The Great Divide - Legacy Lemonade Stand

A duck walked up to a lemonade stand

And he said to the man, running the stand

"Hey! (bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"

The man said "No, we just sell lemonade

But it's cold, and it's fresh, and it's all home-made

Can I get you a glass?"

The Duck Song, Bryant Oden (2009)

It's a day as remote as most on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Along the way, however, I somehow meet interesting people all day long. Each left a lasting impression, but the hardest hitting one for me is a mom telling the story of her enterprising young daughter who created a lemonade stand for the ages.

My lesson. Always stop at a lemonade stand. You never know the journey that kid is starting.

Sylvia and Joe at the Summer Store in Canon Plaza, New Mexico.

Leaving the friendly confines of USFS Hopewell Lake Campground, I bounce along the Continental Divide on USFS Low Standard Road 91B in the Tusas Mountains of northern New Mexico. I realize that I've pedaled over 90 miles on back roads since the last commercial re-supply at the Gold Pan General Store in Platoro. My food and water supplies are OK, but the bright sunshine promises a hot afternoon before reaching the town of Abiquiu, still almost 60 miles away. This 150 mile remote stretch could certainly ensnare the unprepared or unwary.

Movement ahead catches my eye. It's a solitary hiker, without so much as a small pack or water bottle. He does, however, carry a hiking staff and a ready smile. It's Jose, out for an early morning walk through the forest "to clear my mind." He says he brought his sister and her children up into the mountains for a couple of days to re-connect and re-set, away from negative influences in the big city. One teenaged nephew is particularly challenged, and challenging, to Jose. So, we talk about family and faith. And find much common ground despite very different backgrounds. What a blessing.

Too soon, Jose and I return to our separate journeys, though I won't soon forget him.

Jose is out for a walk "to clear my mind."

The road is not as rough and rocky as yesterday, and descends more than it climbs, but it's still barely built and barely maintained. It's a wonder that it was built at all. There's essentially no development of any kind back here. Not even much logging or ranching.

The ACA maps says there is a town ahead called Canon Plaza, with a convenience store. Dropping from the forest into a meadow, I see an assortment of houses scattered about, but not what I'd call a town. And I see no convenience store at all.

The dry forests of northern New Mexico along USFS Low Standard Road 91B.

Just off the road I spot a simple white shed with an open door and a sign "Summer Store." Another sign says "Please Honk," apparently to get the attention of someone living in the house a ways up the driveway. But I don't have to ring my little bell. By the time I stop to dismount, a man greets me with a big smile and hearty hello.

It's Joe, who is soon joined by his wife Sylvia, the owners/operators of this "convenience store." I step inside to find cold drinks, ice cream, and an assortment of all kinds of food and other supplies for Great Divide bikepackers. This is amazing.

Joe welcomes me to their "convenience store" in the "town" of Canon Plaza.

Sylvia first makes sure that I'm OK and then describes the assortment of items neatly displayed on the shelves. I start with a cold Coke and an ice cream bar, sit down inside in the shade, and ask her about this place. She smiles, taking time to joyfully tell a story she's clearly, and happily, told many times before.

About 20 years ago, Sylvia's grade school aged son and daughter noticed cyclists riding by their house during the summer. So, they set up a card table and chairs under a tree to offer water and snacks to them. It's their version of a classic, All-American lemonade stand, but positioned about 100 miles from Platoro to the north and almost 50 miles to Abiquiu to the south. Although they certainly do not command a high traffic location, they didn't have much competition, either.

Some years later, lightening struck that tree, forcing Joe to remove it. So, Joe and Sylvia built this shed right by the road for their kids to safely operate their increasingly well-known lemonade stand. So well-known, in fact, that it appears as a "convenience store" icon on the ACA Great Divide map.

Sylvia then proudly points out rows of books on the upper shelves inside the shed. Her daughter read all those books over many summers while waiting for Great Divide cyclists. All that reading paid off. Now, she's in medical school studying to be a doctor. Years after she stopped returning home for the summer, her parents continue to operate this store to honor her and to serve our community. Wow.

Thank you, Sylvia and Joe.

No water to be found in that creek bed.

I take some time at the Canon Plaza convenience store, but eventually pedal down the road. As I bump along a dry creek through a forested valley, a series of unique rock outcroppings jut skyward. Equally unusual, I spot a truck about to pull out of the first dispersed campsite I've passed in a long time. So, I stop to ask. They are rock climbers from Albuquerque, wrapping up a weekend of climbing those rocks and focused on getting home. I wave goodbye, grateful to be able to continue my adventure without work worries.

Dropping into the well-worn village of El Rito, I spot a solitary commercial establishment that appears to be open, the El Farolito Restaurant. The surrounding buildings all look pretty rough, but I could use a break from the sun. So, I grab a water bottle in some shade and take another look at that restaurant from across the street. To my surprise, a steady stream of people enter and leave carrying styrofoam take-out. Every few minutes, another car or truck brings more customers. That's good enough for me.

I'm no food critic, but the meal is fantastic. I eat an entire "Farolito Special," a mammoth plate of enchilada, relleno, taco, rice, beans, green chili, and two sophapillas with honey. Amazingly, the entire restaurant is operated by just one man, named Dominic - the owner/cook/waiter/host/phone order taker/cashier/dish washer/everything else. And all around friendly guy. I highly recommend Dominic's restaurant, unless you don't like to eat.

Dominic's El Farolito Restaurant in El Rito, New Mexico.
(photo by El Farolito Restaurant)

Eventually, I waddle out of El Farolito Restaurant for the easy 16 paved mile warm down to Abiquiu. There I stop at Bode's, a big gas station/convenience store, to top off supplies. I'll return in the morning on my ride out of town, as several locals at the store rave of Bode's breakfast burritos. Then I ride a mile off route to the Retreat On The River, a cyclist only hostel-like haven for Great Divide cyclists.

I call ahead to get directions from Goldie, the proprietor, but it's not hard to find. She graciously shows me to the shower/bathroom, the separate building housing a full kitchen, a nice collection of individual units with beds, and plenty of space to pitch a tent. The crowning touch is a covered deck with lounge chairs overlooking the Rio Chama. It's a very quiet, peaceful place. 

Surprisingly, I find Jessica preparing dinner in the kitchen. Jessica is a solo South Bound Great Divide cyclist from Omaha, Nebraska, where she and her boyfriend operate a bicycle shop called Ponderosa Cyclery + Tour. She is a strong cyclist who often rides well into the night and passed me several days ago at the Gold Pan General Store in Platoro. Jessica said she lost some time the day before by banging up herself and her bike in a crash. She was OK, but had to straighten a bent aluminum rim with a couple of hand tools before fixing the flat tire. Atta girl, Jessica! Love the spirit of those out here taking on the Great Divide solo and self-supported.

Just when Goldie poses for a picture, a double rainbow appears above her.
It seems appropriate.

All this occurs within a single day of riding my bicycle on exceptionally remote back roads. In addition to the lasting memories of encounters with interesting people, I'm reminded to always stop at a lemonade stand. You never know if it will be tomorrow's convenience store, and maybe even the start of someone's journey to a higher calling.

The Duck Song, Parts 1-3, A Forest Fire Film (2009)

The Great Divide - Camp Host Extraordinaire

Oh, ho, ho, it's magic, you know

Never believe it's not so

It's magic, you know

Never believe it's not so

Magic, David Paton & William Lyall (1974)

USFS Hopewell Lake campground in Carson National Forest, New Mexico.
I wish I had a picture of Dawn, the awesome Camp Host, to post here.

Trail Magic is real. And appears in the most unexpected places.

 

In the four days since leaving the La Garita Cash Store, I've crossed over the Continental Divide several times and climbed four high mountain passes, namely Indiana Pass (11,910'), Elwood Pass (11,631'), Stunner Pass (10,541'), and La Manga Pass (10,234'). Like much of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, this stretch of southern Colorado and northern New Mexico is pretty much all up or down.

As I work my way south, the country becomes less and less developed, with fewer ranches and smaller towns, if any. The roads generally grow rougher, both less used and less maintained. I encounter fewer locals and practically no tourists. The last North Bound Great Divide cyclist or CDT through hiker I saw was hundreds of miles ago in Wyoming. This ride continues to get more and more out there.

Southwest of La Garita, USFS Low Standard Road 665 delivers miles of amazing two track.

There's not so much as a fence post along this unnumbered road.

Not surprisingly, the ride up Indiana Pass from Del Norte is a grind, but the road surface is hard packed and fast. Although advertised as the pass with the most elevation gain and the highest elevation, I did not find it particularly difficult. Just long. After the sustained climb ends, the road runs along a lumpy ridge for another 10 miles, with almost as much climbing as descending. With no obvious summit and no marker of any kind, the top's exact location is not apparent. It's all a bit anti-climatic, although fabulous scenery and big views abound.

Dropping down the other side toward the seasonal town of Platoro, colorful mountainsides reveal concentrations of heavy metals exposed by natural forces and mining that wash into surrounding surface water. Even if filtered, the water here is too contaminated to drink. So, I pull into the Gold Pan General Store for water and whatever food they may have. Turns out, the Gold Pan offers a well stocked store, a good cafe, and a cabin for Great Divide cyclists only. I decide to support all of the above.

Leaving Platoro heading for Horca, I descend along the Conejos River on a bluebird sky morning. A pickup draws near from the rear, but slows on approach. The passenger asks, "Do you know a cyclist named Andi?" Yes. Then she asks, "Are you Craig?" Yes. She smiles and says, "Andi has your camera. I saw it on the road a few miles back and stopped to pick it up. I was thinking about what to do, when two cyclists rode up. I asked them if they knew whose camera this was. Andi said that it was yours and that she'd see you again and get it back to you." You must be kidding. Trail Magic. Out here.

Climbing Indiana Pass (11,910'), the highest elevation of the entire Great Divide route.

Trout fishing draws many to the Conejos River, evidenced by the washboarded road.

Approaching the New Mexico border after La Manga Pass, I find dozens of cars parked along the road, with people scattered all over the mountainside. Some sitting, some standing, most looking down a valley, many peering through binoculars. I'm thinking there must be an unusual wild animal happening, like a large elk herd moving or a couple of big horn sheep battling. So, I stop to look. Seeing nothing unusual, I ask.

It's nothing I expected. These people are train aficionados, breathlessly awaiting the arrival of a wood burning steam locomotive brought in for the 50th anniversary celebration of the historic Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. They're like kids waiting for Santa at a Thanksgiving Day parade. And, right here on the Great Divide route, that railroad track crosses barely graveled USFS Secondary Road 117. 

I enjoy talking with several of these folks, all with a passion for these trains, especially in this Wild, Wild West setting. It's a whole different world for this cyclist. Then one train guy spots my loaded bike and excitedly tells me of his friend who rode the Great Divide a few years ago. He says he knows what lies ahead and insists on filling all my water bottles. Cool.

Looking back into the San Juan Wilderness Area on the climb up La Manga Pass.

Wood burning steam locomotive on the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad.

Just a few miles into New Mexico, USFS Low Standard Road 87 launches up an elevator shaft littered with large, irregular shaped rocks, randomly dumped onto a shifty, dusty base. The ACA cue sheet says, "Start steep rocky uphill, may need to walk." Right. My journal says, "Impossible to ride, very difficult to walk." That pitch is a beast. I'd pay to watch someone ride it, even with fresh legs on an unloaded, full suspension fat bike.

Welcome to New Mexico, where the roads are consistently rougher, rockier, ruttier, steeper, and even more remote. It's the Great Divide, next level.

Idyllic dispersed campsite at Apache Creek, just inside the New Mexico border.

Welcome to New Mexico, pilgrim.

After that rude introduction, I bump along rough roads through the mountainous highlands of Carson National Forest, eventually dropping into open grasslands along Rio San Antonio. Threatening storm clouds build as I turn onto USFS Secondary Road 133, noted in the ACA cue sheet as "potentially mucky if raining" with a recommended paved alternative. I can see getting stuck back here for hours, maybe even overnight. Over the next 12 miles, I plow through plenty of standing water and soft mud from recent rains, but the dark clouds refrain from adding to the slog. 

With a deep sigh of relief, I reach paved U.S. Highway 64 for the final 5 mile climb to my evening's destination of USFS Hopewell Lake campground. Time for a celebratory snack. Friendly voices from behind add to the light mood. It's Rob and Andrea, leap frogging South Bound Great Divide riders who also are heading to Hopewell Lake. Sweet.

What is that?

Unknown structure on the Continental Divide near Olguin Mesa.

Just as I start to pedal up the final, paved climb for the day, those heavy clouds lose their grip. The rain falls hard, and I laugh. Loudly. I'm giddy and grateful to be off that dirt road. No rain now can dampen today's ride.

That doesn't mean I'm not tired from the day's effort. About halfway up that final climb, I stop for a break and hunch over the handlebars. As I gather myself, a pickup truck barreling down the mountain slows to a stop, presumably to check up on me.  I smile and wave to say that I'm OK.

No matter. The driver of the pickup truck rolls down her window, "Are you riding the Great Divide and heading for Hopewell Lake?" To my affirmative response, she says, "I'm Dawn, the camp host. There's good water at the shelter, and you can stay there for free. I've got to go to town, but I'll be back later." She takes another, harder look at me and says, "Can I get you anything? How about a burger from Wendy's?"

"Dawn, that sounds awesome! I will eat anything you bring back and gladly pay for it! Did you talk with my two friends a little ahead of me? I'm sure they would say the same!"

Dawn laughs, waves, and disappears down the mountain.

Storm clouds gather as the primitive road winds up Montoya Canyon.

Two cowgirls push a herd of cattle toward another pasture.

At Hopewell Lake I find Rob and Andrea, already well into setting up camp. It's great to share a camp site with them again, but we're all more excited about whatever treats Dawn brings back to us. As we catch up and attend to evening duties, another South Bound Great Divide rider, Mark, rolls in looking for water. He decides to stay, too, making us a party of four.

As the sun sets, Dawn drives into our camp site to deliver mammoth Wendy's burgers and bags of french fries. But she said that didn't seem enough, so she stopped by another store and bought milk, yogurt, fruit, candy bars, and more. Wow. 

That's a seasonal Forest Service Campground Host recognizing and surpassing the needs of weary Great Divide cyclists seeking shelter and sustenance. Thank you, Dawn. Another Trail Angel.

Magic, Pilot (1974)

The Great Divide - Solo, Not Alone

Spent the last year

Rocky Mountain way

Couldn't get much higher

Out to pasture

Think it's safe to say

Time to open fire

Rocky Mountain Way, Joey Vitale, Joe Walsh, Ken Passarelli & Rocke Grace (1973)

La Garita Cash Store didn't offer much for supplies, although the hand scooped ice cream is great.
Even better is the hospitality of the owner and his family.

Late afternoon, deep into the high, dry plateaus of Rio Grande National Forest in southern Colorado, I scan the horizon for any sign of respite from the 95 degree sun and incessant wind. I've ridden almost 60 miles today, climbing both Cochetopa Pass and Carnero Pass to drop down in the heat of Coolbroth Canyon. Del Norte is within reach, but I hear that a long closed general store in the village of La Garita may have re-opened recently. So, I take a half mile off-route risk for the chance of buying a cold Coke.

I find so much more.

Riding south of Como into windswept ranch land on washboarded county roads.

Empty playgrounds and sports fields that apparently have never been used.

Since leaving the comfortable Como Hospitality Bunkhouse four days ago, I've ridden solo over 220 miles of remote, high country backroads, passing only through the one cafe town of Hartsell and resupplying the next day in Salida. I disperse camp all three nights, encountering few people and little traffic. It's a big change from the Steamboat Springs to Breckenridge stretch of touristy bustle.

Right from the start at Como, I ride into steady 15-20 mph headwinds for the 30 miles of rolling, wide open ranch land to Hartsel. There the Highline Bar and Grill offers free camping in a sketchy backyard lot, but I opt for a quick burger and remount. Bouncing along a gravel county road, I pass by miles of empty paved streets, as if laid out for hundreds of houses and stores that were never built. Abandoned, apparently unused playgrounds and sports fields punctuate the odd landscape. Although it points to a real estate scam or tax evasion scheme, it's still a bit eerie.

My little dispersed camp site just inside San Isabel National Forest.

The Collegiate Peaks of the Sawatch Range on a morning descent into Salida.

Challenged by stout headwinds, deep washboards, and sporadic showers, I eventually plow through another 30 miles of private ranch land, fill water bottles at Boulder Creek, and camp just inside the border of San Isabel National Forest. In the morning, a short, steep pitch over a watershed divide leads to a 15 mile plummet into the bicycle centric town of Salida. Time to refuel and resupply. 

On the climb toward Marshall Pass, memories flash back of descending this very road several times after riding the renowned Monarch Crest Trail. On the last of those rides, now over 20 years ago, my non-cyclist, but willing-to-try brother Chris joined me for an unforgettable afternoon of alpine single track. Lost in thought, I pedal up toward the pass as the afternoon hours fade.

Steady climb toward Marshall Pass in southern Colorado.

Easterners fresh off the Monarch Crest Trail onto USFS 200 toward Salida.

I grab some shade by a turn-off for a reportedly nice campground at O'Haven Lake. I'm really not ready to call it a day, so I pull out maps and snacks. Abruptly, a boisterous pack of four cyclists on high end, full suspension mountain bikes burst upon the scene and skid to a stop. They are a group of old friends, now scattered around the east coast, who spend a week together each year mountain biking. When they hear of our trails and rough roads in the Black Hills of South Dakota, they think that may be their next destination.

Re-energized by fellow cyclists and peanut butter/honey/tortillas, I quietly spin up the final 10 miles to Marshall Pass. Near the top, I pause to watch five moose feeding among the willows in an adjacent meadow. Finishing the day with a flourish, I share a dispersed camp site right on the Continental Divide with a couple of CDT hikers on their own adventure. Now that's a nice finish to a long day.

Moose grazing in willows near the top of Marshall Pass, elevation 10,842 feet.

Sunset from inside my tent atop Marshall Pass right on the Continental Divide.

The next morning I drop 17 miles down Marshall Pass Road for breakfast at the Tomichi Creek Trading Post in Sargents. There I meet a fun family of four, each riding an enduro motorcycle on a back road, cross-country trip of their own. One asks about the motor on my bike. "It's a two stroke," I reply, paraphrasing a favorite line of Paul's, "left and right." They laugh and power off. I top off supplies, as I'm unlikely to find anything before Del Norte, about 110 miles away.

Riding into late afternoon, I indulge a fleeting thought of climbing Cochetopa Pass to the highly regarded USFS Luders Creek campground for the night. But then I spot an older couple on a hillside searching the ground for something. Politely declining my offer of help, they explain they are hunting for a particular type of volcanic rock unique to this area. Every year, they drive from Louisiana to southwestern Colorado just for this. Passionate rock hounds, indeed. 

Dispersed campsite along Upper Dome Reservoir.

Climbing toward Cochetopa Pass, elevation 10,067 feet.

After showing me some of their treasured finds, Barbara and Dave offer me water while asking about my journey. Excited to hear that I'm riding the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, they say that they picked up their son at Antelope Wells when he finished it a few years ago. As our conversation broadens and deepens, I realize that Luders Creek campground isn't happening tonight. That's alright. Meeting interesting people makes this ride special. After a time, I soft pedal a few more miles to Upper Dome Reservoir to disperse camp.

Even though it's a much lower elevation than last night atop Marshall Pass, the morning brings 28 degrees with frost on everything. Hot coffee helps, but the climb up Cochetopa Pass still requires several layers of extra clothes to stay warm. Not surprisingly, the cold doesn't last much past the first pass. By the time I climb and descend Carnero Pass, some hours later, it's 95 degrees and windy. Late afternoon, I'm one whipped puppy dog hoping to find a cold Coke at that store in La Garita.

Climbing toward Carnero Pass, elevation 10,166 feet.

Ready for some downhill after cresting two passes today.

Oh, Yayh! The La Garita Cash Store is open! Inside I find mostly empty shelves with very little food, other than chips, candy bars, and some canned goods. In a corner sits a small refrigerator with a few cans of soda pop and energy drinks. At the counter are a couple of containers of hard ice cream. That's basically it. However, for this cyclist, on this day, this store promises a feast.

I ride here hoping for a cold Coke, but now I'm really ready to stop for the night. I ask the teenaged store clerk whether anyone in town rents a cabin, or a room, or a tent site. She says, "No, but you can camp in our side yard and use our bathroom, which has a shower. No charge. Our cafe closed at 2, but opens at 7 for breakfast."

Are you kidding? A place to pitch a tent, with access to water, a bathroom and a shower? Right here? That would be great. I'll find something here to eat now. And I'll definitely be back at 7 for breakfast!

My campsite alongside the La Garita Cash Store.

Early morning cattle drive, right across the road from my tent site by the La Garita Cash Store.

I inhale a couple of cans of soda pop and a hand-scooped ice cream cone while checking out the rest of the store to try to piece together dinner. There's something that will work. A big can of Bush's Best Baked Beans and a bag of Fritos. Score!

I enjoy that luxurious meal on the front porch of the store, soaking in the moment, and the day. Interesting people traveling remote roads, with more Trail Magic and yet another Trail Angel. This trip is amazing.

Rocky Mountain Way (live at Santa Monica Civic Auditorium), Joe Walsh (1976)

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)