Sharing my experience riding the world’s longest continuous mountain biking route feels akin to trying to describe Miles Davis to a deaf man. Or, it’s like a parent who was convinced they’d never have kids now celebrating their child’s birthday. I’d say it was a dream but for 98% of my life it felt too far out of reach to qualify as such. Looking back, it is like the early morning pre-coffee brain attempting to recall wild and vivid dreams the night before.
The Great Divide is a mostly dirt road route built in the 1990s running from Banff, Canada to a chain link fence at the bottom of New Mexico. It is approximately 2,700 miles long and crisscrosses the Continental Divide – the string of mountains defining water tables and geography for most of North America. Half the route is in grizzly bear country and the whole route is at altitude. Many people attempt and don’t finish riding the whole thing and some have perished. Its not only something I previously thought impossible for myself but it is quantifiably dangerous.
After running a 50k in late March my lower back seized up to the point where I could barely walk. During this time, I also had a small surgical operation keeping me inactive for another week or more. The furious and impassioned physical training I had envisioned never materialized. The handful of marathons I’d run by this point and even my TransAmerica bike ride the year before was truly all in the context of preparing for the Divide. Flying out for this trip felt like walking into a boxing ring with a heavyweight champion and knowing I would get my bell rung.
I shook hands with Ian outside the Starbucks in the Denver airport. He was an experienced bike packer from Canada who had offered on a Facebook page for someone to start the Great Divide with him. His upbeat positivity put me at ease and I knew we’d be fast friends. After being shuttled to New Mexico from El Paso we assembled our bikes and had a restless night of sleep before starting off at the border crossing in the “town” of Antelope Wells, NM. It was a place where so many before us had either begun or finished their journey through North America’s rugged and rural terrain and I recognized those people even if I had never met them. A few miles into the ride I became overwhelmed with emotion with the mantra “I’m back” brought tears streaming down my face. It was not only my second trip for my mission but it just felt so good to be spinning my legs on a bike that wasn’t crushed on the airplane. It had been the longest winter of my life watching my mom pass away and trying to rebuild my broken heart and body through loss and injury both. We rode 75 miles that day along a completely desolate, lonely highway in high altitude desert with cactus and mountains in the distance. We camped in the sand outside a small trading post near a massive marketing teepee and with the rumble of trucks rumbling by on I-10. It had begun and my legs hurt but my heart had come alive again.
The first six days riding with Ian were a treat. We rode through infamous washboard gravel roads, by quiet ranches and under blasting sunshine and open skies. We talked about everything in our lives and put in long days under the summer sun. Riding with Ian helped ease my anxiety and build confidence. We rode together from Silver City to Pie Town which was 180 miles between resources. One night, we camped on the side of the road under a small cliff and I used dead animal bones to hammer in my tent stakes. We were really out there and had to be totally self reliant to stay safe and sane. Another night, we were in a canyon so deep and remote my satellite device failed to connect to signal to send a ping for my location. During one extremely remote stretch a man pulled over with his pickup truck and offered us snacks and fresh drinking water. He had finished a hunting trip and knew we may be in need. It came at the perfect time as the day was taking the toll on our bodies. On our final day together I stopped at a Subway to grab a sandwich after a long, hot and windy day. The winds were so strong it ripped the door right off the hinges and glass shattered all over the hot parking lot asphalt. A lady helped identify my bike glove the wind had thrown across a busy four lane highway and after I thanked her profusely simply said, “God Bless”. It was the type of unexpected acts of kindness experienced folks in the trail community call “Trail Magic”. After the first week, Ian sped on at his preferred pace and I continued solo northbound on the route. His company helped shape my Divide experience and five months later we are still friends and stay in regular touch. I was nervous about getting through New Mexico with temperatures in the 90s and in a worse than normal drought. Thanks to Ian, we got through just fine.
Just as people talk about the washboard roads of New Mexico they talk about the thunderstorms of Colorado. Boy, was this spot on. Within an hour of crossing the border into Colorful Colorado I was blasted with heavy storms soaking me to the bone. Luckily, I had mailed myself my rain jacket and picked it up in the mail just the day before. The next day I was at 12,000 feet walking my bike over snow drifts getting pelted with relentless hail with thunder booming all around me. My bike computer wanted to take me the wrong direction the entire day. Thanks to some heads up advice from Ian about a hairpin turn I stayed on the route though I was only about 45% sure. It was the kind of situation that is one false move away from becoming a serious situation. I then experienced what Divide riders call “peanut butter mud” where the road becomes so deep and sticky every component of the bicycle becomes locked up and frozen. No amount of fitness or skill can persevere through such conditions. I stood and closed my eyes asking for trail magic. A moment later a large pick up truck was heading my way up the valley below. I flagged him down and in response to how I was doing I replied, “I’ve been better”. He kindly drove me into Del Norte, CO and left me at a small store where I used an entire extra large packet of wet wipes to clean my bike just enough to roll down to the car wash to spray it clean. Holy smokes, what a day. I got a hotel for the next two nights and calmed my nervous system.
The storms continued for an entire week in classic Colorado monsoon season fashion. After leaving Del Norte I battled for hours in a brutally strong headwind just as strong as the winds the year before through Wyoming. I smiled, grimaced and kept pushing forward laughing about how bad that experience was during TransAmerica. I saw a sign for a hot spring resort and called asking if I could fill my bottles with water. After seeing this little oasis I decided to spend two nights soaking my body and eating fresh, nutritious meals included in the camping fee. I had great conversations with other guests which warmed my heart, stunted my loneliness and energized me. With the storms rolling through every day it only made sense. It was probably the best decision I made the entire trip.
The next day I was greeted warmly by old bike riding friends I hadn’t seen in years. Their presence, laughter and generosity filled my cup and gave me encouragement I didn’t even think I needed. They made big efforts to take time off work, come see me and ride with me. They treated me to meals and even helped me get some much needed love for my bike. I felt seen and loved. I can’t help but think that helped me get up and over Boreas Pass- a monstrous 12 mile climb on broken dirt roads at altitude leading into Summit County, CO. It maintained the balance of solo time and time with others- the equation I most prefer on long trips.
One night south of Steamboat Springs I set up camp in a stunning patch of grass completely surrounded by Aspen trees. Due to yet another incoming thunderstorm I set up camp early. In the peaceful theta state of almost being asleep i heard undeniable “thumpy” footsteps. I slowly stuck my head out of the tent to see a massive black bear scurry off through the trees. Being potentially the only human for miles on end made the experience that much scarier and that much more special.
In Wyoming, I met up with the film crew for a five day stretch to shoot the film, “Eyes on the Horizon”. It was sweet time with a small group of people who had become my trip family of sorts. On our first night camping together we nearly set the desert on fire after a windstorm picked up at 2am and sent flurries of sparks across the scorched earth. We nearly ran out of gas in our rental camper van when a couple driving an off road vehicle stopped and graciously gave us several gallons. On the final day of filming we were less than a foot away from backing the van down a small ravine on accident. That story of being towed out is too long to tell here but “holy smokes” it was nerve-racking and memorable.
Riding through Wyoming was nothing short of spectacular. It begins with the Great Basin- a 100 mile plus stretch of barren rolling terrain with little water, antelope and not a single tree. It was both the remote open landscape of New Mexico and the mountainous grandeur of Colorado. It finishes with a stretch through Grand Teton National Park which has so much beauty you have to see it to believe it. It was near here I met a man named John who was also from middle Tennessee and who knew some of the same people I knew. He drove me an hour to his home for a steak dinner, laundry and a shower and drove me an hour back to the route the next morning following a hearty breakfast. Packing up for that day’s ride I found a note inside reading “Get a meal and a motel on me” and two fresh $100 bills. Trail Magic! Wyoming was wild, raw and wonderful.
Montana follows Wyoming after a brief stint passing through the far corner of Idaho-barely worth a mention aside from an infamous sandy stretch of trail which would steal the zen even from the most experienced monk or meditator. Ian called it the “pine prison” and he was right. The route would often follow countless miles of dense, thick pine forest. This made “bear scare” feel scarier as it was now the heart of grizzly bear country. I saw lots of cowboys herding cattle. They were real cowboys and not the boot wearing imposters of my hometown of Nashville, Tn. Nor far from Missoula, MT my friend Emma picked me up and gave me much needed gracious hospitality for three nights. We ate well, relaxed and got me geared up for the final push. I stopped by the corporate office of Adventure Cycling to shake hands and thank them for creating all three routes that would outline the three trips of my mission. While there, we were swapping stories when a couple, also on their own bike trip who just stopped by, joined in. They gave us the gripping first hand account of the tragic predatory killing in Ovando, MT in July of 2021. It’s a sobering story shared in the zeitgeist of the Divide I had heard tidbits about before the trip. I have never in my life and may never ever again hear such a harrowing account of events directly from a person’s mouth. Ovando is the town where Emma had picked me up and i had just been riding solo through. The Divide can seem simple and straightforward in beautiful weather and in other times it reminds you Mother Nature is still in charge and wields its power at will.
Emma returned me to Ovando and rode with me a few miles to send me off on my final stretch. A few days later I reached Eureka, MT just short of the Canadian border. I ate a cheeseburger with huckleberry ice cream between the buns and could have eaten two more. I considered calling the border my terminus as I longed to be home and missed my girlfriend. She encouraged me to continue on.
For the next three days I rode through the prettiest terrain of the entire route. I called out “Hey Bear!” every chance I could think of doing so. I stayed in Fernie, BC and the tiny town of Elkford, BC. Elkford was over 100 miles from Banff through tough terrain. It only felt fitting to finish the trip with one final challenge. A storm rolled through and soaked the items I had laid out to dry overnight. The lady at the gas station treated me to coffee on that cold, wet and final day. She put a little magnetic ladybug on my bike as a token of good luck. It was the type of trail magic that melted me and truly defined my Divide experience and I took all of it I could ask for. The route took me up narrow single track and along a deep valley with Canadian Rockies flanking me on both sides. Wildflowers were everywhere the eye could see. I dodged potholes full of muddy water from the night before. The scenery along Spray Lake coming into Banff is the stuff of legend or of a Bob Ross painting. I got into Banff just before nightfall and stayed in a noisy, busy hostel only eating a granola bar and snacks for dinner. The day took me 14 hours of riding and 16 hours overall. It was 109 miles with 9,000 feet of climbing on rarely smooth dirt roads. It felt like the entire trip embodied in one day. Finishing Day, like the prior 59 days before it, was truly unforgettable.
When I think back on the Divide the first thing that comes to mind is the Trail Magic: the meals, money, conversations and company I received while pursuing a dream I always thought impossible. I think of the riding aspect of it secondarily. It has to be the best bike ride on the entire planet. In sum, it was the most heartwarming experience of my entire life. Its memories bring me a smile and fend off bouts of depression. In a word it was truly EPIC.
🚴🏼 Learn More: https://bikepacking.com/routes/great-divide-mountain-bike-route-gdmbr/
Id really like to give a shoutout to “adventure cycling” for creating all three of the routes for my big trips
