A roadside biker lunch with rear wheel serving as roadside table.
Just before crossing this river my shift cable snapped, I lost all my gears and it was stuck in high gear which made it impossible for me to ride up any steep hills. This nice couple, Greg and Mary, offered me a 30 mile ride into town. There was a storm coming but I was confident I could make a work around so I declined. The last 10 miles in mud and rain was exhilarating.
First fix put it in low gear but top speed was only 5-6 mph.
Using a willow branch I was able to get 3-4 gears that allowed me to climb and descend the 30 miles to Kremmling CO.
I never really got into "mountain biking", because for years I associated it with going fast on rough terrain and dodging obstacles, while I like to ramble and mosey and stop a lot. I also like rides where I can walk out my door (or hop off a train or plane) and get on the bike without having to drive somewhere.
I realize my impressions were a narrow caricature of what mountain biking can be, though, and I've always enjoyed the bits of off-roading that sneak into rides-- the last mile of dirt getting to a camp site from the road, strange muddy paths I find myself on when trying to bypass roads, or detours through parks to avoid main roads, and even when "road biking" I generally run 32mm+ tires to give myself more comfort and flexibility for unexpected detours.
Maybe "gravel biking" and "bikepacking" are the hip new marketing terms for what I want to do more of, and I can do that without seeking out technical singletrack...
I didn't know a lot of people locally who were interested in this, and I wanted to get a bit more out into the wilderness than the Bay Area, so I looked around for an organized group and found the Adventure Cycling "Intro to Gravel Touring and Bikepacking" class. It was already full, but I put my name on the waitlist and forgot about it.
Then, a month before it was supposed to happen, a spot opened up-- and I said yes. Five weeks later, I was here, fully-loaded with camping and cooking gear (no support van!), with a dozen friendly strangers on a gravel road in grizzly country, somewhere in Montana along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route:
This ride was organized as an introductory 4-day / 3-night loop from Whitefish (plus an extra day at the beginning for a gear shakedown test ride). About two days of that were paved roads, or at least smooth "oiled gravel" roads that felt like riding on pavement, just slower.
The two middle days were more rustic surfaces, ranging from the gravel in the first photo, to rough gravel on NF-114 / Trail Creek Road (the photo at the top of this post is one of the milder sections), with regular fist-sized rocks requiring you to ride slower and "pick a line"-- as a mountain bike novice I found it took a lot of concentration to be constantly surveying the road for sharp rocks and moving back and forth.
My favorite riding was forest road doubletrack, with soft pine needles muting some of the noises and a center strip of grass showing how few motor vehicles had been this way. So peaceful.
This ride was more focused on touring on gravel and dirt forest roads, not mountain bike singletrack. The most "bikepacking" of the days was actually our "shakedown" ride on the first day-- just a 9-mile loop ending at our hostel (we didn't camp this first night) to try out different ways of strapping on gear and making sure the bikes held up.
This turned into some more rugged riding than intended due to trees downed by a recent storm, but everyone worked together to portage across these sections.
This trip had too many experiences to list-- from eating fresh huckleberries (and a huckleberry bearclaw in the "frontier outpost" of Polebridge), to finding a bubbling, ice-cold natural spring based on tips from a local, to swimming crystal-clear rivers to cool off after a long day, to talking about adventure travel with other riders, to waking up at 3AM to a mysterious animal sniffing at and licking my tent (thankfully, it was a deer, not a grizzly, but I had my bear spray out and ready and my heart was racing). Well, I supposed I can list some of them, but each could be its own story. A few other memorable photos out of the hundreds I took:
It was an amazing five days away from city life, feeling self-reliant with a group of strangers (and two excellent tour guides). That level of depending on each other really brings out community among people from different backgrounds who might otherwise never talk. Every time I do a group tour of this sort I've forgotten (but then remember during it) how much the community part is important to me.
I also had a chance to learn-- both in some formal daily sessions (bear safety, group meal planning, map reading) and from the day to day-- improvised bike repairs in the field, edible and invasive plants, water filtration, how to pass messages between a dispersed group without cell service.
The overall route (not their standard route as the wildfires had shut down one of the canyons), about 30 miles/day:
I rented a bike and tried out some new gear for this trip (planning ahead a bit for three larger bike touring trips I'm hoping to do in the next few years -- mountain biking in Utah, a self-supported GAP/C&O canal trail ride, and something multi-week overseas when Covid is more under control). I'll post some notes about my "rig" some day...
A nice meeting with Cat Dog a CDT ( Continental Divide Hiker ) south bounder. She is 72 and inspired me. I can’t imagine walking 3,100 miles through incredible wilderness like that. She has done the AT and PCT too.
My friend Elaina from Sweden, whom I met on PCT, began that long journey at 76. Respect!
The bike I’m riding is a Salsa Cut Throat. Specifically designed for this ride. I was lucky enough to get it used about a year ago. The down tube has a map of the route.
Perhaps a tradition will be started. I signed a brick on the inside of the community center in Hachita. The building was a merchantile that opened in 1903 and serves as a final resting spot for many before riding to the border. It was a good place to pause and reflect before re-entry into the other world.
I have heard, I don’t know where, that the aboriginals of Australia pause on long journeys to let their souls catch up to them. It seems like a good practice. I’ve come across a fair amount of data that shows that savoring experiences is much better than long term happiness than buying things. I also have noted that the notion of resetting one’s hedonistic set point can boost happiness and gratitude as well.
After a long journey like this I feel grateful for a lot of things I begin to take for granted. I think heading the list are friendships.
This wheel states “This will also change” a concept that change is inevitable and constant. Reminding myself of this seems simple but sometimes tricky.
The old Hachita water tower. A beacon for the last stretch.
Owner of the food mart and veteran of the divide trail, Jeff provides a valuable service to north and late season south bounders like me.
