The Great Divide - A Hard Start

It's been a hard day's night

And I've been working like a dog

It's been a hard day's night

I should be sleeping like a log

Hard Day's Night, John Lennon & Paul McCartney (1964)

Crawling up the final pitch of Fleecer Ridge on Day 11, I gather myself in a lonely spot of shade.
I'd like to say this picture was staged. (photo by Paul Brasby)

Our first 11 days on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route fly by in a blur of cool back roads, stunning scenery, and interesting people. So many stories. So many memories. And so hard.

We ride over 560 miles and climb almost 44,000 feet of elevation, which averages about 50 miles and 4,000 feet of gain per day. But that's just the start of the story. The varying road surfaces affect our effort as much as the distance, steepness of the grade, or length of the climb. And, of course, there's always the weather and the Montana forest fires. One day may sound harder on paper than it was, while another may have been much harder than it sounds.

The result? From our first pedal stroke in the morning to our dismount for the night, we work hard over 10 hours every day to cover those miles up and down the Montana mountains. There are no easy days on the Great Divide.

 

Climbing the Whitefish Divide in the haze of Montana forest fires.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Dropping down the Whitefish Divide toward Glacier National Park.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

It's almost always up or down. We climb many passes and cross the Continental Divide many times. Nothing comes easy. Sometimes, the downhill is actually more challenging than the climb.

Here's a tough one. Not feeling great on the morning of Day 9, I try to eat a solid breakfast, but lose everything by throwing up twice at the restaurant. So, I start with an empty tank and eat what I can on the fly while climbing most all day in the heat. This works ok until the final 4 miles up Lava Mountain, which are sprinkled with steep, loose pitches littered with rocks. We ride some, but much is heft-a-bike. That is, I bench press my bike, take a step or two, and repeat. Then the first 2 miles down are worse, actually requiring some hike-a-bike downhill. In all, we expend almost 3 hours of hard work on those 6 miles atop Lava Mountain. 

For what it's worth, that infamous Lava Mountain stretch has degraded so much over time that the Adventure Cycling Association recently removed it from the route. So, we are among the last Great Divide riders to actually complete it.

Paul picks his way up a pitch on Lava Mountain.

Hacking our way down Fleecer Ridge.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

But Lava Mountain is not the most infamous descent on the Great Divide. That would be Fleecer Ridge, which reportedly drops 38% for a mile. As if that's not enough, it's a bit of a haul to even get there. We climb well over 5,000 feet just to reach it in the heat of mid-afternoon.

Like the Ovando Jail and Lost Llama Ranch for me, Fleecer Ridge is a must-experience for Paul, who is jazzed at the top as he peers over the edge. It looks like nothing but trouble to me. All I know is that I work a full hour to walk/stumble/slide down that mile, fighting to keep my bike from tumbling down over top of me and stopping as often as I can to keep my knees from exploding. I am relieved to reach the bottom with both bike and body still functioning.

Two track climb to a distant pass.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

More nice two track.

Those 11 days extract a high cost in tired legs, aching knees, and sore bottoms as we adapt to the daily demands of pedaling a 70+ pound bike up and down these rough roads. Every day presents difficult challenges, some lasting a few minutes, while others go on for hours. And for the last 2 hours or more, of every single day, I just want to stop and get off the bike.

The 11th day ends with the descent off Fleecer Ridge and then down tight Jerry Creek Road to the town of Wise River. Thanks to good intel from some young North Bound riders Paul names Boyz-To-Men, we learn to ask to stay in the Big Hole Community Church. We're grateful for the shower, kitchen, and indoor sleeping quarters while traveling through grizzly country with active forest fires.

Eyes up for obstacles on the narrow road.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Now that's a steep pitch, if Paul's pushing.

On the morning of Day 12, I wake up dog tired, more so than any other. On this morning, I have little more to give, physically, mentally, or emotionally. I need a break and should call for a Zero Day. Instead, I suit up to let the ride decide.

From the start, my legs feel dead. My journal says it directly, "Tired when woke up. With first pedal, my legs felt like I'd been pedaling 4-5 hours already." That's not good. Today we start with a steady 30 mile climb of over 2,500 feet up the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway. No, that's not steep, but it's a long climb on dead legs on Day 12.

There's always another climb around another turn for another view.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

In a recurring scene, Paul looks back for me from atop a climb.

Slugging my way up that long climb, I stop numerous times. This is not working. Hours pass. Finally, I pull out a map to formulate an end game to this day. I'm not going to continue all afternoon thinking only about how I just want to be off the bike. I'm not going to ride this way any more.

There it is. Just four miles ahead lies Elk Horn Hot Springs Lodge. Even though it's early afternoon and that puts us only 34 miles into the day, that's it. I'll ride to that hot springs. That's it.

Another day, another climb, another view.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

This is after a shower, hot springs soak, pizza, huckleberry shake, and 11+ hours of sleep.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

The Elk Horn Hot Springs Lodge has no vacancies, but the manager allows us to pitch our tents by a dilapidated picnic table, take a shower, lounge in the natural hot springs, and eat at the lodge restaurant. Clean and relaxed, I snarf an enormous pizza and a huckleberry shake. At 7 pm, I hit the sack.

I'm out for over 11 hours. Just out. When I finally awaken, I'm recharged. Fully.

More recovery time at night means more energy by day.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Over the course of Day 13, I reach the obvious conclusion that I simply need more sleep than normal to recover from more work than normal. Like a lot more. So, I sleep another 11+ hours that night at the cyclist only camping at the Hanson Livestock Ranch. Again I wake up fully recharged.

The next 5 days we ride over 300 miles to reach Grand Teton National Park. Every day I do what it takes to get 10+ hours of sleep at night. And every morning I feel better than the day before.

I commit to adding a new element to my ride. Sleep at least 10+ hours every night. No matter what.

I stick to that for the rest of my Great Divide ride, all the way to Antelope Wells. It makes for a few late morning starts, but never again do I wake up tired like I did on Day 12. In fact, as the weeks roll by, I gain strength, physically and mentally, and my daily mileage, elevation gain, and riding time continue to increase, even while the roads and conditions deteriorate significantly in New Mexico.

I didn't need to cut back my daily riding time. I only needed to sleep more.

Addendum.  This approach worked well for me, a 63 year old middle-of-the-pack recreational cyclist who managed to ride the entire length of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route self-supported. Many others ride the Great Divide much faster and farther each day, with less recovery time, and almost certainly with better hair. You do you.

Hard Day's Night, The Beatles (1964)

The Great Divide - One Puncture, No Flats

You should've been gone

Knowing how I made you feel

And I should've been gone

After all your words of steel

Oh, Sherrie, holds on, holds on, holds on

Oh, Sherrie, holds on, holds on, holds on

Oh, Sherrie, Steve Perry, Randy Goodrum, Craig Krampf & Bill Cuomo (1984)

Now, that's got to hurt. But the tire holds on another 1,500 miles.
And the Allen wrench holds on another 2,000 miles in a pack.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Many ask me about mechanical problems on my ride of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. How many flat tires? How many broken chains? How many worn out brake pads? Cables? Wheels? Pedals? Bottom bracket? What else?

The answer is one. One mechanical. A rear tire puncture on Day 2 that didn't even cause a flat. That's it.

Paul cruises up Red Meadow Pass early on Day 2 of our Great Divide ride.

From USFS Tuchuck campground atop Whitefish Divide, we start Day 2 cruising toward Glacier National Park just to the east, drop to and spin along the Flathead River valley, and climb back up Red Meadow Divide. We enjoy fast, narrow gravel roads through tall forests that occasionally open for big views both up the mountains and down the valleys. What a way to start the day.

We meet several other cyclists, including Bill, a northbound Great Divide rider on his Day 45, who is full of information and counsel. Here's a gem from him. "Start slow. Everyone wants to get those big 60-80 mile days in. Ride 40-50 miles a day for 10 days to start and let your body decide." That turns out to be very good advice that perhaps we should have followed.

In the morning, the rear tire still has not lost any pressure, but the puncture remains.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

After lunch at idyllic Red Meadow Lake, we soon top the pass and fly 22 miles down hard packed gravel. Twice I stop for pictures. Otherwise, this is 30-40+ mph territory, easy.

Abruptly, gravel turns to pavement. Almost immediately, I hear a metal scraping sound from my rear wheel. It repeats randomly, not rhythmically. What is that?

Nothing appears to be rubbing or dragging. The brake rotor, pads, and levers are fine. Tire pressure is unchanged. Then I spin the rear tire to find a large something had punctured the tire. Between the sealant, dirt, and speed, the puncture sealed without any apparent loss of air pressure. I certainly did not feel any change of handling during that long, fast descent. With no real loss of air pressure, I soft pedal the final few miles to our campsite for the night.

Paul holds the Allen wrench with dried up sealant by the plugged puncture.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Of course, I get distracted at camp with evening activities, such as meeting fellow bikepackers, and neglect the tire that night. In the morning, I'm surprised to find the air pressure unchanged. But I still need to sort this out.

Paul, a master tire plugger, takes a look. To our amazement, he pulls out of the rear tire a rusted 2 mm Allen wrench. Somehow, that long end punctured and completely entered the tire, while the short end stopped the penetration and rested under the tire tread. So, in the fast gravel, I didn't hear or even notice anything. When rolling onto pavement, I then heard the long end of the wrench randomly scraping against the inside of the rim.

Even for Paul, a master tire plugger, this is his first time plugging an Allen wrench puncture.

Paul's plug holds on for almost 1,500 miles supporting a 70+ pound bike bouncing over rough roads. Finally, on Day 34 near Salida, Colorado, the tire develops a slow leak that appears to be around the plug. With little left on the tread anyhow and with rough, prickly New Mexico on the horizon, I decide to just replace the rear tire at Absolute Bikes. Nothing but praise for both the original Bontrager XR2 2.60 tire and Paul's masterful plug!

Other than that one puncture and eventual tire replacement, I had no other mechanicals. That may simply be the result of riding conservatively, choosing and maintaining durable components, or dumb luck. Maybe it's all three. 

 

Oh, Sherrie, Steve Perry (1984)

The Great Divide - Five Acres Of Kindness

You got to try a little kindness 

Yes show a little kindness

Just shine your light for everyone to see

And if you try a little kindness

Then you'll overlook the blindness

Of narrow-minded people on the narrow-minded streets

Try A Little Kindness, Curt Sapaugh & Bobby Austin (1970)

The welcoming entrance to the iconic Lost Llama Ranch on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Sprawled out on the porch couch at the Lost Llama Ranch, I jot a few notes in my journal by the narrow beam of my headlight. It's near midnight, many hours past any reasonable bedtime on this Great Divide ride, but I'm determined to write a bit about today. 

It's a day to remember.

Paul steams out of Ovando toward the heights of Huckleberry Pass.

Fueled by a scrumptious breakfast at the Stray Bullet Cafe and stoked by the friendly Ovando vibe, we briskly roll on hard packed gravel toward the Continental Divide. see The Great Divide - Small Town Stoke. Starting Day 7, we feel comfortably sore and tired. We're not breaking down. We're breaking in.

Like every day, my map reveals a steady, day long dose of up and down. From Ovando, it's about 100 miles over 4 mountain passes to reach Helena, which perhaps is a single day ride for some. Not for me. Even if I thought I could, I would not. The iconic Lost Llama Ranch rests in between.

Paul works his way up Stemple Pass Road.

We cruise along a warmup valley, jazzed by the good vibes behind and anticipated ahead. Hard gravel roads and gentle grades deliver us to the steeper final miles up Huckleberry Pass. But it's early and we feel good, so before long we're coasting down to the town of Lincoln.

After a quick convenience store lunch, we spin up Stemple Pass Road in the heat of mid-afternoon. Once again, the grades steepen significantly as we approach the pass and I frequently stop, just to stop. It's getting late and I'm ready to call it a day.

But, no. More through miscommunication between us than anything else, we take the wrong road and plunge downhill in the wrong direction. By the time we discover our mistake and work our way back on route, we extend an already hard 62 mile day into an even harder 74 miles. So, it's after 8:00 pm when I top a final crest to spot the Lost Llama Ranch in a meadow along a forested valley. What a relief.

John Keller opens the way into the Lost Llama Ranch.

A bit ahead on Marsh Creek Road, Paul rides up to another cyclist. It's Barb Nye herself, the owner of the Lost Llama Ranch, out for an evening ride. Shortly after they roll into the ranch together, I ride up to find John Keller, Barb's partner, who directs me up to their porch.

Barb and John ask everyone riding into the Lost Llama Ranch to first sit down with them on their porch. They offer cold drinks, sandwiches and fruit in a comfortable, shaded place to relax and chat. They genuinely wish to meet each person and hear their story. 

The welcoming porch of the Lost Llama Ranch.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Barb's and John's story is one of hospitality, generosity, and kindness. Barb had been living on the ranch for many years when the Adventure Cycling Association first published the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in 1998. Living right on the route, Barb started seeing Great Divide cyclists ride by. Soon, she was offering water, food, and even her ranch as a place to camp. In about 2005, Barb bought a neighbor's old cabin and moved it onto her property just for cyclists. Over the years, she continued to make it more and more bike packer friendly.

In 2015, John stopped by the Lost Llama Ranch on his Great Divide ride and met Barb. They kept in contact and eventually John moved out there. Together they continue to build this special place for Great Divide cyclists to rest, recover, and share their experience.

Welcoming note on the porch refrigerator at the Lost Llama Ranch.

After a delightful time over cold drinks, John shows us around. There's the original cabin Barb moved onto the property years ago and the nearby bathroom. Next are a line of various small shelters added more recently, each furnished with beds, lights, a way to cook, some food and other things a bikepacker might need. The barn housing their llama and alpacas has power for charging devices and an outdoor shower out back. The surrounding pasture provides plenty of space for those wishing to pitch a tent.

A large van and trailer sit at the end of the pasture, which John identifies as a van-supported guided tour by the Adventure Cycling Association, the group that created the Great Divide route. A number of other bikepackers mill around the shelters and a smattering of tents.  John gathers the group and joyfully announces that, with my arrival tonight, the Lost Llama Ranch now has a new record of 21 bikepackers staying the night. 21 in one night!

A look inside the "Alpaca Inn" hut that I slept in at the Lost Llama Ranch.

John completes his tour with a reminder to everyone to help themselves anytime to the cold drinks, sandwiches, and fruit on the porch. Paul then bee-lines to a spot to set up his camp, attend to his bike, and change clothes, while I soak in the ambiance and meet our fellow bikepackers.

As Paul finishes, I haven't even started with my tent, but it turns out that I don't have to. One of the other bikepackers, Franz from Virginia, decides to sleep in his tent rather than the "Alpaca Inn" shelter and offers it to me. Well, alright! Last night I slept in the historic Ovando Jail and tonight in the Alpaca Inn at the Lost Llama Ranch! Splash Two!

This shelter houses the ranch's llama and alpacas, while out back is the outdoor shower.

The environment created and nurtured by Barb and John is one of hospitality, generosity, and kindness. They welcome everyone, offer provisions and accommodations to rest, and accept no payment or donation. They live a life of service deep in the Montana wilderness.

Barb notes that all they ask is that you pay it forward in kindness. John adds that they think of the Lost Llama Ranch as 5 acres of love and kindness that they hope will spread all over the country and around the world. They are certainly doing their part.

Thank you, Barb and John.

Try A Little Kindness, Glen Campbell (1970)

The Great Divide - Small Town Stoke

No, I cannot forget from where it is that I come from

I cannot forget the people who love me

Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town

And people let me be just what I want to be

Small Town, John Mellencamp (1985)

Stray Bullet Cafe owner, cook & coffee re-filler Colleen starts our morning right in Ovando.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

I spend a night in the Ovando Jail and snag a shirt to commemorate it. But I'll remember most the people who make this a must-stop on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Leigh Ann at the Ovando Inn and Blackfoot Commercial Company, Kathy at the Blackfoot Angler, Colleen at the Stray Bullet Cafe, and Howard at the Ovando Museum. Small town America at its best.

Whatever your mode of travel, stop in Ovando for a treat. Better yet, treat yourself to a night in Ovando.

Dogs outnumber people in Ovando.

While researching the Great Divide route over the past two years, I identify a handful of places where I am determined to stop for some serious time, hopefully for a night. The Ovando Jail, Barb's Lost Llama Ranch, Kirsten's Brush Mountain Lodge, and Nita's Toaster House top my list of must-see places that cater to Great Divide cyclists. I suspect other hostel-like places will pop up over the course of the ride, and they do, but these four in particular I am determined to experience.

First up on the route, and first in my heart, is the Ovando Jail.

Paul turns himself in at the Ovando Hoosegow, an antiquated name for Jail.

Shortly before 6 pm on Day 6, we roll into Ovando, Montana and head straight into the Blackfoot Commercial Company general store. We're just in time, as it's about to close. While resupplying from their well stocked inventory of good stuff, I notice a handwritten note that the Ovando Jail t-shirts are sold out but that the cafe might have some. I ask about that note and Leigh Ann, the owner of the store, says that she hasn't had those t-shirts in awhile but that the cafe will open tomorrow at 7 am.

OK, so no t-shirt, but breakfast is set. What about the Jail itself? Is it available tonight? Before Leigh Ann can answer, a friendly voice behind me chirps, "Nobody's there now, so if you'd like it, you got it!" I turn to face Kathy, who watches over the refurbished town jail that is part of the Ovando Museum and is open for Great Divide cyclists to stay overnight. How's that for timing? She had just closed the Blackfoot Angler shop and happened to stop in the general store. I'm staying in Jail tonight!

Before booking in, we arrange with Leigh Ann to shower, launder and recharge devices at her Ovando Inn. Although it's only been three days since our last shower, that always feels good. We then stash our supplies in bear bins by the Jail and ride up the hill to Trixi's Antler Saloon for a feast of big burgers and fries. We're living large tonight!

One cell sleeps two in comfort and style.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

The Ovando Jail offers two bed frames hanging from the wall by chains. The thick rope webbing is not very comfortable by itself, but when we add an inflatable mattress, it sleeps like a hammock. This small building is solid and secure. No grizzly is breaking in here tonight.

All the town asks for a night's stay in Jail is a free will donation to the Museum and an entry in their journal. I jot a few notes and enjoy reading the earlier entries of many others. This Jail journal itself will likely be part of the Museum some day.

Officer Groseth logs his security rounds.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

After a safe night in Jail, we're ready to roll early, but not before breakfast at the Stray Bullet Cafe right across the street. This is an honest to goodness, authentic small town cafe serving a scrumptious, hearty breakfast and great coffee. Colleen, the owner and cook, brings smiles and good cheer all around as she greets everyone and refills coffee. Colleen's mother and daughter also help out with this family business.

By the way, Colleen says that the cafe's name comes from the building's history in the Old West as a rowdy saloon. Fights often broke out and shots fired. A stray bullet from the late 1800's is still embedded in the building's walls.

Kathy of The Blackfoot Angler also manages the Ovando Jail.

As we're leaving the Stray Bullet Cafe, I mention to Colleen that Leigh Ann at the general store noted that she may have Ovando Jail t-shirts for sale. Colleen says that they haven't had those in years. OK. Thanks.

Abruptly, a now familiar voice from behind pops into the conversation. "I don't have any Jail shirts left in my shop, either. But there may be some in the Museum. I'll call Howard." It's Kathy, again. She's opening the Blackfoot Angler shop right next to the Stray Bullet Cafe when she overhears my question. I tell Kathy not to have this Howard come in for me. With a ready smile, Cathy quips, "The Museum should be open by now. Howard needs to get to work!"

Ovando Museum curator Howard opens up for us.

Within a couple of minutes, Howard pulls up to the Ovando Museum in an ATV.  "No trouble. No trouble at all," he says as he unlocks the front door. "I think I saw some of those shirts back here somewhere a while back."

He steps inside and motions me to follow. While rummaging through an assortment of dusty drawers and stacks of cardboard boxes, Howard describes the history of the building that is now the Museum and points to a variety of objects and photographs. This place is a real treasure. The Museum itself could be in a museum.

Howard found this shirt buried in a file cabinet in the town museum.

Burrowing into the depths of an old cabinet, Howard exclaims, "Ah! What size do you want?"

"Large, if you have it," I say.

"Large is what I have," he replies.

All that for a t-shirt. 

Space is limited and weight is avoided when bikepacking, but I'll gladly carry this t-shirt home. 

Thank you, Leigh Ann, Kathy, Colleen, and Howard for making my time in Ovando memorable.

A final word from the Stray Bullet Cafe in Ovando, Montana.

Gotta love small towns.

Small Town, John Mellencamp (1985)

The Great Divide - Hey, Bear!

Look for the bare necessities

The simple bare necessities

Forget about your worries and your strife

I mean the bare necessities

Old Mother Nature's recipes

That bring the bare necessities of life

The Bare Necessities, Terry Gilkyson (1967)

Many ask if I encountered any grizzly bears during my ride of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. No, I did not face a growling grizzly. In fact, I did not see any bear anywhere. But I sure saw bear habitat, bear bins, warning signs of bear activity, bear scat, and an endless array of bear related souvenirs in most every store throughout all five states. Just no live bears.

Not encountering a fearsome bear doesn't mean that I don't have a grizzly tale to tell.

Fresh grizzly bear scat on the single track through Grizzly Basin.

The most likely day for us to encounter a grizzly bear was Day 6 from our remote campsite beside Clearwater Lake, in the heart of Montana grizzly bear country. That was our first night camping dispersed in a national forest and our first night hanging food and other items in bear bags. We see and hear plenty of wildlife there, but no bears.

The next morning, we hike-a-bike 20 minutes up single track and then ride about 8 miles steadily up a good forest service road. Locals confirm our research that this area supports the highest concentration of grizzly bears in Montana. And just ahead lies the aptly named Grizzly Basin, where wildlife authorities relocate problem bears from other areas. Time to get that Timber Bell dinging.

First bear bag hang on our 2021 GDMBR ride.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

We top a ridge and abruptly turn onto single track. Oh, my. It's about 4 miles of gentle downhill, smooth, flowing single track along the shoulders of Richmond Peak. Steep slopes reach upward right toward a  ridgeline and downward left toward a roaring river. Hugging the narrow path, lush vegetation gives way to towering pine trees framing both sides. The surrounding mountains soar above it all. Wow.

We so want to rip down this stretch, but we also don't want it to end. We ride fast for a bit, stop, look around, take pictures, go slow, stop, go fast again but not for long, stop again, and go a bit slower. The views are simply stunning.

Dropping down sweet single track through Grizzly Basin on the Great Divide.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Then Paul stops again. This time it's not for the big views, but for the big pile of grizzly bear scat plopped down in the middle of the trail. The pile is so big that I veer off the trail to get around it. That gets our attention.

Now, the nearly continuous Timber Bell just doesn't seem enough. We ride on, regularly yelling, "Hey, Bear! Hey, Bear!" and fully expect to see a mammoth grizzly rising up to greet us around every turn. Instead, we get a "Hey, Bear!" right back at us. It's northbound GDMBR rider Michael Himes who is 4 1/2 years into a world-wide cycling tour. He shares some stories for a spell and then quietly pedals on his way.

Paul and I stop to chat with Michael Himes as we pass through Grizzly Basin.

The sight of that grizzly scat did not vanish from our thoughts, however. It couldn't. Over the next mile or so, we saw at least 15 more piles of bear scat right on the trail, a few of which were still steaming. Now, we're on full alert to our immediate surroundings. Hey, Bear! Hey, Bear!

So, what happened here? I conjure an image of one sociable grizzly finding a juicy huckleberry patch, calling all his friends, and throwing a big huckleberry party all night. Staggering home, the bears marked their trail on the only flat ground around. We're just riding through downtown after the parade.

Negotiating a slide area through Grizzly Basin.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Too soon, we pop out of the single track and fly down a hard gravel road toward Seeley Lake. We find no bear scat on this wide, relatively well developed gravel road. With bear spray at hand, we refill water bottles and eat lunch along Blind Canyon Creek. Then we roll another 26 miles on good forest service and county roads to Ovando for the night. 

Of course, we're not out of grizzly country. Not for over 700 more miles. But we're through the steaming bear scat of Grizzly Basin. And that's something.

Enjoy those roadside wild raspberries, Paul.
Just know that you're raiding a grizzly's pantry.

Addendum. Others have encountered bears on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, including two cyclists that I met in Montana. While filtering water from a stream in Montana, John watched a young grizzly eat beef jerky right off his bike before sauntering away. And Ron Kennedy scared off a black bear at night in a campground in southern Colorado. He wrote about it here. Ron's Black Bear Encounter. So, there you go. You have something besides poop for your effort in reading this.

The Bare Necessities, The Jungle Book (1967)

The Great Divide - Trail Angels Marlene & Paul

In ways I can't explain and can't deny

The little that I have He multiples

Just when I feel He won't show up on time

God provides

God Provides, Kirk Franklin (2016) 

 From Left to Right:  Our hostess Marlene Fifield, Marlene's sister Roberta,
Marlene's husband Paul Fifield, and Roberta's husband George. (photo by Paul Brasby)

Filet mignon grilled to order, sautéed fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, fresh corn on the cob, huckleberry coleslaw, fresh picked cherries, bottomless glasses of ice water (declining the red wine), and then vanilla ice cream topped with homemade huckleberry sauce.

Does that sound like your typical dinner on a bikepacking trip? Not mine, either. Well, that was our dinner on the evening of Day 4 of our ride of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, thanks to Trail Angels Marlene and Paul Fifield of Montana. And that gourmet meal was just part of the story.

Paul documents the scene where Paul Fifield, California Ken, Marlene Fifield, Paul and I
sort out just where we are and where we need to be. (photo by Paul Brasby)

Day 4 of our Great Divide ride starts from Wayfarer's State Park near Big Fork, Montana with the relatively ambitious thought of riding about 75 miles to the Owl Creek Packer USFS campground near Holland Lake. If short of that, we'll disperse camp somewhere along the way.

After warming up on some pavement, we climb steadily on two-track logging roads into the remote backcountry of Flathead National Forest. Always on the lookout for bear and other wildlife, we catch occasional glimpses of big mountains on the horizon and of Swan Lake through the dense vegetation. Stands of Western Larch tower 150-200 feet above the lush forest floor and hug the road to frame our narrow path. Always above is the big, blue Montana sky. I lose track of how many times Paul joyfully exclaims, "Now, THIS is what I came out here for!"

So we don't miss another turn, Paul Fifield positioned tree branches to point the way to his house.
I say we go that way, while California Ken stows his map. (photo by Paul Brasby)

Paul chases down another southbound GDMBR rider, California Ken, and the two of them immediately talk themselves off the route by missing a turn and plunging down a steep hill. Despite my screaming from behind, they quickly drop out of sight. Glancing at the map, I see that their road soon ends at a campground, where they would probably recognize their mistake. So, I find some shade atop that hill, grab a snack, and wait for them to return. Within about 15 minutes, they come charging up that hill.

Back on route, we roll up, up and down, and through big time logging country, with countless tantalizing rough roads veering into the forest. In the mid-afternoon heat, we're over two miles up a steady climb when we realize that something's wrong. Paul rides ahead to look for a sign, while I pull out my map, cue sheets and book. Eventually, we both conclude that we somehow missed a turn at the bottom of that climb and turn back toward an intersection down there.

Preparing to sleep in a luxurious man-cave garage.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Then huckleberry hunters Paul and Marlene Fifield pull up on a side-by-side ATV.  Marlene says, "You fellows look lost." Grateful for help from locals, I ask if they'd look at my map to confirm where we are and where we should be. They do so and follow us back to that intersection to make sure we don't miss the turn again. Then they insist that we sample from their buckets of freshly picked huckleberries. Sweet.

With the time and energy lost climbing those errant miles, on a hot day already a bit ambitious, we conclude that it's unlikely we'll reach Holland Lake that night. That's OK, we'll ride for awhile and find a nice place to disperse camp. California Ken thought he'd do the same. Overhearing that discussion, Paul Fifield says, "There's a lot of bear out here. Why don't you stay at our place? We're just a few miles away."

Our host Paul Fifield works his magic.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

We're not about to turn down that offer and neither is California Ken. Early on, Paul and I agreed to prioritize secure sleeping arrangements in grizzly country where possible, even if it meant riding a bit less, or a bit more, than circumstances might otherwise indicate. That is, where possible, we seek to sleep indoors or in a developed campground with bear bins. In our final tally after 20 nights in grizzly country, we slept indoors 7 times, in developed campgrounds 12 times, and at a dispersed campsite just once.

We soon learn that we would not be sleeping just anyplace, but inside Paul's enormous, luxurious man-cave garage. Nice. We set up, clean up, and charge devices. Then Paul returns to invite us to dinner. Wow. Yeah, that would be great. He then asks, "How would you like your steak?" Are you kidding? Steak?

Marlene Fifield serves her gourmet dinner.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Yeah. Steak. And all the other delicacies noted above. Amazing dinner. Amazing company. Paul, Marlene, Marlene's sister Roberta and Roberta's husband George want to hear all about our ride. Paul, California Ken and I want to hear all about living in the beautiful Montana backcountry. Time flies by.

Near the end of the meal, Marlene quietly shares her experience from earlier that day. She had invited Roberta and George to dinner and, before leaving to huckleberry hunt, she removed steaks from their freezer for dinner for four. Then her husband invited these three cyclists to stay the night. What to do? Invite them for dinner, too? Driving back to their house, Marlene wonders if there's any way to stretch those four steaks to feed seven, now with the addition of three hungry cyclists.

Returning to the steaks she removed from the freezer, Marlene discovers that, somehow, there are seven steaks thawed. How did that happen? She does not remember removing seven steaks, but reasons that she must have. She cannot fathom why, since she only planned four people for dinner, but here they are. Seven thawed steaks. How can that be?

Marlene simply says that God provided steak for seven.

Then she realizes that there's so much more. God brought these seven people together for that night through a sequence of events unplanned by any of us. He provided guidance to three wandering cyclists to find their way back on route, a secure place to rest for the night, and a home cooked meal. He provided an opportunity for two huckleberry hunters to serve some weary, wayward travelers. And He provided company for everyone to share a special evening together. We listen in awe and give thanks. Amazing.

In the morning, Paul Fifield leads the way back to the Great Divide route.

Reluctantly, we retire for the night and sleep comfortably in our spacious accommodations. In the morning, Paul Fifield brings hot coffee and cinnamon rolls for everyone. To top it off, he hops on his bike to lead us to our route. A few miles later, we're back on the Great Divide, with hearts full of gratitude.

Trail angels, indeed.

God provides.

God Provides, Tamela Mann (2016)

The Great Divide - Living A Dream

The bells were ringing

Our souls were singing

Do you remember, never a cloudy day

There was a 

Ba de ya, say do you remember?
Ba de ya, dancing in September
Ba de ya, golden dreams were shiny days

September, Maurice White & Allee Willis (1978)

Emotions and thoughts run wild after I reach Antelope Wells.
This photograph is about 3 hours after I finished and I'm still giddy. 
(photo by Cyler Groseth)

The Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. A 2,500 mile cross country journey over primarily remote, rough gravel/dirt roads tracking the Continental Divide from Roosville, Montana at the Canadian border to Antelope Wells, New Mexico at the Mexican border. It's the longest off-pavement route in the world.

The Adventure Cycling Association first published this route way back in 1998 and it immediately caught my attention back then. Wow. The imagination to dream up such a route! The dedication to map it! The audacity to even consider riding it! Is that even possible? How? Boy, if I could, well, that would be something special. But it's way out there. Way beyond reality. Well into the realm of dreams. But, maybe. Someday. Maybe. Yeah, maybe someday.

Twenty-three years later, I lived that dream. I rode the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Unreal.

Big sky, big mountains, big trees, big views and another big day on the Great Divide.
Montana two track skirting the western edge of Glacier National Park.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Now weeks later, the magnitude of that experience still boggles my mind and unleashes a cascade of emotions. I still struggle to comprehend even the most basic aspects of the experience. Talking with family and friends helps, but my words are inadequate.

Here's one way I've described my Great Divide ride. Take any one day from my seven weeks of riding and disregard all the rest as if they never happened. Plug that one day into a normal cycling year filled with other rides, events, and races. That one day would be my best cycling day of the year. Hands down. Now, go back and string together 48 more days just like it. Unreal.

Slugging my way up Lava Mountain in Montana.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Part of my difficulty in expressing this experience probably lies in the amount of thought and time that I invested to prepare for it. This was years in the making and many months of detailed planning. Then, suddenly it's right there, staring me in the face. Are you sure that you're ready for this kid?

Over breakfast in Eureka, Montana on the day of the start, Colleen notes that I am unusually quiet. After months of patiently listening to every excited utterance of my plans for this ride, she recognizes that I'm sorting through a lot internally and asks if I'm alright. I am, although I'm not excited and I'm not nervous. I'm in that big pre-ride mental place where I'm thinking of what I'm about to do and how I can do it.

But this one is fundamentally different. This one is just so big. It's not a one day, weekend, or even week long ride. It's just so big. So many miles. So much time. So many variables. It's just so big. I cannot see a clear path to Antelope Wells. I cannot see a way to do this.

Yellowstone Branch Line Trail along the Warm River in Idaho.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

Colleen's concern sparks a memory. Months before, while I'm ruminating yet again on something about the Great Divide, she simply says, "Craig, every morning, you get to wake up and ride your bike, as long as you want, as far as you want, and stop when you want, on roads you've never ridden. And then the next day, you get to do it again. You get to do what you love to do."

Of course, she's right. Stop over-thinking and just ride.

My friend Mark Steele, an endurance motorcyclist planning his own Continental Divide ride, texted me before the start and somehow recognized my unsettled mind. He responded, "You've prepared for this. You've trained for this. You're ready for this. All that's left is for you to do it."

Of course, he's right. Believe in yourself and just ride.

Blown like a speck of dust across the Great Basin of Wyoming.
Yes, that's me, just a dot riding up that distant hill.
(photo by Paul Brasby)

To stay grounded over the course of this ride, I realize that I need to maintain a mindset to simply stay in the moment and trust myself. 

Here's what I came up with and stuck with every day for the entire seven weeks of this ride. Each morning I resolve to enjoy that day with everything that comes with it, while giving myself a chance to ride again the next day. Each evening, I give thanks for the opportunity and ability to do so. I do not allow myself to even think about the next road, the next mountain pass, or the next state, let alone Antelope Wells. Stay in the moment and simply enjoy it. All of it. And ride to ride another day.

Dispersed campsite in an aspen grove deep in the Rocky Mountains of Northern Colorado.
(photo by Raymond Bleesz)

To enjoy the day, with everything that comes with it, is not always easy. In fact, every day on my Great Divide ride included a stretch of some difficulty, often lasting for hours and sometimes all day. A few examples include a 4 mile heft-a-bike pitch over Lava Mountain in Montana after climbing virtually all day, a day of 20+ mph headwinds in the treeless Great Basin of Wyoming, a 27 mile climb up rocky, rutted Polvadera Mesa in northern New Mexico, and a monsoon with hail that turned my dirt road into a raging river in central New Mexico. There are no easy days on the Great Divide.

By closely tracking the Continental Divide and crossing it 30-some times, the Great Divide repeatedly takes you up and down, up and down, up and down. To keep thoughts positive during long climbs, I started thinking that if I'm climbing, I'm gaining elevation. If I'm descending, I'm gaining mileage. At the end of the day, I need both. So, celebrate whatever you're doing at the moment. You're riding the Great Divide.

Occasionally, when a stretch turned particularly nasty, I turned it around and asked myself, "What would you rather be doing?" The answer was always the same. Nothing. No matter what was happening that moment, that's where I wanted to be. Out riding the Great Divide.

The very first climb after crossing into New Mexico.
It's a little rougher down there.

So, that's how I rode 2,651 miles with 170,572 feet of elevation gain over 51 days (49 riding days + 2 rest days). Stay in the moment, ride one day at a time, and give myself a chance to ride again the next day.

That mindset may help explain why the finish was so surreal. I had never allowed myself to even think about the finish until the night before in the tiny town of Hachita, just 45 flat, paved miles from the border. No, I didn't sleep much that night, as that reality finally and quickly took shape. 

The next morning, I cruised those easy miles like one sweet victory lap, hooting and hollering just to hoot and holler. I even startled a couple of javelinas and woke up a few rattlesnakes. Then I rounded a corner and the finish bludgeoned me with the brute force of a New Mexican monsoon, flash flooding my senses. I stood alone, stunned, at a closed U.S Border Station under a blazing sun, not quite believing that I had just finished riding the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Unreal.

Locals say the New Mexican monsoons came a month late this year.
I rode right into them, but one reward was the desert in full bloom.
Yes, this is southern New Mexico in the first week of September.

Addendum. I finished my Great Divide ride on September 8, 2021. While waiting for my brother Cyler to pick me up at Antelope Wells, the song "September" by Earth, Wind & Fire and the cover by Kirk Franklin played through my head many times. Pure joy. Some singing and dancing may also have been involved.

The bells were ringing

Our souls were singing

Do you remember, never a cloudy day

Ba de ya, say do you remember?
Ba de ya, dancing in September
Ba de ya, golden dreams were shiny days

September, Maurice White & Allee Willis (1978)

September, Earth, Wind & Fire (1978)

Everybody has a September in their life

You know that first time you heard God's voice

So you felt His love

So no matter what season you're in right now

After winter comes spring

So, if you love my Jesus, help me sing

Ba de ya, tell me you remember
Ba de ya, when your heart felt like September
You still had the joy and God was just a prayer away

September, Kirk Franklin (2007)

September, Kirk Franklin (2007)