it was a tough day.

we pedaled from the llama farm to helena, climbing up a long, 8-mile road, leaving 1,800 feet of elevation below us, with another long climb before falling into montana’s capital.

for the second day in a row, the roads were terrible. gullied, potholed; demanding one’s complete attention.

going up is slow and just when you think the reward and exhilaration of going down is at hand, the road makes any movement with celerity impossible.

your brakes whine, your upper arms ache, you brain can’t process the information the road surface is sending it.

you want to go fast. you deserve to go fast because you just spent 2-hours of your life climbing up that fucking hill and all you can do is look for a line in the dirt that avoids1-foot deep potholes and 2-foot deep ravines.

i was pretty cooked by the time we arrived at the divide bike shop. my beargrease needed a little tlc and got it with a good, old fashioned bottom bracket cleaning and a new rear brake rotor. the mechanic tried to jones me into a new cassette and chain, but i arrived in helena on a bike, and not a turnip truck.

once we decided to overnight in helena, we had some difficulty finding bikepacker-friendly accommodations. part of the problem is calling a business and they don’t answer, or calling a business and leaving a message, and they don’t call back.

seems like a poor business model.

that said, we pitched our tents on a shadeless, sun-baked patch of ground at “mtb city”, which could use some “softening”, but which has a 60-foot cell tower and i am rocking on four bars right now.

riding from the bike shop to mtb city gave me an opportunity to practice my urban biking skills, which means pedaling in traffic and exhibiting complete disdain for everyone that isn’t me.

it worked good at the u of mn, all those years ago and it seems to still be with me.

hope i sleep. not sure why the tower is humming though…maybe there’s wi-fi.

should have good cell coverage tonight 😮😮

we left big nelson quietly. the sun was up and then, covered by swirling, gray clouds. we hoped for a cooler day, and got it. there was a brief rain shower as we started up huckleberry pass, but the clouds remained and it was a comfortable climb of almost 2,000 feet.

after lunch in lincoln, we charged up stemple pass, which on paper, seemed a repeat of huckleberry pass…6.6-miles and 1,900 feet of up.

at first, we were pushed by strong, up-valley winds and it seemed like the jaunt would be swift. then, the route shifted and the manicured county road turned into geologic chunk. the grade turned from slightly non-horizontal to vertical. pedaling was compromised.

hike-a-bike.

i gave it my best shot, but the sections of 20% slope were too much and pushing my bike up the hill seemed a better option than gravity pulling me down.

the worst part was all of the hiking occurred in the sun and supplemental bikepacking issues arose: overheating, dehydration, exhaustion but, you push on. there is no other option.

i was able to pedal over the summit and paused at the top, able to award stemple pass with “worst bikepacking mountain pass” of the trip so far.

brutal.

fucking brutal

the descent was no holiday parade either. the loose rock, rutting and slope were treacherous; brake pads given their ultimate test.

but then, the road evened, my death grip on the brake levers eased and after one last wilderness turn, the biker’s silhouette on top of the barn appeared and you are at the llama ranch.

barb nye and her partner john, are the proprietors. their world is one of kindness and benevolence to cyclists. they take care of the strong, the hungry, the downtrodden and do so without an invoice.

when we arrived, we were given cold beverages and snacks. allen and susan, also southbound and who we met on the swan river death highway were here. roy is northbound on a solo. wade is southbound on a solo.

brethren.

scott and i were placed in a comfortable cabin, with beds and food. sleep came rapidly. before it did though, we talked about barb and john’s approach and how it can instruct even the most hardened individual about his or her humanity.

the llamas are gone, replaced by alpacas, which are a close relative and able to withstand weather extremes better than their cousins. there are horses and cows and the smells are rich and soothing.

all barb and john ask is that you share kindness with others once you leave and scott and i will do that.

onto helena.

evidently, the big nelson campground on cooper lake is a satellite site for the montana association of inbreds.

the lake is nestled in a beautiful bowl, surrounded by rugged and heavily forested mountains. it’s description as a “gem of a usfs campground” sold both scott and me, and scott even quoted a passage by michael mccoy (riding the great divide) whereupon “early morning was great for dawdling along the shoreline.”

sign me up.

after our 3,000 calorie meal in ovando, we both really felt lethargic and the idea of another 40 miles to lincoln (home of the unabomber) was met with nonviolent displeasure.by both of us.

plus the heat, and the heat in ovando does not include perks like shade trees or cool, cedar-choked drainages. instead, the ovando valley is stark, with sage brush as it’s primary biomass. it smells good and is pretty with rolling hills and browns and yellows of every hur.

rebooting our ride and with the temperature in the mid-90’s we decided to call it a day at the big nelson campground, despite reading about a steep climb before one may begin his or her dawdling on the cooper lake shoreline.

there are only 5 sites at the big nelson campground, but it was a sunday and logic said one of the sites would be open because people have real lives, right?

our first view of the azure colored water was disappointing. a big inboard boat was pulling a skier in circles; a geometric necessity, because the lake is so small.

the usfs sign recommended no trailers to the landing, and that made sense because it included a dogleg and a steep descent but that didn’t stop two recreational savants from backing their 20’ trailers to the landing and completely choking the access. and all that to cruise on a lake like a plane in a holding pattern.

we ventured to the campsites, hoping for a shoreline site so we could dawdle, and were greeted by four hard charging dogs. a haggard male, obviously the dogs’ owner, came and said “they’re harmless.”

scott offered his hand to one of the dogs and it sneered, thereby demonstrating that a harmless dog still knows how to bite.

the “guy” told us there were no open sites and that moment of terror for two tired bikepackers arrived: no sites and miles to the next one.

the usfs allows camping anywhere, but two items we need are water and a picnic table; not because we are spoiled and demanding but because every night you stop, you have to unpack and a picnic table is the perfect setting for two guys doing that activity at the same time

we hiked back up the hill, crushed and exhausted.

at that moment, a woman approached and told us “there’s an open site up above”. it was a site with a picnic table and fire grate, and it was open, so we took it.

it was a relief, but i’ll give the accommodations a half-star rating because this is a usfs campground and they should be embarrassed they even allow people to degrade the shoreline like it is.

the kicker though, is that one of the sites has a phantom camper, meaning a set up, without occupancy.

that is illegal and that could have been our site. instead, we had to climb up a steep to our site, which makes dawdling on the shoreline optional.

like our campground neighbors last night, montana horse flies are a little slow. they lumber around with no shirts on, mouths open, and when the time is right, they land like your skin is their skin. they are easy to swat, but if they bite, they bite hard and the welt is big and bright.

stupid fucking flies.

we made it from seeley lake to ovando this morning in just over three hours, with 2000 feet of climbing.

ovando hoyt is the founder of ovando and a creepy painting of him stands at the main entrance to town. when i saw it, i reflexively reached for my pepper spray.

we are sitting at the stray bullet in ovando, having a mid-afternoon breakfast. usually, my order is “meat and grease“ and i hope that is fiulfilled here.

fingers crossed

not sure of our destination tonight. out bikepacking neighbors from last night left the stray bullet 20 minutes before we arrived and given their youthful zeal, we will likely never see them again.

the people you meet on this journey are memorable but also, here and gone.

just like that montana horse fly.

the seeley lakes inbreeding festival gathered steam at sunset, with its participants mainly positioned adjacent to our tent site in the big larch campground. there was karaoke and profanity.

want drunken behavior? shirtless men with big guts pulling a boom box in a wagon? a father telling his son he was “gonna kill you”.

‘merika!! 👍👍💪💪

at about 23:00, a calm swept over camp rub-a-dub and i slept like a baby. good sleep. deep sleep. old man sleep.

yesterday was another hot one, with temps in the 90’s and a heat-sucking sun for most of our ride.

pedaling started out with a 6.1-mile jaunt taking us up to 6,800 feet, followed by an 800-foot descent on single track. the descent was exhilarating.b

both the up and down took place in an area called the “grizzly highway.”

we didn’t see any grizzlies, but their reminders were frequent…big piles of bear poop. there were lots of overgrown areas without line-of-sight and to travel through that and not have a surprise encounter was a great relief.

later in the day, a couple of bikepackers, luke from england and irena from austria, sauntered in to our campground after following our path, and said they had encounters with 4 grizzlies.

grizzlies are always at the back of your mind. they can out run you and out climb you, but like any apex predator, their reputation exceeds their biology. humans beget most of the grizzly bear misinformation and misfortune.

last year in ovando, mt, a grizzly had been seen frequenting a campground and a woman biker brought food into her tent because that is a smart thing to do. she was was summarily killed by a grizzly.

of course, that bear was dispatched because well, how dare a carnivore with constricted habitat and increasing human intrusions behave like a wild animal and seek a meal.

you’ve all seen video of the dumbphuck in yellowstone carrying a baby bison, right? animal destroyed, man told “don’t do that again, dumbphuck.”

no disney ending in that shit.

we are going to push for lincoln today, but have a mid-point reserve chute site if the temps do what they are predicted to do: hit the mid-90’s. lincoln is a 67-mile journey with about 6,000 feet of climbing, so a challenge with an unknown outcome at this point.

the mouth-breathers are awakening. it is time to leave camp rub-a-dub.

made it into owl creek in good time yesterday…lotta climbing, with one last stretch of crazy on the swan highway.

second overnight with a young couple from portand, oregon. i added “young” because we are not and allen and susan obviously have more camp energy than us.

after dinner, they came over and we shared tales of the divide. worst moment? swan highway. best moment? those endless miles on gravel where you are the only people in the world.

we are looking ahead at our itinerary. today’s route involves a lot of climbing (duh; most of the trip) and a half-way destination of seeley lake for resupplies. as of now, we plan on moving on to moncton campground, which is about 51 biking miles from owl creek.

our fitness has increased significantly, and with it, the notion of taking bigger chunks out of the route each day is a bit more prominent.

then you sleep, or try to, and wake up and that old man shit gets going and you just want to sit at the picnic table and drink coffee and make snide comments about other campers and the world.

scott and i were talking last night about how the first days of the trek are now a blur and already, some of the details of .our early stops are lost.

we remember well, getting lost, rain, heat, and hail, but the totality of the journey is just too big for minutiae. not as big as the canadian rockies. nothing is bigger than them.

being the eternal biologist, i brought binoculars because i assumed there would be viewing vistas galore. there are some, but most of your day is spent on a road within a contiguous forest. you just zone ahead.

realizing my role as an “observer” was limited, i sent my binocs back to tofte and right away regretted it when a large “forest raptor” flew in front of me. wing beats and grey color had “goshawk” written all over it, but i am now can only relegate it to “large forest raptor”.

sun is up, but a barred owl is chattering nearby.

noisy fucker.

a perfect start to another day on the divide.

we climbed over 3500 feet yesterday, with both scott and i feeling the force, that being the directional arrow of our navigation systems (just follow the arrows, dummy).

that riding zeal, however, meant we had to backtrack because we didn’t pay attention to “our turn”.

same shit, different day.

we turned around and headed back to the swan river trading post, an rv/campground park with obvious “open carry” privileges.

getting there meant gravel back to the highway and then 1 and a half miles on the swan river highway to recuperative bliss.

holy shit. screaming traffic, no shoulder, and a tarmac that was like a crumble cake topping.

instant sense of imminent death. scott was in front of me and i watched as an adventurer van passed me going at least 75, unsteady mph, and missed him by a couple of feet.

plenty of room, right?

not when you are tightroping whatever smooth surface there is and the driver gives you no room.

fucking mulyuk.

made it to the campground and had to unwind with self-hypnosis, contemplation, introspection, and deep-breathing and yes, a couple of beers.

all was well….ooommmmmmmm.

we got set up in a cozy little cabin; no tent for us, and slept like the near-octogenarian cherubs that we are.

onto owl creek campground.

very fitting.

the worst part about riding the divide are the moments when urban life becomes unavoidable. yesterday, we ended two days on back roads…maybe 10 vehicles in 50 miles, in the belly of whitefish, mt.

it was choked with traffic and hot. traffic was backed up at each intersection and it was easy to measure my anxiety in: being there, finding a bike shop, finding a store supplying non-empty calories, food, fuel and finally , getting the fuck out of there.

after two hours of funkified, and painful “city life”, we took a left off of hwy 93 and were back on the divide.

exhale.

we pedaled south and ended up camping in the front yard of tom and pat arnone. they are famous on the divide for hosting stragglers and more famous for being incredible human beings. they are truly trail angels.

their story is long and fabled and too much to enter here, as we ready for another day of pedaling in an air fryer, but wow, tom and pat evened out the mess that was whitefish.

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.