we got into eureka on july 9th and the flavor of a trump rally was strong. there were noisy pick-ups and american flags, along with occasional lawn signs and window decals with derogatory comments about the current president.

“merika”

the liquor store parking lot was packed and i could only guess it was because eurekans can never have enough 12-packs of twisted tea heading into the work week.

our overnight brought us to the city “campground” behind the eureka town hall. there was no water and no toilet and the campground was effectively a lawn with a couple of picnic tables. without rain, the lawn had become a urine mat for a week’s worth of campers.

a bike packer was in “camp” when we arrived and he told us about a nice sitting spot in the river and also, the gollum-like homeless person who was forbidden by the city to enter city property.

every small town has its gollum.

once my tent was set up, i sauntered over to the stream and eased my way into full submersion. my core temperature plummeted and rejuvenation was instant.

in the morning, i rode to the post office to off-load gear i didn’t want and to pick up a general delivery package from an old buddy, from washington days. paddy wilson, he of the infamous “mcrory’s incident” in seattle in the late 70’s. the box i sent smelled like feet and ass. the box paddy sent was full of bikepack goodness: jerky, trail mix, nuts, and fruit.

a truly incredible gesture and such a gift. thank you paddy!!! ❤️❤️

once back with my bounty, i peed on the lawn one last time and scott and i headed out of town under another unforgiving sun. our climb to get us over the whitefish divide involved 2,200 feet of “up”, atop a road that varied from smooth tarmac to an 8-10% slope over nasty crushed rock.

we are still in “ramping up” mode and a 40-miler after yesterday’s trek was good for both of us. we stopped at tuchuk campground, found a spot and soaked in the alpine goodness of a mountain stream.

the heat was given it’s what-for by an intense storm overnight, with lightning and copious rainfall.

i mean holy shit, there was lightning.

anyone who camps knows what rain does to the camping spirit but, both of our tents held up well and our personal gear remained dry, everything else was wet and with morning’s arrival of drizzle and an overcast sky, the prospect for drying gear before packing wasn’t an option and so we loaded up and spun towards whitefish.

we made it back to the us yesterday. mid-90’s and little wind. scorching, naked sun.

got to customs and cyclists are treated like vehicles…get in line and wait for one of the customs rub-a-dubs to wave you forward.

or maybe it was the finger.

we had to stand in the heat for about 40 minutes…creeping slowly forward like the dehydrated beasts we have become.

i claimed my turkey kielbasa and it was not sieved by the rotund agent.

good times.

another hot one…headed towards the whitefish divide and the area where montana fish and game releases the “bad grizzlies”.

then 

in 1981, after a week of too much alcohol and too many relatives, i left a family reunion in los angeles and headed back to minnesota on my bicycle. my departure brought no fanfare. i said good-bye to my parents and aunt and uncle and stuffed a couple of gifted avocados into my handlebar bag and headed as far west as land would allow.  

it was july 7 and while the pacific ocean breezes were cool and affirming, i was infected with bad mojo about my journey. my bike was overladen with too much “stuff” and i was about embark on a 2,500 mile solo trek into the physical and mental unknown.  

to prepare for my adventure, i rode a couple of thousand spring and early summer miles in the rolling hills of the twin cities and did as much research as possible, prior to the internet ruining everyone’s lives and oh…making current, 2023 research a breeze.  

navigation then was all about foldable and fragile paper maps, tucked into a thick plastic handlebar pouch. there was no “ultralight gear”, no gps or i-tunes for distraction. my route home was effectively the non-freeway travel corridors of the modern world, from the soothing pacific breezes to my dirty apartment in st. paul.   

despite festering doubt and malaise, i set off from torrance and began my adventure of learning to bikepack while bikepacking. the first hills encountered along the ocean were short but steep and traffic was socal thick, but i managed to make it to san clemente my first day, a 60-mile hop to the south, past surfers and vagabonds.  i pitched my tent, fired up my svea, and ate a filling noodle meal. sleep, however, came fitfully in my -10° down mummy bag and the 80% ocean humidity.  first bikepacking lesson learned: don’t bring a winter bag on a summer journey.  

off bright and early the next morning, i took a left at oceanside and headed inland, through everlasting avocado orchards and up a meandering valley that gradually turned from green to brown. the temperature jumped into the low 90’s, and that was nothing.  by the time i descended past henshaw lake and into the desert, it was in the 100’s. 

second lesson learned: i was a dumb fuck. 

now 

the great divide mountain bike route courses down the spine of the rocky mountains from banff, alberta, to antelope wells, new mexico. it is 2,700 miles long and entails 160,000 feet of “up”. it moves along gravel roads, highways, and single track trails through some of the most spectacular geology in the world. 

riders have a couple of options. the first is for crazy riders and that effectively turns you into a time trialist, filling up on empty calories and sleeping a couple hours every 24-hours. the “tour” starts the second friday of june from banff. the record time is just under 14 days. like i said…crazy fuckers. the other option is for those with a more measured approach to life, which is “enjoy the ride.”

i have courted the “divide” for nearly a decade. first, upon hearing of it as a bad-ass mountain bike adventure (speaking to my “crazy”) and second, upon seeing it as the focus of an entire recreational industry. but for every toe-dip into its waters and a couple of weeks of winter-time excitement, anticipation and distraction, i was safe and comfortable within my familiar walls. breaking away, to use the cinematic metaphor, wasn’t going to happen. 

then again, i recognized i was sliding towards 70-years old, and that clock, the one that ticks louder as you age, is beating like a kettle drum.  

turn that fucking thing off! 

the plus? other than two titanium and plastic knees and a prostate gland that lays like an old leather coin purse against my bladder wall, i am healthy and have typically done well with challenges. the minus?  it seems like a big commitment and there are all the things to get done…the bike prep, the riding, the planning and stuff… 

 but overall, yeah. physically, i think i can ride 2,700 miles and climb 150,000 feet because it is a journey and makes perfect sense.  

mentally too…oh…ahh…forgot what i was going to say.  

so that was the established pattern: think about it, get excited about it, then forget about it until next winter, but 2023 was different. the winter stirrings of a great adventure didn’t go away and some three weeks after toying with the idea, i moved towards riding the divide as a life event.  

okay, maybe. i don’t know.  

that’s the thing. as you age, complacency becomes your life partner, your bitch. its presence is subtle at first, but then begins leaving its footprint everywhere you go. you fall into habits that are annoying, yet comfortable. you start online shopping for relax a loungers, while (fill in the blank) seems like too much work. you binge-watch “intervention” and “snapped”, hoping for new ideas.  

it’s easy to see the allure of that, right? 

but as the ultimate proof that this winter was different, i ordered a set of divide maps and a narrative of riding the divide. then, to ensure there was no backing out, i made plane and hotel reservations to bring me to the start of my journey.  

in july of 2023, i am riding the great divide mountain bike route, never mind the apex predators or the me that may get in the way.