MikeGreat Divide MBR reconNovember 2, 2010 9:42:50 AM PDT40 Attachments, 4.0 MB

The Great Divide Mountain Bike Route runs from Banff to the Southern US border in New Mexico. The US portion of the ride is over 2,600 miles long, and mostly exploits Forest Service and BLM roads. The ride was pioneered at sizable effort by members of Adventure Cycling Association, (formerly Bikecentennial). A documentary film on the yearly Tour Divide race has been released and is worth a look.

The Divide is the longest mountain bike-specific ride in the world, taking most riders 8-10 weeks to complete. The instant I learned about the route, I knew it was something the wife and I would pursue. But like climbing El Capitan, a person just doesn't up and do it without testing gear, techniques and oneself. With my wife working abroad and me on a flexible schedule, I schemed on how this Director of Outdoor Recreation could get a leg up on the Divide task. Being late season as it was, it seemed the natural choice would be a reconnaissance of a temperate section of the ride.

I had done a few bikepacking outings over the years--with friends, solo, and on mountain bikes--so I had a good idea of what I was doing. I had never done a solo mountain bikepack, and also had a lot of untested gear. I needed to gauge the difficulty of the "days" as defined by the route authors. There seemed to be quite a bit to learn about days on the Divide.

Logistics! Gear! Holy smoke...

The Divide isn't rife with technical terrain. It's 80% dirt road, 10% paved and 10% singletrack. So the steed of choice would have a hardtail frame, which conveniently provides the most options for baggage. I was having to make due with my full suspension 29er. Mind you, my Pivot 429 has ninja-like prowess on tech terrain, but it's really a little overkill for the Divide. Whatcha gonna do? Go for it and improvise, of course. Pannier racks, not possible (at least not practical). Custom frame bags, no time. I stocked up on cable ties and cobbled together various bags I had lying around and began lashing everything together. A couple of key packs were available for purchase. An early stab at the junk show looked like this:

Part of the exercise in documenting the contents of each bag was so I could find where things were stowed. (This config evolved a good bit by the start of the ride, and continued to be refined during the ride.)

Closer...

With late Fall weather moving in and days getting shorter, I had to be selective of the route. I'd hoped to bisect the entire state of NM from CO to Mexico, but that wasn't going to happen. Cold storms were already hammering the higher passes in northern NM, and sections reputed to be impassable in wet weather. I had to relinquish the northernmost NM riding and start at Grants working south. The 260-mile backcountry section from Grants to Silver City looked like the ideal recon. Save for a couple sporadically-open cafes in Pie Town, there were no commercial services. Water would be filtered from cattle tanks, ponds and other sketchy sources. It looked like an adventure!

260 miles of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (approximate line)...

Having to truncate my ride due to conditions up high was somewhat a let down, so I decided to add some riding to the finish. Instead of gunning south to the Mexican border at Antelope Wells NM, I was to loop back to the NW, passing Lordsburg and Duncan AZ, and eventually back to Mesa AZ where my van would be stashed at Greg and Sue's. Maps showed possible variations, and I formed a few options to skirt around US 70 based on how directly I felt like riding.

Finally leaving Orange County, I drove my van to Mesa, spent some time with my AZ clan and rented a one-way car to Albuquerque. In Grants I stashed the bike/gear at my new temp home, Motel 6. Then on to return the car in Albuquerque and catch a Greyhound back to Grants. One goal accomplished was to eschew rigid air travel schedules. It was coming together.

Time to ride! Rather than starting with a 60+ mile day and a burly climb through Chain of Backcountry Craters Byway, I chose the easier road option through El Malpais National Conservation Area/Monument and Cebolla Wilderness. Some of the sweetest road riding ever, with only the occasional automobile. Temp in the mid-40s when I started just before 7am...

At 22.5 miles (half my projected mileage that day) I checked the time. 7:39am, about 45 minutes riding. Slow down, lad!

Dirt at last, nearing the 40 mile mark...

At 45 miles my day was done--before noon. Felt pretty whipped having not ridden for over two weeks and needing to make adjustments. I camped south of Armijo Canyon near a cattle tank windmill...

Mmm, drink up!...

Day two was a shortie, 29 miles to Pie Town. All-day headwinds made it feel like a lot more. I didn't get to have a slice at the Pie-O-Neer Cafe, but no biggie. I was actually glad the cafe was closed. I was in solo mode.

Cool graveyard in the middle of nowhere...

The little pig that went with masonry had the right idea...

Pie Town was a key water stop. The well pumps at Jackson Park, however, were dry. A nice lady at the Post Office seemed almost puzzled I hadn't heard of the Toaster House. How ya gonna miss it?...

This great two-story house is owned by a lady named, you guessed, Nita. She moved out but continues to leave the utilities running and the house open for bike and foot travelers. Pretty cool, eh? There's hot water for showers and she even stocks the fridge with beer sometimes. You can bivy anywhere in the yard or house.

I was glad to know I had a faucet to water up before splitting in the AM. I spoke with a hiker I had passed the day before, and he encouraged me to be at home there. Several other people milled about or were yakking about some-such. I couldn't do it. I was deep in my solitary mind set and the people at the house were blowing my solo-mojo. They were part of the reason I was on the trip to begin with. To escape from them. I rolled down the road to Jackson Park and set up with nobody around.

The picnic table at my camp seemed quite a luxury after my bivouac on the flats the previous night. Sparse traffic rolling by on the 60 a couple hundred yards away was no bother--no insomnia issues...

Day three by the book was a 30-mile jaunt into Gila National Forest, crossing the Great Divide twice before summiting it again at Valle Tio Vinces (or Valle Vences) campground. I fooled myself into thinking water would be available there, which it was not, so I checked a nearby spring which was also dry. Feeling good and looking at a long downhill off the Continental Divide, I breezed on toward the Plains of San Augustin. Hopefully water would be somewhere, hopefully it would be potable. My pump filter was hopelessly clogged, so I jettisoned it to the goodwill box at the Toaster House the day before. The backup Steripen and pre-filter were off the bench.

Down, toward the Plains...

The occasional car rolled by, even a couple big trucks. Down in a pinyon pine grove, a pronghorn antelope spooked out from near the road and bounded away, just in time for me to point him out to a passing trailerless big rig. Thumbs up!

Yes, I filtered and drank water from this cattle pond. I was somewhat holding out for some "faster" (and better) water, so I purified a small amount and rode on.

Eventually I rode by a camper off the main road who looked pretty decked out with a large trailer, etc. I hit him up for some potable water, and he was happy to oblige with all I could fill my bottles with. Good man.

The Plains of San Augustin...They call it The Other Big Sky Country for a reason. The scale is beyond comprehension. A visual delight...

Stocked up on water, I was set for a dry camp and could stop anywhere. I rode on until the day wore thin along with my energies, then I hucked it off the road into a tree stand just before re-entering Gila National Forest north of Salvation Peak. 54 miles ridden. Top Ramen delight, coming up...

In the AM...

A truck pulled off near my bivouac while I was breaking camp. An older gent, Cody, approached and asked if he was interrupting anything. I really appreciated that gesture since I was sort of in Ted Kaczynski mode and not very interested in human contact. He was there scoping the area for elk, as the hunting season had just opened. He asked if I'd heard any elk overnight. I had heard what I thought were cattle making odd noises. He assured me these were elk, and mimicked the noises to confirm. So apparently Cody's prize bull (with several females) was just over yonder from my camp most of the night. Cody had seen him before, and was hoping to fill his freezer with fresh meat for the winter. He was helping an older friend get out for some of the experience, essentially guiding him. I was impressed by this and was glad to have chatted before he handed me a biz card and drove off.

By day four I was feeling pretty "in the zone." Many small gear and technique issued had been ironed out, and my body was adapting to the saddle time. Also, I was lightening up my six-day food supply, including jettisoning certain food items as I worked closer to Silver City. I probably could have ridden for ten days with the food I started with, which included two large Domino's thin crust olive and onion pizzas.

I knew by then if I rode well I could be in Silver City in five days rather than six as originally planned. So I was looking at two hard days and I'd be in civilization. Seemed reasonable. I rode past Collins Park and began climbing Black Mountain Mesa toward Gila Wilderness and Aldo Leopold Wilderness. The toughest passes I'd encounter would be ridden in the next two days.

En route, I snuck up on two pronghorns on the shoulder. Once they saw me coming they pranced off, but when I stopped they did too. Curious and gorgeous beasts. I snapped this photo while they mugged, then as I began pedaling they ran off. According to National Geographic, those guys can run up to 60 mph but rarely leap fences. They crawl under, so some property owners are raising the lowest rung on fences to aid in their migrations.

Sunbrero, still intact...

I'm not really an earbud kinda guy, but a couple of times tunes were a nice diversion from the crunching and popping music my bike was making on the road surface.

Up, out of the Plains...

Solid?...

Maybe not...

Beaverhead Work Center grounds. A spot of civilization with no civilians to be seen...

Phone booth: mint condition, all working. Pop machine: correct change only. Rrr!

I purified water for this nights dry camp, which would be wherever I felt like stopping past the Work Center. I blew by Wall Lake and headed off the road into a hidden drainage for the night. 53.5 miles...

Day five could be my last day in the NM backcountry. I lightened up both food and water in prep for a 70-mile day.

Ridge tops...and clouds...

I guess I'll be descending : ) ...

Cloudier...

Last pass before Rocky Canyon Campground, next to the very last high point before exiting Gila Wilderness, the rain begins. Within a minute I can no longer ride the trail. Another minute and I can't even push my bike for the glue-like mud that sticks to itself and everything else. My front derailleur has disappeared amid a cake of mud the size of a cantaloupe. My bike is completely inoperable, and I have less than a half day's provisions on me. Obviously, nowhere nearby to resupply anything.

The guide book says that impassably wet trails usually become rideable in a couple of hours. Couple of hours? How do I know it won't rain again before then? How do I know the trail isn't rideable half a mile from here? How can I just sit here and hope for the best? I cant. I strap my mudded bike to my backpack and begin squishing through the mud. The load probably weighs 80 pounds. I make it a couple hundred yards and stop to scrape mud off my bike. I'm thinking the trail is improving and maybe I can ride. I have no idea if my bike will even work. I sacrifice a water bottle for chain rinse and knock some globs off my rotors. To my awe, my bike rolls, brakes...and shifts. Pretty well, actually. I'm still in awe. My bike has found a place in my heart that no bike ever has. Just look at this beautiful piece of machinery...

Ooh, water resupply!...

I'll pass, temps are low.

Pavement reappears 20 miles from Mimbres. Oddly enough, a joyous sight for a mountain biker....

Looking back...

Once nearing Mimbres, a "scenic 8-mile" gravel road takes one back into the woods through the Mimbres River basin. This is a very nice section which I could scarcely enjoy. The hills were killers and many, no water in the four creek crossings, sucking up the last daylight--little joy for me trying to wrap up my epic day. Such is the taste of the vinegar, though--you still have to smile.

As Yvon Chouinard said, the adventure starts when something goes wrong. With that in mind, I had one last chance to blow the routefinding, which I did well. Took a left turn instead of a right at the next highway, thus sending me back toward Mimbres rather than west to Silver City. Conveniently, down a four-mile hill I did not have the motivation to reverse. I was out of water, nearly out of food, when by headlamp, I edged up to Mimbres at 9pm. I didn't even ride past the post office once I saw the lobby open. I needed to rest a minute, it was dry and warm. It was Saturday night. Once inside, I sat on the floor and closed my eyes, back propped up against the wall under a self service countertop. Two minutes later my bike and gear were inside with me. Another hour and I was lying on my foam pad in fetal position drifting into and out of sleep. ±65 miles.

Day six/seven. Up before dawn, chop chop! Stumbled next door to some cafe where a spigot and hose gushed liquid life into my water bottles. Back to the scene of the error, and so glad to not have ground up that bastard of a hill the previous night. Took an hour to ascend. The new day was fresh and hopeful, and I hoped some of that would rub off on me. I suppose it did. A couple hours later I passed Silver City limits and stopped at my first services beyond self-serve postal. There was no way I could effectively convey to the clerk on duty just what this breakfast meant to me...

Although he doubtlessly got some idea when I bought a second croissant sammy and downed it as quickly as the first. A few small hills later I'm at motel alley, checking into Motel 6. A quick 25-mile morning. No more riding that day, and a full day off the following. Restaurants, wow. Hot showers, ditto. Bike clean up and laundry. Rest, eat, drink. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Check in with two local bike shops downtown for some brotherly psyche. Feeling collected and re-psyched, time to ride...

Downtown Silver City...

And how quickly the photo memory card fills up. Which I knew would happen. Which is why I bought an extra card. That won't fit my camera? This Silver City shot was my last photo of the ride. 260 miles down, 300-plus to go...

Day eight. The Divide Trail takes the paved 90 south from Silver City, heading toward the bottommost edge of NM where Antelope Wells is. My plan was to save this section for the full ride with Moria, and also to sidestep any shuttling issues by riding back to Mesa. Accordingly, I left the Great Divide Trail 18 miles south of Silver City and continued on the 90 toward Lordsburg NM. I met a stiff headwind near Lordsburg, which I suspected would become a tailwind once I turned 90° onto the 70 heading north. Bingo. Diverted off the 70 for a beautiful stroll through the country alongside the Gila River and through Virden. A very worthy diversion with no state line marked.

After 80+ miles of riding I arrived at the Gila River in Duncan AZ. At that point I was winging it, having no in-depth info on camping and other aspects important to touring cyclists. An elderly lady at the local grocer gave me a run-down of camping options. "We don't really have anything like that," she said when quizzed about campgrounds. "Most people just find a spot along the river." Sounded beautiful to me. No liquor at the market, she directed me to the Bonnie Heather, a bar catty-corner where package liquor was sold.

I felt odd propping up my high-tech machine on an ancient post that seemed made for horse hitching. Inside, the bar was spacious and well-kept. A woman was tending bar while two other ladies drank beer. Don't expect anything remotely refined--Budweiser seemed like the high end of the beer menu. The cans were awfully damn cold, so who cares. We exchanged pleasantries, squared up, and I headed out to make camp.

I pushed my bike and groceries through some overgrown jeep trails along the river to a crook that opened up widely with lots of flat dirt smoothed over by high water. A pickup was over yonder, I suppose the owner was fishing. The river looked all of a foot deep, but was softly babbling before me. I propped the bike up with a stick-stand near the water and toted my beer to the edge a few yards away. Psshht went one Bud. Then another, then the third, fourth and fifth. I kicked off my flipflops and laid down in the river. Oh, the water. Let it rush all over me. With another beer afterward, thank you.

Day nine. I had never seen southeastern Arizona, though I'd lived in the state for two decades. That was part of the rationale behind the route--to see things I hadn't and wouldn't be likely to. Maybe unearth a gem or two. One unforeseen surprise was the 29-mile stretch of road riding out of Duncan to the 191 intersection. Good road, mostly wide/smooth shoulder, sparse traffic, very few trucks...and the most stunning vistas of rolling desert, rugged bluffs and layers of distant ranges and peaks I've ever witnessed. This run is simply sublime--fine enough to stand on its own as a road shuttle ride.

After recovering my senses, I got down to the business. Wind was favorable and poor weather was forecast to move in that day, so I pushed pedals in earnest toward wherever I might end up next. On the map I eyeballed San Carlos Reservoir as a best-case goal, ready to settle for whatever consolation the weather threw at me. The market at Coolidge Dam, at the far west end of the lake, provided additional incentive.

Heading off the 70, winds became unfavorable and intermittent rain fell. The many wash overpasses offered both weather protection and potential flash flood disaster. It was nasty out, and there was no shelter. Creosote bushes don't offer much respite from weather, though I came close to using one to build an impromptu bivouac. Pushing ahead on the decrepit road toward Coolidge Dam, I passed a sign pointing down toward the lake and alleged camping. Rolling down in the fading light, I saw a couple of picnic tables covered by ramadas, ghost-like. I picked the one that looked most out of the wind. No services this night; the Dam and market were still miles away.

The area looked like a war zone. Cans, bottles, broken glass and other detritus covered the earth. Graffiti covered the surface of everything except the dirt and bushes. The tin roof banged loosely in the wind. Even the hefty concrete picnic table was ravaged, rebar twisting out from one end where the concrete was smashed away. Conflicting emotions swirled. The horror of such a beautiful area of desert trashed by humans--the same species which built the only shelter for miles around. A couple hours later the winds died, skies cleared and a bright moon appeared. Perfect reprieve from a storm which was forecast to run through the following day. Despite my environs, I found peace and joy in the damp desert, and was thankful I hadn't seen a single car since leaving the highway 25 miles earlier. 102.5 miles.

Day ten. The morning brought an end to the reprieve. Rain began falling as I slowly assembled the junk show. By 10:30am I came to the realization that if I wasn't able and willing to ride in the rain, I'd probably miss most of a day's riding. So I geared up for storm riding, which I thought was a good thing since I was there to test gear and techniques. My Sunbrero proved itself as a Rainbrero as well.

Back at the road to the Dam, a pickup approached. A stout Native American rolled down his window to chat. I explained how I was denied reaching services (i.e. cold beer) the day before, and without hesitation he fired back that he had beer, and I should pull over right over there. Cold Natty Ice cans emerged from the floorboard. Dempsey was a boxer, and explained how he just had his nose surgically straightened. I was unclear if he was into the sport or simply a brawler, additionally suspect when he threw a few fake blows at me and mentioned how things can get crazy after a few. At that point I stated I only had time for one, and tried to steer the conversation amicably. Dempsey insisted I take a couple coldies to go, so I grabbed an extra to appease. As the rain started up, he abruptly announced his departure and jumped in the cab. As he drove off I noticed his empty Natural Ice can lying there on the soil. So, this was the guy. The guy times ten thousand others who don't embrace anything akin to leave-no-trace principles. These were the people, on their own land, living within their own cultural norms. I sucked the last liquid from my can and tossed it onto the ground next to Dempsey's, then I rode off.

I reached Peridot AZ a bit worse for wear. Wet inside from sweat, condensation and some leakage, wet outside from rain. A shopping center had a generous eave forming a large, sheltered area at its periphery--miraculously in the sun as rain continued to fall. I hanged there and dried out for a couple of hours, also installing a tube in my rear tire which had gone flat. From there a brutal push uphill and against the wind got me to Globe and yet another Motel 6. Rode 30 miles.

Day 11. My time was now winding down. It looked like about 65 miles to Greg and Sue's place in Mesa. My old friend Greg could not join me for the ride, but true to the form of a friend, he wanted to partake in my riding bliss anyway. He offered up the idea to meet me somewhere to "share a campfire," which sounded to me like a stellar early welcome home. Conveniently enough, Oak Flat Campground was between Globe and Mesa. I had stayed there with a climbing buddy some years prior, and I knew it was a great, primitive setting in a beautiful area. Leaving Globe I prepared for a short riding day (20 miles), packing five master cylinders and snacks for the campground.

Greg rolled in around 4pm. It was a joy to hang with my old buddy and his companion Prince the German shepherd. I had to decline the lift to Mesa, as it would have been a missed opportunity to go through all I did to that point and then hitch a ride on the sag wagon.

Day 12. Greg and Prince rolled out of Oak Flat and Tonto National Forest, and so did I, relishing the downhill blast before hitting the desert floor to Mesa. By early afternoon I was passing Kevin and Staci's place near Greg's in Mesa, so I rolled in to say hey. Chatted with Kevin and David over a beer before rolling up the street to Greg & Sue's. It was really over. Rode 45 miles.

EpilogueThe ride went off just as I'd hoped--mostly as anticipated with some adventure. My assessment, preparedness and execution of the ride were within reality and expectation. The ride was unique and unforgettable in many regards...okay, it was a frigging blast! But most importantly, the underlying goal was accomplished. I have little reservation now in packing up the tandem and heading out for a casual 2600-mile ride with Moria. As usual, the end of one outing is actually the beginning of another.

Huge thanks was well earned by a few who supported in various forms. My Guardian Angel Flock, with whom I stayed in touch as communications allowed:

Moria - My precious love who insisted I pursue fun with gusto in her absenceGreg and Suzanne - Always ready to reel in slack, and keeping Resort Cohrt open to wayward dirtbagsKevin and Staci - Thanks for the ride to Sky Harbor, Kev...not to mention serious hospitality at every opportunityGabe and Janey - Kingpins of my California squadMom - Of course! Thanks for "practical considerations" and sag wagon offeringShawn R. - Partner in adventures long and small for a decade, newly ablaze with biking possibilitiesRon L. - Endless energy and psyche, most responsible for my re-entry to biking and awareness of ACAJohn W. - Along with Jeff, total mileage glutton and punisher of all who try to keep upMark G. - Venerable champion of my efforts from the corporate trenches and wild places beyond

I also am compelled to prop a few products/sources which either helped make the ride more fun or actually saved my ass from misery:

Map set, .gpx files and guide book by Adventure Cycling AssociationThe Path bike shop in Tustin, CA for making my bike the unstoppable dream machine it is, and for advice on field repairGarmin Oregon 450 GPS unitSteripen and Steripen pre-filterBlack Diamond and Jeff Maudlin for the bivy tent and great service as alwaysEric at Revelate Designs, great bike bags and harnessesCascade Designs' Platypus bottles. You break, they replace.Stone Brewing Co., Sierra Nevada Brewing Co., Anheuser BuschTriple G Grocery and Bonnie Heather Inn in Duncan AZREI

Of course, share this report with anyone you feel like. Happy trails!

Mike