free from the colter bay mega campground, we pedaled up and over the continental divide at towgatee pass and on an everlasting downhill, until it wasn’t. the pass rests at 9,658 feet. the air is thin and the view expansive.

the colter bay campground literally has hundreds of sites for all shapes and models of recreational camper. big-ass rv’s, group sites and of note, sites for humble hikers and bikepackers.

plenty of room for that ilk. keep us separated from the common people, the salt of the earth. after all, “those bikers wear the same clothing day after day and are very frightening, what with their helmets and chamois cream.”

kids scream and run around until their parents lay down the law, and then the parents gleefully break the 22:00 noise curfew, because they are adults.

the store and restaurant are busy as soon as they open and the national park service does well in marking up most items around 40%. i bought a can of spam (😔) in eureka a couple weeks ago and it cost $4.79. in the colter bay commissary today, the same can was $6.39 and i bought it because i seem to be suffering from nitrate, salt, and processed organ meat deficiencies.

spam, ramen, and lays barbecue chips in a titanium pot?

yes please!!!

the roads feeding the parks are crazy with traffic and noisy. most drivers respect fully loaded bikes, but there are always those who stray and cross that thin white line and venture onto the shoulder.

the roadside itself tells its tales with bits and pieces of broken automobiles and cooler lids and bottles and bags, both full and empty. highway riding is always an anxiety-fueled adventure and is not for the faint of heart.

i rode up the climb to towgatee pass on the divide trail. it was the longest climb of the trip at 13 miles, with an altitude gain of 2,200 feet.

when i left the campground, i was uncertain if i even wanted to pedal, i was tired and with little sleep (again), but 22-miles of tarmac took care of that…i moved quickly and once the road split, i was fully divide-engaged.

once i hit turpin meadows, the gravel took over and i started the climb. scott, meanwhile, rode highway 26 and avoided horse fly hell. alternate routes are always there for the taking and yet, scott and i have been mostly true to the dirt and gravel that marks our path to the south.

i should have never disparaged those flies because now, their serrated proboscides and highly effective anti-coagulants are streaking my legs with blood.

there seems to be some sort of fly hierarchy. i have noted they are able to stay in my orbit up to about 15 mph. then, they disappear. but, when one is swatted, a replacement is ever far away.

big and slow.

nasty bite.

we rode into lava mountain resort and had burgers and a gallon of ice water. we stayed in “grizzly 4”, a small cabin with 2 bunk beds and an empty gatorade bottle full of cigarette butts. such an easy housekeeping chore, but truly gross.

scott and i are both tired, and recognize the need for a day off of bikes and chunky gravel trails.

we will get that day off on tuesday, in pinedale, wy.

we topped 1000 miles in 23 riding days today. those miles come with 71,000 feet of climbing. while that provides a quantitative assessment of the ride, the qualitative component is perhaps more important

we have pushed hard the last couple of days. it’s hard to comprehend the vistas, the mileage, the altitude, the sweat, the sense of physical depletion, the salt-stained clothing, the need to sleep and being unable to sleep, the brain-rattling trails and the things i have lost since july 5th in canmore.

it’s all a blur.

i sit after riding and can’t remember the minutia of our journey, but i remember standing at the u.s. border waiting for the one agent to move a line of cars a quarter-mile long. impatient, i dashed into canadian customs to verify that “we, as bicyclists, had to stand in line like an ir-conditioned vehicle?”

the canadian agent said “right.”

we have topped many climbs, but stemple pass, the ride from helena to basin, and fleacer ridge proved evil, mostly because of their failure to accommodate two old guys on bikes.

scott and i met allen and susan in swan lake , mt, on july 14th, and they still are in our divide orbit.

sam and his buddy blew by us south of columbia falls on july 12, eager to ride 120 km a day. sam’s buddy bailed and since july 19th sam has been part of our bikepacking gang.

those are all memorable and will, in the future, add to life’s nostalgia, but what can never be forgotten, are the angels of the divide who make it a point to take care of those who may be destitute or desperate, or who need some encouragement, or a place to pitch a tent, or just want to connect with human goodness.

i look back and there was tom and pat arnone, whose house sits on the divide trail and since the first riders dared to venture north or south 20 years ago, have opened their home to divide riders.

barb nye and her partner john, at the “llama ranch” have cabins and food and ask for no money, only that you pass on human goodness to others within 24-hours.

such a simple, satisfying request.

i broke a spoke and had to make an after-hours call to a bike shop in butte to get it repaired. tristan at “derailed” had my bike rolling smoothly within a couple hours. when i went to pay, he charged me only for parts and said “we don’t charge labor for divide riders.”

jeanette and mel opened up their house to us at red hawk lodge and made us feel like family.

and then, there are all the people who slow down or stop on those dust-choked roads to let you pass, free from particulates.

last night, after a punishing 70-mile ride from jeanette and mel’s, over thick black sand and an undulating, bouncing road surface, we arrived at the warm river campground, resigned to another dinner of cliff bars and ramen. out of the blue, rick, the campground host pulled up in his golf cart and asked if we wanted beer and pizza.

we put our collective bikepacking heads together and said “yes”, and rick went into ashton and brought back three pizzas and a six-pack of beer.

later, his wife donna visited and asked if we wanted ice cream. fifteen minutes later, i was eating fresh huckleberry ice cream.

rick and donna said they “like bikepackers because you are so real and interesting.”

i can tell you that people like rick and donna, or tom and pat, or john and barb or the courteous drivers and their collective goodness, make this journey more about life than pedaling or climbing.

after another “bed in a box” night,

we moved east from lima, mt today (7/26) through sage-dominated valleys under a cloudless sky that stretched forever. it was beautiful but turned windy, something we are learning to live with.

the lima rv park and hotel meant well. our room had a comfortable gathering area, a kitchen and a shower head about 5-feet off the bottom of the tub, which produced some awkward showering postures.

anything to get clean.

because of our current group motif, it was decided our kitchen would be perfect for frozen pizza for five; a meal necessitated because the restaurant was closed and we had already cleared the exxon shelves of all the jerky and cheese sticks.

the pizza went well. the cool down from having an oven at 400° for an hour-and-a-half didn’t.

at 02:00, unable to sleep because of the room heat, i went to the door and opened it. a rush of cool air entered the room. i fanned the door open and shut. for a minute, i considered leaving the door open, but shut it to keep out backpackers and raccoons. later, scott told me he wished i would have left the door open. a better solution? no more beds in a box.

i got about an hour of sleep and my early morning sullenness easily equaled my bonked sullenness earlier in the afternoon.

the forests have been gone for the past couple days. now, we are in range land. every landscape is fenced to either keep livestock out of protected areas or in protected areas because the fence is in the wrong place.

livestock protection, however, doesn’t mean much when water resources are doused with gallons of cow urine and tons of cow shit. conversely, we, as conscientious bikepackers are told to move 100-feet away from water, dig a hole at least 4” deep and when “done”, cover with leaf litter and gently pat to surface level.

cows get a free pass. they shit all over. they shit on each other and what do they get for it? an appearance on a dinner plate.

in range country, streams are turbid and choked with algae. when in need of water, a choice to filter out e. coli colonies is not as easy as the choice to just get dehydrated. dehydration can be cured, hosting colonies of foreign e. coli would mean a trip to the hospital, of which there are none.

cows along the route are dumb as rocks and stare at you like you are the creator. i get it, the history, the taming of the west.

all that.

sage plants produce a powerful, aromatic terpene and the smell along the route is incredible. even while pedaling, deep breaths decongest and aromatic oils fill your world.

we ended our day at red hawk lodge, with a huge spread of mexican food presented by owners, jeannette and mel. the lodge, their home, overlooks the red rock national wildlife refuge, a water/wetland mosaic that must be overwhelmed with migratory birds in the fal. mel and jeannette both regularly watch the refuge with binocs. how could they not?

it was a little warm in the top floor bedrooms, but i guess i’ll have to get used to that.

the sage terpenes produce an incredibly rich aroma and it is easy to understand its benefits.

smells so good.

we left the dad’s creek cabin at 9:00, and moved to the east over 10-miles of freshly graded road. the rocks brought to the surface bounce a fully-loaded bike and can redirect your front wheel in a flash. it can be treacherous and within the group, or to whomever we encounter, “ride safe” is the word we spread.

i let a few pounds of air out of my tires to allow a more cushioned trek but still, you have to pay attention. a bad road surface means your neck and upper arms will be engaged and before too long, your upper body aches.

we left as a group this morning but in short order, the four riders with boutique 2.2 and 2.25” tires and low rolling resistance distanced themselves from me. rather than time trial back to them, i accepted my fate as the last wagon in the donner party expedition and pedaled at a comfortable pace.

fortunately, the weather had changed overnight and the northwest winds that pushed smoke towards us yesterday were replaced by a fresh northeast breeze.

mountain valleys are fickle, however, and as we climbed, we faced a stiff headwind that increased as our ascent peaked at around 8,000 feet.

uphills suck, but the benefit is that every uphill results in a downhill and with it, one has an opportunity to regroup, have some water, a snack or other recuperative items unless…the road has been graded and your hard-earned downhill turns life-challenging.

once we started the descent to the i-15 corridor and lima, we enjoyed a tail wind, which turned into a nefarious, sustained 25 mph wind for the 7-miles to lima.

i will tell you: i was completely bonked by the time i arrived at the exxon, where the group had gathered. i exhibited no social skills and only wanted to eat and drink my goods and do so in a hurry.

it is a terrible feeling to be bonked. you sense hunger and thirst and exhaustion all at once, but are uncertain which apocalyptic beast to address first.

i know my breakfast this morning was minimal for our 48-miler today, in part because our planned food resupply in grant yesterday was scratched because the store was closed and evidently, only the owner knew that.

not a good business model.

nevertheless, i felt i could make it with the snacks on hand, until the head winds slapped me into lima.

within the past hour, i have downed 130 fluid ounces of water and am just now starting to feel okay. it’s the price you pay when you assume things will be okay, even though there are always variables that will trip you up.

next: beds in a box, part 2. 😩

the first 23.9 miles this morning were perfect. the rest? not so much.

we bid goodbye to our rustic accommodations at elkhorn hot springs, and by rustic i mean beds in a box.

there was no water, there was no toilet, and the double-hung windows were sealed shut with a quarter-inch of sherwin williams’ finest cold war, lead-based paint.

our gulag for the evening was named “moose” and when we opened it, a rush of hot air escaped and the outside temperature crept up a couple of degrees.

sensing the sweat box and my complete inability to sleep when warm, without white noise, or while entertaining impure thoughts, i asked the lodge for a fan and received no fan.

the calling card for elkhorn hot springs, however, isn’t their sweat box lodging, it is the hot springs themselves. when i heard about them, i envisioned geologic plateaus sporting small, steaming pools with therapeutic minerals and thick white towels to wrap its visitors.

what we got was a couple of old concrete pools with crumbling steps and a couple of under inflated, physically abused floaties to help those prone to drowning hold their head above the water.

that truly is more than a metaphor at elkhorn.

the users were a multiple-sized blend of guests and locals, with a nice pool representation of good and bad tats. skulls and flowers seemed to be the most popular theme. i think that’s what they were, but didn’t want to get caught staring at tattoos so perilously close to cleavage.

creepers.

the hot springs were like a liquid walmart.

i got in and got out, and am now waiting for the brain amoebas to asexually propagate and turn me into a vegetable. if nothing else, i’ll be a perfect bikepacker.

there were some highlights at the lodge though. the food was good, the people were nice, and the food was good.

ten miles out of elkhorn, after a screaming, fully loaded 37 mph descent, i turned left and saw a scenic byways kiosk. it included a picture of the hot springs, maybe taken in the 70’s. it was bright and cheery.

i told myself “i’ll have to visit that place some day.

today’s ride brought us 58-miles to “dad’s creek cabin”. our traveling party has swelled to five and tonight, everyone has a bed and the windows here actually open.

the 23.9 perfect miles morphed into a cross wind and then a head wind and into smoke and a freshly graded stretch that brought every 2-3” rock in western montana to the road surface.

the last 5 miles were punishing, but soon forgotten with another day on the divide.

once i made the decision to “divide”, and after prep miles began, a persistent thought lingered: “what about my knees?” the divide represented 160,000-feet of climbing and 2,600-miles of “here to there”, and while the beautiful hills and single track of cook county provided a great training venue, the divide is different.

truth be told, fleacer ridge scared me, partly because of its reputation, but mostly because of its physics. the descent especially is a downhill plunge that requires sure footing, good balance, and adapting quickly whenever those are compromised. after two knee replacements, the dynamics of my legs have changed. gone are my anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments and with them, most of my quadricep functionality. quads, that knot -like muscle group above the knee cyclists are most famous for…well that and wheelies and doping and crashing and saddle sores and ignoring traffic rules…are kind of important.

the quads are the lever, the fulcrum, and the jake brakes of walking/running uphill or downhill. they define youthful bounding and movement and happy engagement with life, with sports, with everything.

all the things i heard about fleacer ridge, it’s down hill portion especially, posed the greatest challenge of this journey for me. anyone who has had a tkr knows doing things “down”, be they steps or slopes, are where you miss those muscles the most.

at the same time, cycling is the perfect exercise, going short or far, up or down. but fleacer ridge is not cycling, it is an attempt to defy gravity.

heading down, i rode as far as i could, then began my measured descent. horse flies feasted, sweat dripped and i made sure every foot plant was firm before engaging another.

it wasn’t fun, and was accented with pain and exhaustion, but like every physical challenge of this journey, it was soon over and the next challenge took place in the divide queue.

we make big things out of little things and maybe that is what i did with fleacer ridge. it is probably what i have done with too many things in my life, but succeeding anything, anywhere, is a pretty good feeling.

our ride to elkhorn today presented the physical aftermath of fleacer ridge: my patellar tendons were tender and my knee joints tight. for the first climb in a while, i shifted into a big cog and “granny-geared” up and over the 1,400-foot climb. i was a tourist, enjoying the scenery and without a care in the world.

a day off does wonders physically. you ingest massive amounts of calories and sleep without the tug of packing and leaving. you feel renewed.

i’m not sure if there is a recipe for when and how long to rest, but once the brain starts to fire the pedaling synapses, the rest day is done.

we could have easily stayed one more day in butte (that seems so ironic) and had another plate full of those nummy super 8 hard boiled eggs but instead, this morning we pedaled, and we pedaled hard

our path took us up and over fleacer ridge, the trail of which is a seam of gravel and cobble and fractured rock “up” a 20% slope and “down” a 40% slope. it is perilous and “we were warned”, but rode it anyways.

okay, we rode part of it. the rest was a hike-a-bike with brakes locked, under a scalding sun.

if you’ve read this blog, you will recall a time when i made fun of montana horse flies being slow and dim-witted. two weeks later, dipteran retribution was served and the horse flies feasted at first on any bare skin, but later, anywhere. they are still slow and easy to swat, but you can’t swat what you can’t see and you can’t swat when your hand has a death grip on your rear brake lever.

getting up to fleacer involved a long, 8.1 mile trek with an elevation gain of 2,100 feet. our climb coincided nicely with temperatures in the 90’s and the first brigade of the blood-sucking insects.

during our journey, many people have warned about “fleacer ridge”, like it is evil, or leads hobbits the wrong way to mordor. it isn’t. it’s an historic-use trail traversing a steep, treeless ridge and is part and parcel to the rocky mountains.

of course it is steep. of course it is treacherous. of course one must be careful, but in my 19th day of divide experience, it is no worse than the 6,000-foot, rock infested, butt-crack climb from helena to basin, or stemple pass, our first run in with trail hell.

we took our time. we made it, and now? i can tell everyone i rode down fleacer ridge without a care in the world, because legendary rides don’t have to be real…they just have to told.

like fish stories.

we made it to wise river and infused our viscera with cold beverages at the mercantile. two hours later, i am still dehydrated, and sitting like a bump on the porch.

more water. more hard-boiled eggs, please!!!

i did not want to ride today. today is a day of rest and relaxation; of sloth and slumber. instead, i had to hop on my beargrease and head 3.5 miles uphill to a bike shop in the belly of butte.

the shop appointment to replace a broken spoke is more complicated than usual because i have bladed spokes and they are not part of a typical bike shop inventory of j-spokes and butt-ended spokes.

if nothing else, riding the divide begets resourcefulness and so, i called sugar works wheels in portland oregon, builders of my wheels. once connected, i introduced my butte repair guy tristan, to ryan, the portlandia wheel smith.

that was a good interaction and tristan said “give me an hour you’ll be headed downhill.”

that has multiple implications in butte.

meanwhile, it is hot here and downtown butte is pretty much bereft of things to do. i could go to a gun shop, or a weed shop, or peer into vacant commercial buildings, because there are plenty of those here but instead, i ended up at a taco bell because the closest gun shop was closed.

‘merika!!!

coming out of basin, mt and our feed bag of calorie uptake, scott and i picked up a third cyclist for our party. sam eldersveld is from the pnw and has ridden big chunks of the divide. we originally met sam on the ride out of whitefish. he was headed south bound with a friend.

as it turned out, his buddy bailed because of a neck injury, while sam continued his journey south. we ended up staying at the basin community center and after our bountiful breakfast, sam became our new traveling partner.

knowledgeable and engaging; eager and our age. watch out for old men on the divide. we will pass you.

or not.

all should be good, unless he conducts a background check on me or talks to my old girlfriends.

tomorrow, it’s back on the dirt and the rock and ruts of the great divide.

yahoo!!!

the switch has flipped. gone are the early days of riding with culinary preference being more important than volume. balanced meals with reasonable proportions have been chucked aside. we have entered a new phase of fueling the machine.

there have been many lessons along the way, but the most pronounced occurred in helena, while on our way to a 6,000 foot climbing day. we left camp early and sought a restaurant that would be quick and easy. not knowing helena, we settled on a burger king that was open and learned our lesson:

even when not riding the divide, NEVER EVER have breakfast at a burger king.

we just wanted fuel, but we got so much more. we got a massive infusion of sodium along with a tasteless burrito that was stuffed with tots and some sort of formless meat.

it laid like a lump.

days later, we still see this as one of the low points of our first two weeks. not the physical grind; not the sleeplessness; not the climbs; not the urban anxiety, but breakfast at burger king.

in retrospect, both scott and i attributed that meal to a shitty day in the saddle. of course, the numbing, rugged trails and treacherous descents didn’t help.

our energy needs for a day in the saddle can easily exceed 4,000 calories so, we have to eat twice as much as the “common folk.” and that has been evident the last couple of days.

our overnight in basin, mt placed us on the front entry of the silver saddle bar and restaurant and once a customer ordered a burger and fries and the smell wafted over and through our own stink, eating was on.

i ordered a huge burger, a large order of fries and onion rings and washed it down with a couple of beers and a couple of cokes. easily, a 2,000 calorie repast.

the silver saddle opened at 8:00 and we were there.

eating.

yesterday, given the food, i felt as strong as i have on the divide. i climbed like a ring-tailed lemur, pushed a bigger gear and was “ beasting it” most of the day. it was all good until i noticed a wobble in my back tire and sure enough, i have a broken spoke.

fortunately, we are not riding today and will spend the day in butte, peeking from our curtains at the world. the “ac” is on and the breakfast we choked down at the hotel (burger king still the champion), was just supplemented by a couple of breakfast sandwiches at mcdonald’s.

at this point, taste has nothing to do with…anything.

i figure i have already ingested about 1,500 calories to start the day, and in my calculations and experience, that is enough to get me through the next couple of hours.

my preference and choice in foods is gone. until this trip, i hadn’t eaten at a fast food restaurant in over a decade and now, i just see them as convenient necessities.

order, choke it down, and ride like a kid.

time to eat.

again.

5. visit the “toxic ground water” museum.

4. visit the “arsenic in the landscape”museum.

3. run through the antimony dust sprinkler at “antimony world.“

2. wait for gunfire from the nearby red roof inn.

1. curl into the fetal position in a hyper-cooled hotel room and get ready for your next riding day.