Halfway to Canada, crossed the Great Basin, 4th of July. Great Divide: Day 22-28

Day 22: Steamboat Springs to Public Land

32 miles; 2,930 ft of elevation gain

After several big days on the bike, Casey, Uri, Pat, and I enjoyed a slow morning in Steamboat Springs. Before leaving our hotel, Uri and I did laundry, although whoever had used the washing machine before us must have been cleaning fishing gear because every piece of clothing came out smelling like fish. We didn’t have time to rewash, so we sucked it up for the foreseeable future.

While everyone else took care of errands, I biked a short distance along the town's beautiful bike path to Riverside Café within the library. I spent a peaceful couple of hours catching up on blog writing while enjoying coffee and pastries.

After reconvening with the group to discuss plans and dispersing for lunch, Uri and I went grocery shopping at Safeway while Casey and Pat treated themselves to Chinese food. By 3:30 we were on the road again.

Our goal was modest for the day considering the later start— 30 miles ahead and over one of the larger hills on the way toward Brush Mountain Lodge. This was our final major resupply before crossing into Wyoming and entering the vast Great Basin.

The afternoon climb out of town was steep. Beautiful gravel roads through forests, with several pitches reaching 13 to 15% grades that forced a rare hike-a-bike. The peak was so worthwhile though. Aspen groves lined the trail, and hillsides were blanketed with blooming wild sunflowers and purple wildflowers. The lowering sun also cast a lovely golden hue over the landscape.

From the distance, we could hear a large and noisy crowd. It sounded like a stadium full of yelling beings, but really it was a massive quantity of braying sheep. It sounded kind of disturbing and distressed, and we couldn’t explain it.

A quick descent brought us to a large pond where we decided to camp for the night. As the sun set, ducks and other waterfowl called across the water while other birds sang from the surrounding tall grasses (I really need to use Merlin to ID them!) Our three tents sat side by side along the shoreline, and the evening grew pleasantly chilly. It was a peaceful place to end the day.

Day 23: Public Land to Brush Mountain Lodge

30.4 miles; 3,031 ft of gain

Knowing we had another short day today, we slept until 8 AM. The ride continued through some of the prettiest country we'd seen. We climbed gently over broad mountain ridges lined with more aspens and colorful wildflowers that covered the grounds. Beyond the forests, the landscape opened into rolling grasslands where tall grasses rippled in the wind. The perfectly maintained gravel roads twisted over one hill after another, disappearing into the distance before reappearing farther ahead. Although there was plenty of climbing, to me it never felt overwhelming (compared to other climbs we had done).

By afternoon, we rolled into Brush Mountain Lodge, a large wooden building with open dining areas, showers, and lounging spots. Overall, the lodge was built around cyclists, as riders constantly drifted in and out, swapping stories from the trail. Kirsten was the caretaker/owner: a tall, thin blonde woman who bustled around constantly asking if we needed anything. The lodge had been in her family for 20 years. She brought homemade pizzas nonstop until we slowed down eating, serving cold beers until our hearts’ content. For dinner, Kirsten made chicken fried rice, and we all ate together in a group dining community setting, chatting about the route and our experiences.

Overall, the place was incredibly calming and tranquil. Tiny hummingbirds zipped around the property, chasing one another while making their high-pitched squeaks, and several impressively chunky chipmunks constantly attempted to steal food from cyclists’ food bags. It was a vortex here— we contemplated pushing ahead, but what’s the point if you’re in a place that makes you feel so good?

Cyclists continued to roll in, some staying to camp and others continuing on with the route. Everyone coming from the Great Basin up ahead looked beaten and weathered, lamenting the strong headwinds and recounting their suffering. Some had hollow, distant expressions, husks of their former selves. One man said that he stopped for 5 hours to tuck away in a farm animal shelter to wait for the 30-60mph wind gusts to die down. It made us nervous for the upcoming days, and we planned to night ride to try to avoid the same fate.

Day 24: Brush Mountain Lodge to Public Land

100.8 miles; 4,131 ft of gain

Our alarm went off at 1:30 AM, and by 2:30 we were pedaling through the darkness. The plan was to beat the Great Basin headwinds before they had a chance to build. Sacrificing sleep seemed like the lesser evil, but it was horribly difficult on all of us as the day progressed.

Not long after leaving, we quietly crossed into Wyoming. There was finally a state line sign, although it looked ominous in the dark. Compared to New Mexico, Colorado felt very fast to cross, and we were excited to have another state checked off!

However, the morning was brutally cold. Between the lack of sleep, the freezing temperatures, and an early steep climb, I slowly unraveled. I took a moment on the morning ride to stop and cry on the side of the road. I found myself wondering why I had signed up for this in the first place. Everything felt hard, every day. We were always finding reasons why we had to push harder, go further, wake up earlier, etc. My body was tired, my mind was tired, and I couldn't imagine repeating days like this for another 1,400 miles.

As the sun finally rose after what seemed like an impossibly long time, my mood slowly began to lift. Soft pink and orange light spread across distant mountain ranges, illuminating the Wyoming landscape, and it very slowly began to warm up. It was one of the most beautiful sunrises of the trip, and it did remind me why I keep doing this. Pat, Uri, Casey, and I paused at the top to appreciate it. I ate a PB&J sandwich, and realized that maybe I was emotional because I was cold and hungry and actually everything would be fine.

Eventually the lack of sleep caught up with us again. Uri and I were both nodding off while riding. Around 8 AM, we reached a lonely four-way dirt intersection on top of a hill and decided we couldn't keep going. We made coffee, and I stretched out on the ground for a few minutes with my eyes closed. I never fully fell asleep, but simply pausing and resting helped reset my emotions and energy.

And the Great Basin stretched endlessly around us. Sagebrush covered everything, interrupted only by small rodents (prairie dogs?) darting between bushes, scattered birds, and occasional bands of pronghorn bounding effortlessly across the landscape with their bright white marshmallow butts bouncing as they ran.

The long stretch to Wamsutter had slow loose gravel and positively no shade. (We chose this route instead of going through Rawlins, WY— the ACA and tour divide routes slightly differ, but Wamsutter would be the most direct way). The area was also full of oil drilling, and many large trucks and semis rolled past us all day kicking up dust. It was an “easy” ride since it was flat and mindless, but Casey got her cough back, and the slow, loose gravel had mine and Uri’s knees getting sore from the methodical grind.

By early afternoon, we rolled into the Love's gas station in Wamsutter after covering about 80 miles. It was an industrial trucker oasis. We ate enormous amounts of calories (Subway for real food, finally!) and caught up with Pat and Soren before they continued farther down the road. Originally we planned to stop there for the day, but the bizarre lack of wind for the Great Basin had us reconsidering. After spending weeks worrying about the legendary headwinds, they never materialized. Since tomorrow's conditions were relatively unknown (the wind direction can be unpredictable with the snaking bike route), we decided to take advantage of the calm weather and push another 20 miles toward Atlantic City.

Along the way, sections of road looked strangely wet, accompanied by signs reading, "Warning: MgCl." We later learned from locals that magnesium chloride is sprayed onto the roads to harden the surface and keep dust down. At the time, though, it coated our bikes, water bottles, and bags, leaving us wondering exactly what we had just ridden through and any health consequences of it.

The farther we rode, the more oil infrastructure appeared across the landscape. Pump stations and storage tanks dotted the otherwise empty basin, creating an odd contrast against the endless sagebrush. The spacing coincided with the checkerboard land ownership: BLM plots mixed with private land.

We reached camp around 5 PM, somewhat earlier than usual. Unfortunately, our tents had become greenhouses in the day. The afternoon sun trapped the heat inside, leaving us sweaty and uncomfortable despite being completely exhausted. We (Uri and I) laid there unable to sleep until after 7 PM when the wind finally picked up and cooler air settled across the basin. Comparatively, Casey fell asleep almost immediately after setting up her tent and didn't wake again until after 6 the following morning. The century ride wiped us all out.

Day 25: Public Land to Atlantic City

77.8 miles; 4,068 ft of gain

Uri and I quietly packed up around 5 AM, letting Casey sleep while we enjoyed another peaceful start to the day. She had intentions of starting with us, but when she was still sleeping at the departure time, we didn’t want to wake her up.

Dawn in the Great Basin was breathtaking. The horizon looked like a watercolor painting, washed in soft pinks and blues as we coasted gently downhill through the cool morning air.

The day began with a pleasant climb that carried us onto a ridgeline overlooking the vast basin below. There was almost nothing but sagebrush stretching to every horizon, broken only by the thin ribbon of road weaving across the emptiness before disappearing into the distance. It could be mentally fatiguing to see the far distance of where you would eventually be.

The wildlife was very exciting today! Pronghorn bounced across the plains, and I spotted one of my favorite surprises of the trip: a tiny horned toad scurrying across the road. Later, near Diagnus Well, we stopped to refill water at a small spring that fed a wetland tucked into the basin. I crawled beneath a barbed wire fence to reach the water source, accidentally disturbing a tiny desert toad that had buried itself beneath the soil. It popped out from under the fence and hopped away. So cool!

Otherwise, the day passed quietly. The riding was mostly flat and steady, giving us plenty of time to appreciate the beauty of the basin. At one point, dark rain clouds stretched across both horizons on either side of the road while bright sunshine continued to shine on us. We found ourselves riding through a narrow corridor of sunlight between two storms that had gray bleeding down from the sky to the ground. It felt almost biblical.

By afternoon we rolled into Atlantic City, Wyoming, a tiny former mining town. One local told us the population had “exploded” during the pandemic, growing from around thirty residents to...sixty. There were even a couple school kids here!

We spent nearly four hours inside the town's only open restaurant, which also happened to be the local bar. There was a stuffed jackalope next to a noose, among other animal heads on the wall, and above the room hung a portrait of a naked woman lying prostrate, though her face was repainted later and didn’t match the rest of her body. No one knew why her face was comically different, but it “had to stay there no matter what”.

We slowly worked our way through the menu (tacos, loaded nachos, burgers) while chatting with regulars seated around us. Listening to the easy banter between the residents was enjoyable, and we could tell they appreciated the economy that came with the bikers and hikers on trail.

Our little cycling community reunited again. Soren, whom we had met at Brush Mountain Lodge, arrived first. Later Casey rolled into town, followed not long after by Kate, Casey's sister, who had been riding south from Banff. Atlantic City was the planned halfway meeting point along the Great Divide. We all ate dinner together, and it was great to hear about Kate’s experience going southbound!

Soren booked a cabin in town that we all split. We took advantage of the hose to spray off the MgCl coating everything, showered, and all made hot chocolate. Casey and Kate changed their brakes out, and we all lounged on the living room floor shooting the shit into the evening. I’m not used to paying for places to sleep as much as I have on this tour, but having a structure to sleep in and a shower keeps the morale high through the tough riding days. It has been so worth it.

Reaching the halfway point of the route felt partially emotional. In one sense, we still had nearly 1,400 miles remaining, and that felt enormous. Yet it also, to me, felt that the past few weeks had passed so quickly. I'm incredibly excited to continue into Montana and eventually Canada, but also I’m beginning to feel ready to head home. The concept of time is very strange on a bike tour— how quickly and slowly it passes on a day and week scale.

Day 26: Atlantic City to Pinedale

87 miles; 4,055 ft of gain

The morning in Atlantic City was wonderfully slow and restorative. We lingered over mugs of coffee and hot chocolate, taking our time packing our bikes instead of rushing out the door.

Before leaving, we snapped a few photos with Kate, who would be continuing south while we kept heading north. It was a short reunion, but it was great to meet up and share our experiences, and it’s so cool to see how much Kate has accomplished on her first bike tour. Casey still wasn't feeling well after yesterday's big effort and the road dust from the previous days, though thankfully she began to improve as the day passed.

The ride itself was one of the prettiest of the trip, in my opinion. Vast open plains stretched endlessly in every direction, still dotted with pronghorn across the sagebrush. Now, however, we had mountains again. The jagged peaks of the Wind River Range rose dramatically above the landscape, which was positively exquisite and breathtaking.

The four of us (Soren, Casey, me, and Uri) spread out over the route, each settling into our own rhythm. The terrain consisted of gentle rolling hills, and the gravel was nearly perfect from start to finish. We rode beneath bright sunshine, but the cool Wyoming air kept the temperatures comfortable. Around us, dark rain clouds drifted across the horizon, sending isolated bands of rain down onto different parts of the landscape. The storms were scattered and unpredictable, creating dramatic skies that constantly changed throughout the day. It was raining somewhere in view in at least 5 different areas.

Eventually, our route carried us toward one of those weather systems. With about 40 miles remaining, a strong headwind hit us. I was worried it would be hours of grinding forward with my head down, counting pedal strokes, and watching the miles crawl by again. Fortunately, the storm blew over us and the wind calmed down again. Somehow, we ended up lucking out with the Great Basin weather, and I have no idea how.

For a short while, we were joined by an older cyclist from Boulder, CO. He rode with an enormous backpack and explained that he was traveling as part of his own journey of healing and self-discovery. As we pedaled together, he launched into his life story, talking about his trauma, abuse, and near-death experiences. It was pretty unexpected and quite heavy for strangers chatting. It was also less of a conversation and more of a monologue as he launched into techniques for healing and mind/emotion control. I wish him all the best in his future endeavors of helping people in their spiritual and mental health journeys.

We made a quick stop at the gas station in Boulder, WY to grab snacks, and our timing was perfect. As we walked inside, the sky opened up into a torrential downpour that lasted almost exactly as long as our break. By the time we finished eating, the rain had passed, leaving cool, fresh air for the final speedy stretch into Pinedale.

The last 12 miles flew by on smooth pavement and bike paths (with the sound of crackling thunder and dark gray clouds chasing us there), and before long we were riding through the modest main street through Pinedale as evening settled in. The main stretch had grocery stores, a Cowboy Bar, Cowboy stores, a few cafes and breweries. There was a river that flowed perpendicular to the road that kids swam in. It was an understated charm and not at all rowdy.

We checked into the Pinedale Hotel and Suites, sharing a room with Pat once again. Since the restaurants were already closing by 9 PM, Soren, Uri, and I made a quick grocery run instead. Casey and Grady (her bf who drove in for the weekend) ordered Chinese food. Before long, all of us with Pat were squeezed into one hotel room, sitting on beds, the floor, and anywhere else we could find space while eating dinner together and chatting into the evening.

It was an idyllic ending to a beautiful day on the bike. With the Fourth of July tomorrow, we were very ready for a rest day here.

Day 27: 4th of July Rest Day!

The Fourth of July in Pinedale was wonderfully relaxed. Uri and I spent a slow morning at Pine Coffee Supply with Pat and Soren, sipping drinks and catching up on internet tasks, figuring out camping, and chatting about plans for the next stretch. We downloaded the app Outly, a free version of OnX that shows public land for camping, and we love it! We started using this to plan our next camping spots. I settled in with a great latte and finally had time to catch up on my writing.

The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging in the town park where the community had organized a free picnic from noon until 2 PM. We stretched out along the creek with giant plates of the classic 4th of July picnic food. A few of us dunked in the chilly stream to cool off while everyone else lounged in the grass. The cottonwood trees were releasing clouds of fluffy white seeds that floated lazily through the air like snow. Combined with the sunlight filtering through the trees, it felt like we were living in a Studio Ghibli film.

Later, a live band began playing in the park. Their smooth, jazz-inspired sound reminded me of Ella Fitzgerald and perfectly matched the easygoing atmosphere.

We then made a quick stop at Fremont Lake! A chilly glacier-fed lake about 4 miles from town that was beautifully blue, contrasting against the the brown and tans of the surrounding desert. Soren and Grady jumped in with little effort while Casey, Uri, and I painfully inched our way up to our legs. The icy water felt restorative on our muscles.

That evening, we met a friendly couple staying at the RV park who invited us to join them for the fireworks. Pamela and Tim were older and had ridden the Great Divide themselves a few years earlier on a custom tandem bicycle, with their Yorkie Brooklyn! Their adventure is shared on a popular blog website. Pamela made a big crockpot of bean dip, served with nachos and cookies. Our large group, along with a southbound rider named Keith, got stuffed on the incredible hot gooeyness. All the while, we learned about Pamela and Tim’s trip and their upcoming grand adventure plans— they are so inspirational! I hope to continue embarking on journeys like this when I’m in my 60s with Uri.

Then, we all cozied up in their camp chairs and enjoyed the firework display, this area still putting on the show despite other areas having bans due to the dryness. It had rained here enough to make it safe.

After the fireworks, we headed to the Cowboy Bar in the hopes of putting our dancing shoes to work, though the atmosphere didn’t accommodate. We listened to America-proud songs on repeat, those by Toby Keith, the song “America, FUCK YEAH!”, and even the national anthem. So, we played a few rounds of pool instead, intermittently squeezing in a few swing dancing moves if a song allowed.

Farewell to Soren who was off on a side quest adventure in the Winds and Keith who was headed south. Oh the temporality of aquaintanceships.

Uri and I didn’t get into bed until after midnight. Instead of pitching our tent, we slept in the bed of Grady's truck that night. The other options were to bike to BLM land a few miles outside of town, pay for a hotel again, or pay to tent camp (and we didn’t want to do that since the tent site was barely better than dry camping).

Overall, the rest day gave us time to assess how our bodies were holding up. Casey's saddle had become so uncomfortable that she switched to a Brooks saddle to find some relief. Uri and I were both dealing with worsening saddle sores, and my knees had started aching during our long stretches across the Great Basin. We realized that the long pushes of 70 to 90 miles, often dictated by the distance between services, had begun to really wear us down. We decided it was time to change our approach. Rather than chasing big mileage every day, we would aim for more manageable 50 to 60-mile days whenever possible. Better sleep, better food, and more recovery feels more important than sticking to an increasing pace.

Day 28: Pinedale to camping; Union Pass

54 miles; 3048 ft of gain

Uri and I had a later wake up in the bed of Grady’s truck, which was surprisingly comfortable. I packed up faster and beelined to the Wrangler’s Cafe for a hot coffee and a breakfast bagel.

The morning ride out of Pinedale was an easy one. Smooth bike paths carried us out of town before connecting to relatively quiet pavement for the first 25 miles or so.

Not long after leaving town, we encountered a new challenge of the trip: mosquitoes. Up until now, they had been almost nonexistent, but suddenly I was being attacked, and I couldn’t bike fast enough to get rid of them. On the other hand, we fortunately had more water sources to filter from, so that was a plus.

Later, once we returned to dirt roads, traffic also picked up as people headed home from the holiday weekend. It wasn't too overwhelming, but we shared the gravel with enough trucks and 4-wheelers that kicked up dirt all around us.

We stopped for lunch beside a small stream before beginning the steady climb over Union Pass. The ascent was long but beautiful. The dirt roads became periodically chunky and bouncy— not my favorite kind of road. It never feels good to be bounced and jostled, though my front suspension took the edge off some of it.

Gradually, the open sagebrush landscape gave way to dense forests. Along the way, we passed numerous cattle wandering freely across the road, forcing us to slow down as they lazily made their way through the forest. I always averted my gaze, hoping none would charge or get spooked since they were surrounded by baby calves. Uri also had a jump scare, rounding the corner to see a black cow staring at him from within the pines. Very bear-like!

By late afternoon, we reached Raspberry Creek, where we found a soft patch of grass beside a small stream to pitch our tents. There were purple lupines everywhere, adding to the charm. It was a lovely campsite, though the mosquitoes had also become relentless by then. We quickly pulled on rain jackets and heavier pants despite the warm evening, trying to keep as much skin covered as possible while we ate dinner: more mashed potatoes, ramen, and peanut butter. The food options were getting tiring.

We opted to stay here for the evening to be near a water source and keep close to our ~50 miles a day goal. That said, another 3 miles up the road (and continuing over the pass) was a free shelter for cyclists to use, with bathrooms. We didn’t make it here that night, but it is an option for others.

Uri and I arrived around 5 PM, but Casey, who had stayed behind in Pinedale to have lunch with Grady before saying goodbye, didn't roll into camp until nearly 9 PM. Once everyone was together, we caught up on the day, packed up our food for the night, and crawled into our tents. It was a great day for all of us.