Can’t stop, won’t stop

It’s been over a week now since I’ve “finished” the route. I made it to the Canadian border in the evening last Thursday, my arrival heralded by a red fox running across the field, across the US Border Patrol parking lot with its barbed wire, and up the embankment into the forest. I can’t say I felt much joy upon finishing. Moreso it was wistful nostalgia, recalling mental snippets from earlier in the trip. Earlier in the day I’d met a very clean looking rider heading south, some 30+ miles south of the border, who dutifully reported trail conditions I’d encounter ahead…the road wouldn’t be as good as what we were standing on. It would be wet and full of bugs. There would be a tree down that he assured me I could pass under. And a beaver pond that flooded the road, which he cautioned I should probably take off my shoes and walk across. I nodded politely, all the while thinking how silly it was to get this advice 30 miles from the end of a 2700 mile journey. What conditions could I encounter here that I had not already, and worse? In my head I wondered if there was anything noteworthy from the road I’d traveled. I’d made it there, so it must have been fine. I did remember to tell him to ignore the “Road Closed” sign that he would encounter, in reference to a rather tiny washout that had already been mostly rebuilt. I mention this encounter because he expressed doubt I would make it to the border that day. It may have been midday, but it was only 30-something miles and not crazy climbing. He referenced a pass I needed to get over, but it was minor and paled in comparison to some I’d done in the previous days. I have to say his doubt made me doubly determined to reach the border that day, though it hardly mattered when I got there. It was an odd combination of feelings, to want to finish and to not want to finish. In my mind I lamented the loss of the feeling of planning for tomorrow…resupplying food, considering what I’d need, setting loose goals for destinations and mileage. For telling people my destination and origin on each chance encounter. Later, when I was heading south to Whitefish, it became a more complicated story: “I was riding from Mexico to Canada…no, not the great divide, something similar but further west…but now I’m headed south to Whitefish for a few days, and then maybe north to Banff or west to the Pacific…”

Turns out Banff won over, based on the distance and the time it would take. It’s a tough balance, wanting to extend this adventure as long as possible (indeed, feeling a pang of longing when I encounter someone who says they plan to ride a year or two, or until they don’t want to anymore…sigh…) and feeling like I should have a good amount of time before school starts.

I hopped on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, which immediately presented me with a choice: the main route, north from Roosville and up through Fernie (which has been described as a lovely ski town) and the more remote, rugged Flathead alternative. It didn’t take much for me to opt for the latter. I’ve grown increasingly less fond of towns and more fond of the remote areas. It was only slightly nerve wracking to know that the area was referred to as Grizzly Alley, owing to the high ursine concentration. But here I sit, in a surprisingly busy Tim Horton’s in Sparwood, having successfully evaded the jaws and paws of the eponymous bears. Trip’s not over yet, but I must say I’m just a little disappointed to not have seen one (from a healthy distance).

The route wasted no time ramping up into a big climb…I only made it 12 miles or so from the border crossing. Sadly the Trapper Cabin I was looking forward to from the route guide was on the other side of a swollen stream that stoutly defied my attempt to cross it. I stood for a while, feet numb in the icy water, evaluating various scenarios for crossing, stubbornly unable to give up quite yet, before determining that it would be dangerously foolish to try. I resigned myself to the altogether quite satisfactory camp spot by the road, complete with stone fire ring but also a small army of mosquitos. I dried my feet and put on my socks and shoes, plus my puffy and rain coat as I set about setting up camp. Shivers waxed and then waned as my frozen feet thawed and that cold blood returned to my core. Despite the dampness of the area I was able to get a pretty good fire going to warm up by. Committed to meticulous bear protocols, I cooked my can of chili a few hundred feet from camp, also stowing my bike and food far from my tent. When I woke I thought, for a moment, that I’d been visited in the night by a grizzly, but the prints in the mud turned out to be from some large-hoofed animal.

It was a beautiful day for riding…sunny and warm, if a bit hot. It would be about 45 miles to Butts Patrol Cabin, which I simply could not pass up the opportunity to stay in. As usual, there’d be a climb, peaking about 30 miles from where I’d camped and descending down the rest of the way. My road quickly went from decent dirt road to double-track to double-track with grass growing in the middle, then to shrubs in the middle, then single-track, overgrown single-track, and finally a legit hiking trail. Fortunately I was going downhill on the hiking trail, but it was so steep that my bike wanted to cartwheel down the hill, it’s front being much more laden than the rear. Once I reached the bottom, I had a number of stream crossings…one muddy one that saw me slipping and getting poked below the knee with the pointy end of a branch. There were a bunch of times when the road was merely a stream. Eventually I got over the summit and descended down to the cabin. I was delighted to find it unoccupied. I thought for sure there would be someone there already, it being Friday and also July 1, Canada Day. The cabin had a wood stove, several beds with foam pads, a table and benches both inside and out. It also had a large axe hanging over the door, and I quickly set about chopping some wood that was stacked nearby. Before starting a fire, I went out on my bike in search of water…there was a small stream nearby but it was rather still and its water a bit murky for my liking, especially when there was bound to be a better option. Sure enough, there was a river where I filled my containers to filter at the cabin. On my way back I saw the only humans of that day…two people riding a small motorcycle or moped that turned around before we crossed paths. This would be, I think, my only day of the trip without a human interaction. I made a big fire and had ramen with canned chicken (a pleasant surprise, because I thought I’d lost the can of chicken when I noticed my frame bag was slightly unzipped, and I didn’t see the can when I peered in). I fell asleep watching a movie on my ipad that I had downloaded a few days prior (another first of the trip). Unfortunately a fair number of mosquitos were able to find me in the night, but it wasn’t too bad.

The next day was another sunny one, with blue skies and a few white puffy clouds. After getting packed up, a pickup rolled in, piloted expertly by the 11-year old girl sitting on her father’s lap. He said he’d probably stayed at the cabin 100 times, without exaggeration, having been coming there since he was a boy. He said he had a camp nearby and invited me to take the day off and hang out, with the promise of dinner and a few beers. It was hard to say no, but I felt I needed to continue on.

Over the course of the day I sampled all the ways of getting across, from gingerly stone-stepping across, removing shoes and socks and walking through, and finally just plunging my feet into the water…decidedly the most efficient. One can only get so wet, after all.

This day I also stopped for an uncharacteristic hot lunch, combining a chicken instant ramen and tofu miso soup packet, with delicious results. After reaching the summit, it was a long steady descent, some 30 miles or so. The last bit was paved, what felt like a reward for completing the Flathead alternate. I stopped at the massive dump truck used for mining to grab a picture, went to an A&W and had a spicy chicken sandwich and a root beer (in a frosty glass mug!!) then got Chinese takeout for second dinner, as I’d developed a craving over the last few days. My map guide advertised a bike-only camp spot but offered sparse details, involving “turn East into hayfield.” There was a big field off the road, vaguely in the location of the pin, but it was quite wet and buggy, so I set out exploring the dirt road. Google Maps indicated the presence of “Abbotts Turkey Track Campground” which seemed my best bet at that point. There were also very sparse details, but I thought at least I could find some flat ground that wasn’t totally overgrown. It ended up being not much more than a sign and an overgrown dirt road leading to a gate that politely requested that people not trespass, thank you…but it appeared the property was abandoned, or at least not presently occupied, and I was not very interested in biking back uphill and across town to the proper campground that charged $30CAD for a tent site with no services. So I cautiously poked around until I felt satisfied that my presence wouldn’t be noticed or minded, and set up in an area fairly free from tall grasses, under a great big pine tree, within earshot of flowing water.

As is usually the case, everything was fine, and I packed up and stole away towards town. It started to rain just as I began pedaling, and when I arrived at the Tim Horton’s there were three other loaded bikes, their riders seeking refuge inside. One was just doing a short loop, another couple were debating doing the Flathead alt headed south. This Tim Horton’s has been exceedingly busy since I arrived…I feel bad for the frazzled staff. I’ve also been sitting here, charging my battery packs and delaying the inevitable foray into the rain, for over an hour. And feeling a growing guilt at occupying a table, with such a crowd. I suppose it is time to settle in to a rainy day of riding… There are ample campground options north of here, so I’ll plan to just ride as long as I can. It’s about 130 miles to Banff, so likely just two days of riding. Seems the weather my clear up when I get there…fingers crossed.