I’m proud to say I’ve finally finished the Great Divide ride from Banff, Canada to Antelope Wells, Mexico. Unlike the Tour Divide racers who tackle it starting in June of each year and manage to complete it in one non-stop marathon effort over 20+ days, I’ve taken 3 years and 5 legs to “get’er done”.

If it weren’t for a pair of Warmshowers guests 3 years ago I’d have never known about the mountain bike ride shadowing, paralleling and sometimes overlapping on the Continental Divide Hiking Trail.  Purest mountain bikers scorn the GD trail because it’s not single track all the way, but it’s honest tough riding over the 2,745 miles with 200,000′ of elevation gain and loss. I’ve often touted 2,900 miles which is probably correct when you count getting lost and going into towns for provisions and succor.

My first venture on the GDMBR was just to test my mettle from Steamboat to Del Norte inside Colorado on a “gifted” FSR Cannonade Super V whose bottom bracket sounded like a coffee grinder when I reached Del Norte (about 500 miles).  Encouraged to do the whole ride, I bought a newer, lighter, used carbon Cannonade Lefty and set off of knock out Del Norte to mid-New Mexico somewhere.  That effort was short lived when the “new to me” plastic saddle wore silver-dollar-size sores you-know-where after 3 days. So that left Abiquiu to Mexico and Banff to Steamboat remaining.

My old high school buddy that I cycled from Austin to St Augustine with wanted to give the GDMBR a try from Banff last year, so I rode with him, and eventually just me, down to Steamboat.  This April I started at the Mexican boarder and tried riding north hoping temps and weather would warm and abate as I got that southern 500+ mile section completed. After 4 days of rain, below 60 temps and waking up to snow on the tent, I bailed leaving just 200+ miles in middle New Mexico to finish as soon as it warmed up and snow melted.

That takes me to last week when Stanna whisked me down to Abiquiu to finish that last 200+ over one mountain range and across a high desert to Grants, New Mexico. Following the day after a “heavy rainfall” in the high mountains made for very interesting riding.  Fortunately I only spent an hour in the muck pictured above, stopping every 10 to 15 minutes to claw off the mud.

Everything went smoothly until I realized I’d made a dyslexic turn at the top of the mountain and went 12.5 miles downhill the wrong way, giving me a total of 8,500′ of uphill by the time I found my way back on the correct track. So after adding 10% to my total distance the first day I made extra-sure I turned correctly.  Of all the legs of this Great Divide ride, this was the first time I’d ridden a full day with cotton-mouth.  I just couldn’t get enough water in the desert, even though I’d never run out. My goal was to finish in 2 and half days and I had to ride a hard 100 miles the second day to keep on track.

As I was listening to an Audible book the end came as a surprising anti-climax. Only riding home in the car did it strike me: “It’s over, done and finished.”

With the best intentions I tried to “knock off” the last of the Great Divide trail last week, from Abiquiu, New Mexico to the Mexican border at Antelope Wells.  Weather in Durango and northern New Mexico wasn’t looking too good. Good friends Mike and Judy were interested in seeing the southern parts of New Mexico, especially the two Wilderness Areas: Gila and Aldo Leopold which the route bisects, so they volunteered to drive me down to the southern terminus if I’d be interested in riding from south to north on this section.

Interestingly, it’s 560 miles from Durango to Antelope Wells via highways and this remaining section of the Great Divide is almost the same mileage, but doesn’t nearly reach Colorado riding south to north on Forest Service and back roads next to the Continental Divide.

I was determined to ride self-supported and Mike thought he might ride a few sections along the way so we endeavored to camp together for the first four days.  It kind-of resembled a White Rim, Utah ride, except that my Lefty was fully loaded, whereas on the White Rim you only carry water, a snack and some spares.

Paved roads on the first day helped me log 105 miles where desert wildflowers were surprisingly prevalent, and the second day was into the mountains and cold so I only got in 77 miles.  Waking up to snow and deep in the National Forest mountains took a toll, riding only 61 miles in 36° weather and headwinds on the third day.  I think I only saw one other vehicle that day, but did split up a herd of 20 Elk crossing the trail. Mileage got better on the fourth day when I put in 102 miles, but the temps never got out of the 40’s and the winds were stronger still. Oh, and there was snow on the tent and bike that morning as well.  The high point that morning was waking to wild turkeys gobbling close to camp and a silver-appearing fox streaming across the road in front of me.

The fifth day it started raining right after I started, and between the rain and the winds it just wasn’t much fun at that point.  Mike and Judy were heading back to Durango from Grants and took my “pulse” at lunch-time so I bailed in Grants with only 66 miles that day. We checked the weather on the iPad and it was another day and a half before chance of precip dropped to 30% so rather than hole-up in a motel I loaded up the bike into the truck and was home before dinner.

Near as I can tell there’s just over 200 miles left of the Great Divide trail, so I’m still DNF until that’s completed.  At least now that 200 is close by and I should be able to find a couple days to knock that off and post a completion of the 2,745 mile mountain bike ride in proximity to the Continental Divide from Canada to Mexico.

Just in case you doubt how cold it was, check out this coat I made out of my sleeping bag by opening the foot zipper.  It was just too early to go to bed, so after dinner I donned the bag for a hour in an effort to reduce the prone tent-time waiting until sunrise.

And I did manage to make it to Pie Town just at closing time (4 PM) and get a piece to their famous pie a-la-mode as part of the “virtuous bingeing” that high-mileage cycling allows.  Amazing how easy it was to put in another 20+ miles after that late afternoon snack.

We didn’t think to take a photo before we packed the bike in the back of the Avalon, but there she is neatly fit into the trunk.  Timing is everything and as it was Stanna was 26 miles from Steamboat Springs when I called her from McDonalds.  She had anticipated my arrival by watching the Spot Locator track and was right on.

She was in Denver after having made a road trip with her brother, David, to Mississippi for their aunt’s 90th birthday celebration.  I had pre-arranged to meet her somewhere enroute with a box of re-supply items such that Don and I could have hard-to-find things available for the next stage of the adventure, since we’d theoretically be crossing paths on her return to Durango.

As it was, I was ready to “pack it in” anyway, primarily because I’d already ridden the next 700 miles out of Steamboat solo in the previous two years: a 500-mile stretch from Steamboat to Del Norte and then an aborted leg from Del Norte to Grants, New Mexico when I only completed 200 miles due to saddle sores from a new saddle.  Having ridden the last two weeks alone wasn’t as fun as with Don, and the prospect of repeating the next 700 miles by myself once again didn’t appeal to me.

At this point all I have to do to “finish” the Great Divide route is ride from Abiquiu, New Mexico to the Mexican boarder (a little over 500 miles) and I can take credit for the entire route.  August probably isn’t the best time to tackle this portion anyway.

So it was anti-climactic arriving in Steamboat Springs and fortuitous, because just after loading the bike a thunderstorm opened up and poured rain.  It was the first daytime rain I’d experienced in the entire 21 days and I was smugly inside a vehicle.

The bike and the gear worked out perfectly.  Other than the crimped cable housing I caused from strapping on the handlebar bag above rather than under the shifter, I experienced not a single malfunction.  If I asked myself the same question I’d asked the other riders and thru-hikers, “What would you do different?”, my answer would be “nothing.”  I’ll use the same list for the next bike adventure, and I’ll be looking forward to it.

Crossing the Great Basin, a hundred-plus stretch of alto-plano featuring sage, far-off views of the Wind River mountain range, pronghorn antelope, rabbits and more sage, had only two dependable water sources, both within the first 26 miles.  It was the first time I’d gone more than 3 or 4 hours without seeing some vehicle on these remote roads chosen for the Great Divide route. As it was, I cycled about 10 or 12 hours altogether before several motorcycles entered the Great Basin from the southern end.

Having already cycled some 90+ miles of similar dry and vacant terrain, I thought Atlantic City the correct spot to rest and overnight.  After a long and leisurely burger and fries, followed by a humungous ice cream sundae, I had secured permission to bunk in the giant indian teepee.  The only problem as I departed the bar was the lady owner, who’d granted permission to stay, mentioned, “I’m sure the Saturday night noise of the bar won’t bother a tired rider.” (The teepee was erected directly in front of the Grubstake Bar and Restaurant.) The weather was warm, the winds very light and the sun was still high in the sky, so I left Atlantic city about 7:00 PM after checking the map, thinking I could get a head start on the Great Basin.

Since I’d been cycling solo, I’d started listening to audio books (finished 4 and I’m still on the fifth – an 800-page Pulitzer prize-winner called The Goldfinch) which combined with the waning light and empty road of that early evening, made the ride new and almost refreshing.  It wasn’t until I stopped to don a head-lamp about 10 PM that I realized I’d probably done enough for the day and should stop and camp for the night.

The map showed a wetland spring at the 26-mile mark and the last water for the Basin, so I thought I should keep an eye out for its landmarks.  The text of the map said something about “cross over the stile to access the spring” and I hadn’t seen a fence line for hours so I thought maybe I’d missed it. (One thing I should mention is that I don’t have an odometer on the bike and because of that many of the turns and map instructions I’ve had to suss-out in other ways or flat out miss.)

The sage was so thick right up to the road-bed that I wondered where I could set up a tent, when I came across a small side road.  I circled around to check out the possibility of camping directly on the side road and saw in the distance a reflection of a sign post or something luminous 150 yards down that small slightly used two-track road.  Curious as to what could be reflective at that point in the desert and wanting to know what I might be camping in front of, I cycled down to find the Digneous Well, the same fenced-in spring I’d been looking for.  Amazing.

It was a good thing I’d knocked some miles off the Great Basin the night before because even with an entrancing book to listen to, the next day the miles and empty road went on and on and on.  As it was, I barely got into a campground in Rawlins (having stopped to eat & shop for provisions) before the campground locked up the showers at 9 PM.

There has been a continual flow of cyclists almost from the beginning of the Great Divide route. The frequency of seeing them seems to have increased in the last week to the point that I’ve finally lost count. What is most surprising is the number of cycle tourers travel the opposite direction. Every time I come down a long downhill or get a generous boost from a westerly wind I say to myself, “Sure glad I’m not going the other direction”.

These two bikes belong to a Basque couple traveling north and represent just about the maximum you can put on a touring bike, outside of China.

Not sure if you can read the notice posted on a Forest Service roadside board, so I’ll interpret: Grizzly trapping during 6/20 and 8/19. Everywhere we’ve camped and traveled the warnings about storing food away from your camp are everywhere, with many official campgrounds providing bear boxes and even one site two days ago had a horse trailer set up as a bear proof storage cage. I rolled my bike right inside so I didn’t have to unload the food stashed in the frame packs,

Much of the last several days route has been in high plains of
the continental divide. Unfenced prairie that rolls and undulates on and on, with the Tetons or Wind River ranges as a backdrop.

There has also been a number of CDT thru hikers that I’ve come across, as the two routes converge quite often in this region. Not sure a six month trek is in my cards.

When you ride longer every day it’s hard to find time to blog. Plus there’s been some sections with A paucity of Internet connections.

I’ll just include a couple of photos from the road for example my last nights camping spot along a creek. Still a lot of warnings about grizzly bears so I have to hang my food every night here’s a photo of the food bag hanging in a tree 25 feet up.

Just now passing into the Teton national Park area which is spectacular and Jackson lake is also beautiful

Just read this blog item which shames my blog :
One more follow-up regarding the connection between clear thinking and clear writing: Orwell’s famous essay, Politics and the English Language:

A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing your mind open and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. They will construct your sentences for you — even think your thoughts for you, to a certain extent — and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing your meaning even from yourself. It is at this point that the special connection between politics and the debasement of language becomes clear.

Don’s enroute to California, his wife Jann came to help him.

Lots more climbing and big sky vistas now that the smoke has cleared. Finally catching up to other riders in Wise River. 2 Dutch, 2 from Florida and supposedly 6 more just ahead. [BREAK: lost wifi at the biker bar where I started this day’s blog.]

I caught up with a clot of riders at the big joe campground along the scenic byways between Wise River and the town at the end of my second map (6 maps total). There were seven riders in the campground plus myself, among them two more retired fellows from Fort Collins riding together, a solo retired man from Dallas (who has done Rawlins to Del Norte before) and a solo fellow in his forties who was the lightest of them and I forgot to ask his home town.

The ride out of Wise River is on one of Montana’s Scenic Byways and, if you discount the head winds in the earliest open valleys, is quiet spectacular. After the first 8 or 10 miles there was maybe one car every half hour on this late Sunday afternoon.

Of the eight riders there were five different camp stoves in use. One canister, one Jet Boil, one MSR white gas, another I couldn’t recognize, and my Caldera. The Dutch boys ate ramen, canned green beans and Tuna, the Forida guys Ramen and canned meat, and the rest all had their Mountain House foil backpacking meals. I wonder how many foil packages they travel with? I had a Knorr rice and chicken pack ($2 in Wise River, $1 in City Market at home).

Don just text messaged me that he took a 20+ MPH fall and broke 7 ribs and separated one end of his clavicle from the sternum. After a careful ride downhill from the Divide, he hit loose gravel in a bad washboard and lost control.  He thinks all the smoke in the air caused congestion which exacerbates his Meniere’s disease, which affects his balance.   He’s in Helena and his wife Jann is flying in to help him.  They should be flying home Sunday, where Don will be evaluated to determine if surgery is necessary or not to repair the clavicle.

Real sorry to get the news, I was looking forward to hooking back up and finishing the ride together.

Not a good start for a 65-mile three-pass day, when you don’t realize you’ve camped past the turn off for the next leg of the route. Using false logic and no help from the considerable resources, I turned left out of the high school football field I’d been invited to pitch my tent in, and started looking for the first crossroad mentioned on the map. After 4 miles I was suspicious and at the six-mile curve that turned north convinced I’d missed the road described. About half way back I realized it could have been something I passed the day before, prior to the hosted camping. Oh well, a 12-mile warmup on a cool morning.

Backing up a bit, we’d caught up with the ACA touring cyclists (mentioned in the prior blog post), and they offered once again to let us camp with them in Lincoln if we planned to stay there as well. Don and I hadn’t been committing to any daily destinations, primarily because we’d had a number of diversions that slowed our progress already. (Ends up Don did have still more problems – bent derailleur hanger again [from a single track fall] and a loose cassette.)

Anyway, we camped at the high school football field and enjoyed all the amenities the group did this time, including hot showers in the locker room (didn’t remember the nozzles were so low) and even better the farewell BBQ. The intentionally-delayed dessert after the evening debriefing was Bananas Foster with all the trimmings. I made more trips back to the table than I’ll put in print. “Plenty”connotes plural doesn’t it?

Don was uncertain how to tackle the next portion of the route (3 passes and almost 4,000′ climbing in 67 miles) so we agreed that he’d get himself to Helena in an easier or more leisurely fashion and I’d carry on. He’s hoping to shuttle himself down route and meet up again after he’s recovered, the bike is dependable and maybe even a new pair of riding shorts.

Photos for this leg of the trip are all masked with fairly dense smoke-filled skies. Lovely vistas and greenery just hazy from all the forest fires to the west.