up to show the elevation profile of the next 1.5 miles at the bottom of the map page. It even color codes the gradients: green I can stay seated, yellow means standing and moderate effort, orange is hard but usually ok in small doses, red means get off and walk. I knew this would be a long climb, but I didn't realize how difficult it would be. The GPS showed almost solid orange. It was just slightly too steep to be rideable; I probably walked six to eight miles out of eleven climbing 3000ft. (That's not even the whole climb, just the steep part.) It took hours. It had been misty on the way up and was chilly at the top. Unfortunately, it was not all downhill from here. I descended half a mile through mud, then more climbing and more mud, then rolling terrain and more mud. Finally, the descent came. I flew past Aaron picking his way through the rocks. With 2.6in tires, it was rare that I had to hold back on a descent.
Another small climb and more descending led to Platoro where there were several lodges and campgrounds. I rode through looking for a restaurant or general store. One had just closed, another had been closed for a while. A couple riders had reservations at one of the lodges that featured Airstream trailers that were more cabin than trailer. I pressed on to get in some easy miles; there were several campgrounds coming up. I made it to the furthest one as it was getting dark, but I didn't feel like paying $20 when I would be gone by sunrise.
Riding on meant climbing the next pass - a relatively small, five mile climb. My knees didn't want that, but I rode anyways. At one point, my right knee started popping with every pedal stroke. I knew I was asking too much, but options for stopping were non-existent. Ten miles later, I reached the next turn where there was a gravel lot next to a public coral. This spot was very exposed, but I was out of options. It was a clear night, I just hoped it would stay that way.
Day 19 - 91mi
It did not. At some ungodly hour, the bottom fell out. I battened down the hatches of my bivy while buckets of water came down and slept as best I could. The next time I awoke, there was some light in the sky, but it was still raining lightly. I went back to sleep. I awoke again after sunrise. It was overcast, but the rain had stopped. Everything was drenched.
I packed up, wringing things out and trying not to get stuff muddier than it already was. I still had about 90 miles to Abiquiu. A few miles down the road, I crossed into New Mexico. The last state. Practically the home stretch. I was excited, but little did I know the next 30 miles would be the slowest, if not the hardest, of the whole route. I walked a good bit of the next climb; I'm not sure if it was actually that hard or if I was just exhausted. When it leveled out, I hit stretches of peanut butter mud.
When the road became rideable again, I saw a pack of dogs up ahead. A moment later I saw sheep and a man leading a horse - an actual shepherd. The dogs were friendly and so was the man, though he knew about as many English words as I knew Spanish (only a handful). Nevertheless, we stopped to talk for a minute. Mucha lluvia anoche. Yup.
After a few hours of hiking, cussing, and rest breaks, I made it to a road and a campground. I had intended on filling up water here, but the three spigots I checked were either shut off or broken. A little disappointing, but I had plenty to get 20 miles to Vallecitos, where there was a river and maybe a community center.
At some point, I came across a fifth-wheel that had slid off the road. A family was sitting on the shady side waiting on a tow truck. They asked if I needed anything. I could've used water and food, but I declined.
I stopped at the Vallecitos River and filled my water filter bag. I still had some water, but this would be my backup - I hadn't needed to use my filter since Canada. A couple blocks later, I saw the sign for the community center/library and found a working spigot right out front. I dumped the river water and topped off for the 30 miles left to Abiquiu.
It was getting late, my only food was half a can of Pringles. I was racing to get to Abiquiu while something was still open. Otherwise, I was going to have a very sad dinner. The descent to El Rito was a blast. I was absolutely flying, hitting the apex of every turn on the smooth dirt road. I hit pavement as darkness closed in. I pedaled as fast as I could, rolling into town at 9:45pm. Everything was closed except the Family Dollar which was open for another fifteen minutes.
I bought more food than I could carry - a box of pop-tarts, a pack of precooked sausages and buns, drinks, and icecream. I ate the icecream while I figured out where I was going to sleep. The only hotel was exorbitant, so I settled on a small trailhead half a mile back. A couple of cars were parked there. I thought they had the same idea, but they soon left. I draped my sleeping bag over a tree branch, hoping it would dry out while I ate a (quite satisfying) dinner of cold sausage dogs. I was in the desert now.
Day 20 - 81.5mi
I met up with several riders at the local gas station where I got two hefty breakfast burritos and restocked for the short, 75 mile stretch to Cuba. We commiserated over the difficulty of the previous day; nobody had enjoyed that. Up next was perhaps the longest climb on route - 4500ft over 30 miles. I wasn't exactly anxious to get going. I took my time with the hearty breakfast while I scraped some dried mud off my bike and made sure everything was good to go.
The climb turned out to be relatively easy; it was all rideable anyways. A good stretch of it was a bit technical but well suited for the single speed. It was a nice change of pace. I hit some rolling terrain for a while, dodging a storm or two, then finally a fast descent to Cuba.
I met up with some other riders at the McDonald's. I would usually pass on fast food, but I couldn't turn down cheap calories. It was early still, but I was getting pretty desperate for a shower and laundry. Plus the last two days had been rough; I figured it was ok for today to be an easy one. Liam and I split a room. I took my bike to a car wash, rinsed my clothes in the shower (the motel didn't have laundry), and restocked for the next day. I also took the time to sew a velcro strap back onto my top tube bag with the needle and floss from my repair kit. The strap had started to rip the first day in Colorado and the bag had been flopping around ever since.
Talking with Liam was a bit funny. He's from the UK, where I've since learned that all of the road signs are in miles and yet cyclists use kilometers. Talking about the route, we both kept converting distances, almost like a different language.
Day 21 - 158.5mi
The stretch to Grants was 117 miles of pavement; this was news to me. I study distance and elevation before races, but surfaces not so much. I find most maps to be pretty unreliable for determining what's paved and what isn't, and satellite maps are too tedious. Plus, you don't want to know everything about the route before you ride it.
We left before sunrise, Liam would be a lot faster with his geared bike. The forecast called for northwest winds; the route headed generally west for 50 miles before turning south again. The wind was calm to start but would pick up as the day went on. I didn't waste any time on the first section; only a brief stop at a gas station.
I made it to the turn without too much difficulty, then had a tail wind for the next 60 miles. By the time I made it to Grants, it was blazing hot, and my butt hurt from sitting all day. Normally I get some variety between standing-pedaling and walking, but I can't stand and pedal on flat/easy gradients.
I rode through town looking for somewhere to escape the heat. It was July 4th and a lot of places were closed. I was craving pizza and went to two places that were closed before backtracking to Pizza Hut. I chugged a few glasses of Coke and charged electronics while I waited on the pizza.
I felt pretty good leaving the Pizza Hut, but 5 miles down the road, I was dying again. The heat was wicked. I stopped at a gas station for more fluids and a final resupply before heading towards Pie Town and the Gila National Forest. The route followed more paved roads. I was grateful when the sun started setting, but my butt was in serious pain. I had to be very careful going from standing back to seated. I found a trailhead to camp at as it was getting dark. My legs could've kept going but my rear was done.
Day 22 - 135mi
A few miles after leaving the trailhead, I finally turned off of the pavement, back onto dirt. It was about 30 miles to Pie Town. My chain was so loose it fell off three times in this stretch. While I was riding, I tried to think of various make-shift tools to try to turn my bottom bracket and tighten the chain. I came up with a few ideas to try once I got to Pie Town.
I met up with a few other riders at The Gatherin Place where I got pancakes, eggs, and bacon for second breakfast, and the obligatory pie and ice cream for dessert. I tried all of my ideas to tighten my chain, with no luck. Finally, I asked the restaurant owner if he had a pipe wrench I could borrow. He found some large channel locks that did the trick - leaving a few scratches but an absolute lifesaver. I was concerned about the chain being worn out and breaking, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I then geared up for the 175 mile stretch to Silver City - the longest stretch between resupply of the whole route. There were a few potential water sources along the way, but nothing I was willing to count on. I left Pie Town at full capacity: 6.5+ liters. It was a heavy load, but I wasn't taking any risks.
I made my way into the Gila. It was warm out, but nothing like the previous day. "Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet." echoed through my head. I had been listening to Dune on audiobook the last few days. This was certainly an arid landscape, but not what I would call desert. Still, the book seemed appropriate. In the book, they have "stillsuits" that recycle urine and body moisture, so that a person only loses a thimbleful a day. And here I was just peeing out 20 ounces at a time. So wasteful.
The day dragged on. Gravel, gravel, and more gravel roads winding through mildly interesting landscapes. It was strange, here I was nearing the end of this 'big thing', the Tour Divide, and I'm just bored and ready to be done. At one point I stopped and played Sudoku on my phone just for some mental stimulation (while eating a snack and airing out my feet). Pushing on through difficult terrain or crappy weather is easy, because eventually things will change. Boredom is indefinite, or at least it felt that way.
One hundred miles after leaving Pie Town, I arrived at Beaverhead Ranger Station where I found a pit toilet and water spigot. I stopped to eat dinner. At the rate I was going, I had enough water to get to Silver City, but I got some extra just in case. I didn't see anything prohibiting camping here, but I decided to go another half mile down the road. I found a nice piney area next to the road and set up camp.
Day 23 - ~108mi
I woke up well rested before sunrise, knowing this would likely be my last full day on route. Shortly into the next climb, I stopped to shed layers and came upon four other riders. It was strange for the five of us to come together at the top of a random hill out in the middle of nowhere. I squat down to adjust something on my bike and heard a POP. I looked down to see one of my shoe laces had broken. With only 200 miles to go, I wasn't too concerned about it. I just wrapped some duct tape around my shoe.
I was expecting the 75 miles to Silver City to be similar to the previous 100 miles from Pie Town, but the terrain became harder and my pace slowed. The road had some short punchy climbs, then the route turned onto another section of the CDT. This singletrack was better than the last, but it was still difficult and slow going. It was a kick in the pants after such a long section with no resupply.
It was blazing hot out again. Shortly into this stretch of singletrack, my GPS died. I plugged it into my power bank; it charged for a couple minutes then shut off. I fiddled with it a few more times, before concluding that it was just too hot to charge. Some sort of thermal overload protection was kicking in. I could navigate with my phone but that was inefficient, so I tried to stay close to Liam and Aaron to avoid that. But mostly, I just used my phone as we all rode at different paces.
I had expected to get to Silver City in the early afternoon, but it was approaching dinner time when I rolled in. I raced to get to the bike shop before they closed to get my chain replaced. I only had 140 miles to go, but I did not trust it. I opted to let the shop mechanic replace it while I rested, looked for places to eat, and tried to charge my GPS. Eccentric bottom brackets are tricky and I probably could've done it faster, but eventually I got rolling again. He also confirmed one of the bearings was going out, but it would get me to the end.
I rode to the brewery down the street where I got a burger and beer. I contemplated dessert but decided to just get something at a gas station on my way out of town. The sun was getting low, but it was still unbearably hot. I got an ice cream cookie sandwich at the gas station, then convinced myself to go back in and get another (along with more fluids).
With my GPS working again, I followed some singletrack out of town before gravel roads led me into the desert. On rolling hills, I watched the sunset one last time over the wide open landscape. There were no great camping spots; I'm pretty sure it's all private land. I wanted to be a little bit stealthy, so I rode into the night. When it was fully dark and I felt like I was sufficiently in the middle of nowhere, I found a small drainage offshoot to camp in.
The stars were incredible. I chugged a Peace Tea to re-hydrate before crawling into my sleeping bag. It was pleasantly cool now and there were no bugs to speak of. This last night was the only time I got to do any good star gazing. This is what Tour Divide dreams are made of. It's ironic that every other night had been too buggy or cloudy or I was indoors or under shelter. But this night was perfect. This was it. Tomorrow I would reach Mexico and the finish. I imagined that I wasn't looking up into space, I was looking out. I thought of the enormity of what I'd just done while trying to comprehend that these pinpricks of light in front of me are raging, fiery balls of fusion. Twenty-seven hundred miles is a long damn way; stars are impossibly distant. Pretty soon this would all feel like a dream; another grain in the sands of time.
Day 24 - 106.4mi
I woke before sunrise, eager to get to the Mexico border. In hindsight, I should've ridden through the night to avoid the heat; I didn't realize just how bad it would be. I had a little over a hundred miles to go, but it should be a piece of cake (mostly flat).
Riding before sunrise, I glanced down at Lucy's collar clipped around my handlebars. I had put it there after she passed away back in March and had left it on for the Divide. I had thought about her several times along the route, imagined her running beside me. My eyes got a little watery every time. The only reason I was here was because she wasn't. She'd been pretty sick, and I wouldn't have left her for such a long time.
The heat came on quick and strong. A tarantula scurried across the road. I stopped at Bowlin's Continental Divide Trading Post. They had tons of knick-knacks, hardly any food. Disappointing. I kept on towards Hachita; the road was painfully flat. I stopped to slap a Rat Bastard Brewing sticker on the sign for the last Continental Divide crossing. In Hachita, I stopped to eat a little and escape the heat for a few minutes.
Fifty miles to go. Another section of the CDT had been added to this stretch. I suppose it wasn't too bad, but it wasn't exactly fun. The sun was wicked and eventually the trail just disappeared. Route finding consisted of going from one trail marker to the next, carefully avoiding the ferocious plant life. Eventually, the trail popped out onto a highway. Thirty miles to go. Scorching hot, but a slight tailwind. Ten miles to go. I was dying. I stopped to crouch under a small bush and mix up some electrolytes. The wind died. My water was 110 degrees. I chugged the drink mix, which only made me hotter. I wanted to vomit and pass out. What a shame it would be to have to hit the SOS button 10 miles from the finish. I had to keep moving. I couldn't ride too fast for fear of overheating, and I couldn't stop for fear of overheating. I cruised along at minimal effort, just fast enough to get a breeze.
I watched dirt devils race though the flat valleys between the low desert mountains. And then I saw it. The Antelope Well's Border Station. As I rolled up to the sign, a small cloud blocked the sun. I sat in front of it, drank a hot Coke, and ate a sandwich while a handful of cars crossed the border before it closed down for the night at 4pm. After the guard closed the gate, I moved to the other side of the road. The wind was ripping, it was like being in a convection oven. I leaned my bike up against a fence and stretched my rain jacket across the saddle and handlebars to create some shade. With my task complete, I laid down to die.
Epilogue
Though there was no more riding to be done, death did not come. Not that I could've ridden anymore in that heat. I had less than a pint of water left and that was near boiling. I was planning to be picked up by Jeff - a guy that runs a small business picking up and dropping off Divide riders and CDT hikers. He had said he would pick me up but his texts weren't the most reassuring. I had aimed to have enough water to ride back to Hachita, worst case, but that didn't pan out. I was stuck. I contemplated my options. I could ride back under cover of darkness. Or sleep here and hitch a ride in the morning. There were other riders not far behind, hopefully they had an exit plan that didn't involve more riding.
Eventually, two other riders showed up, then Jeff shortly after that. We waited on a fourth guy to finish, then piled in Jeff's Volvo and drove back to Hachita. Less than 24 hours later, my bike was in a box, and I was on a plane headed home.
Afterword
The question everyone asks is, 'Would you do it again?' Maybe. Historically, I only did TNGA every three years, so maybe in five to ten years, I'll be up for it again. A big part of that is I don't want to train for it, but also it's just really long and gets a bit boring after a while. I can't imagine doing something like a thru-hike that takes months. There are other routes I might do though - Arizona Trail, Colorado Trail, Hope 1000 (Switzerland). Overall, I think 300-400 mile routes are more fun; that's where I can really push my limits, compared to the Divide where my pace had to be sustainable. A long weekend of suffering is plenty for me. A sub-48hr TNGA would be pretty epic.
My riding has been slacking since the Divide. In a way, I feel like I've accomplished the biggest goal there is. I'm not interested in anything longer than that and smaller goals no longer seem like a challenge. There's always the challenge of going faster, but as I discovered on the Divide, my joints would not hold up to that. There is a concern that I took ten years off my knees doing this, but they seem to be back to normal now. Maybe with more, fully loaded training I would adapt. I did lots of long rides and several semi-loaded rides to train for this, but fully loaded isn't just slower, it's a whole different beast. A lighter rig would be faster/easier, but I don't see a reasonable way to cut a significant amount of weight. Unless I ditch the sleep kit, which some people do, but that sounds awful.
Finally, you can't replace a dog, but there are plenty that need a good home. A listing on Pet Finder had caught my eye before the Divide - a shy, five year old pup who had been in a shelter for a long time. If he was still available when I got home, I would have to go meet him. And that's just what I did.
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| Charley |
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| Big fan of snow |
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| Lucy going to the Lungbuster race in Ridgeland, MS - 2012 |
1 comment:
You are so amazing! I cannot express how proud and in awe of you that I am! I am so amazed that you are MY son! 🥰
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