Oh, Canada! We finish the Great Divide Mountain Biking Route (GDMBR). Day 43-48

Day 43: Eureka, Montana to Butts Cabin, British Columbia

65 miles; 7,270 ft of elevation gain: Strava Map

Our last morning in the United States was spent with Jillian and Chris Seng, our Warmshowers hosts in Eureka, MT. We sipped coffee from Jillian's beautiful handmade mugs, and I finally had my pop-tarts hot from a toaster for the first time on tour (and probably in the last 2 decades). We took some photos together, and I had hoped that our paths would cross again–– maybe we could host them sometime in Bozeman!

Soon enough, we were back on the bikes and headed toward the Canadian border. Despite biking 70 miles the day before, it felt like we had a pseudo half rest day since we finished riding just before 1 PM. So, I was feeling more rejuvenated, and the paved, gently rolling roads made for an easy start to the day, the excitement building with every mile.

Then, we crossed into Canada! We had officially cycled the length of the continental United States from south to north. We pulled over for the obligatory photos at the border sign and quickly passed through the tiny border security, with little to no cars queued up to cross.

It was pretty unbelievable––a moment that seemed impossibly far away when Jeffery Sharp took our photos at the Mexico border 43 days earlier. Our first pedal strokes were full of nerves and uncertainty, not sure what the following days would provide. And now here we were. I rode the rest of the day on pure excitement.

The physical celebration didn't last long before the biggest climb of the entire trip began. I think it was also the single longest/steepest climb I had ever done in my life. But, I was still emotionally riding on the high, and, surprisingly, I didn't mind it at all. The gravel was steady and rideable, and with good music, I rhythmically cranked uphill toward the summit. The climb was enormous but manageable enough that I rarely needed to stop. Unfortunately, the moment we did stop, swarms of mosquitoes descended on us. We stuffed our faces through an expedited snack break at the top while being relentlessly eaten alive.

Now, the descent. I had thought that the huge climb uphill was the part that was called the "Wall", but it was actually in the section that came next.

The Wall was a sloping terrain that had deteriorated into little more than a vertical, muddy hiking trail. Water flowed down the trail itself, turning it into a slippery chute of roots, mud, and loose rocks. Most of the time, we carefully walked our bikes downhill, squeezing the brakes hard, occasionally lifting them over roots and obstacles. I couldn't imagine trying to push a loaded bike uphill over the Wall like the people going SOBO did. It would have been absolutely brutal. Wall complete.

The trail remained muddy and overgrown for quite a while afterward. We splashed through deep puddles, pushed through thick vegetation, and picked our way along narrow paths. It felt more like hacking our way through a jungle, but we were in good spirits about it. Conditions like this break up the monotony of the route, and it felt silly walking through a muddy singletrack stream.

We lunched beside a large, fast-flowing, crystal clear river, which was a welcome break after the Jungle. We filtered more water and enjoyed the peacefulness before another moderate climb and a series of gentle rollers brought us toward camp for the evening.

When we arrived at Butts Cabin (Yes, that's what it's called––after the Butts family who used this as a hunting cabin), we thought we had the place to ourselves until the door suddenly opened and Peanut stepped out, already settled inside with his dinner. We met Peanut, the bike mechanic from Arizona, weeks earlier in New Mexico for a brief moment when he fixed my derailleur, and then we crossed paths again a few days earlier on route. We rode together a few days and then started meeting up at the end of the day if our schedules aligned.

The cabin itself made us nervous, though. It was wooden, cute, and tiny with bunk bed frames and a wood stove. But, with so many hikers and cyclists passing through, we worried bears had learned to associate it with food. We stored all of our food inside the cabin and had first made attempts at getting comfortable inside. However, the quantity of mosquitoes was unbelievable, making it impossible to imagine sleeping here. So, with our food inside, we all pitched tents out in the tall grassy and flowery meadow, a little on edge that a bear would be drawn to this area.

But sleep didn't come easily, at least for me and not just because of the bear paranoia. My legs were in a lot of pain from the big effort today, and I spent much of the night tossing and turning.

Day 44: Butts Cabin to Fernie, Canada

47.7 miles; 2,638 ft of elevation gain: Strava map

No surprise bear encounters in the night! Though, as usual, we slept with our bear spray just in case. As we packed up our bags, a curious doe wandered through camp, quietly peeking around trees and watching our every move, adding to the morning's humor. She had clearly become too accustomed to humans in this area, and everywhere we looked, she would be peeking around the corner at us.

As soon as we could, we quickly filtered water since all of our bottles were empty, and we had run out the night before. Thankfully, streams were plentiful again, and water availability remained a concern of the past.

The ride itself today wasn't particularly difficult, but I felt drained. Poor sleep and not eating enough throughout the day caught up with me. Instead of stopping for a proper lunch, I found myself impatiently counting down the miles to Fernie. This town not only signified a rest stop with fresh food, but it was also an important marker: the last big town until Banff. We all pushed ahead, eager to get to town, but rolled in with our gas tanks on Empty.

And Fernie was cute! A small town nestled in the mountains, with beautiful blue and purple peaks circling the towns. There were a lot of folks out and about, but it was also peaceful and quiet as we biked down the main street, past shops and restaurants. Our immediate stop was Save-On-Foods grocery store. Nothing was better than cold food and cold drinks in this moment when our food rations had just about run out. We splayed out on the sidewalk outside the grocery store, happily eating everything we could while trying to cool ourselves down.

We had tried to contact some Warmshowers hosts in the town over the past few days, but we didn't have success––the folks here must be inundated by cyclists, especially fresh ones that just are starting out going southbound. But, we heard about the hostel in town, The Raging Elk, and managed to book a room with 4 beds. It was pretty pricey for what you would expect from a hostel, but it gave us the chance for showers and stress-free sleeping, not needing to hunker down somewhere on public land.

For dinner, we treated ourselves to Himalayan/Indian food! We had all been craving a different ethnic restaurant, and the butter chicken, rice, naan, and mango lassi didn't disappoint. We were a few days away from finishing the bike tour, and we were going to end it properly fueled and feeling strong to the end.

Walking out the restaurant, a family seated outside had been eyeing our dirty bikes.

"You're way too clean to be riding those!" the man said.

"We do shower from time to time," I joked back.

We chatted briefly and surprised them by saying that we were biking northbound. Typically, the high volume of cyclists are all going south, so it isn't too impressive when folks reach Fernie, just a few days into their tour. So, the surprise on people's faces when we clarify that we are northbound is always humorous and fun. Around mid-way Montana, the general public started to say phrases like "You're getting close!" or "Almost there!" or "Nearly done!", all of which give me a little spike in morale.

On the way back to the hostel, we stopped at a public bike wash station at the bike shop to rinse off the mud and made one final grocery run for supplies to get us to Banff. And we were all incredibly low-energy by the time we crashed back into bed. It wasn't too late, and the hostel had pool tables, a bar with trivia night, and even a free makeshift movie theater downstairs (that we found out about the next day). Instead of enjoying any of the amenities, we all simply starfished on our beds, trying to cool down in the heat of the stuffy evening.

Day 45: Fernie to Koko Claims cabin

52 miles; 6,070 ft of elevation gain: Strava map

Breakfast was simple: yogurt, fruit, and smoothies in our hostel room before slowly packing up. Downstairs, we found Peanut once again getting ready for the day. He had stayed in the hostel but in one of the single pods that you could rent, and he had taken advantage of all the fun amenities––spending the previous evening watching movies in the hostel's TV room, playing pool, cooking dinner in the shared kitchen, etc. He was still having a slow morning when we took off earlier than him for once.

And wildfire smoke still lingered over the valley as we left Fernie. The mountains were hazy, but nothing was nearly as bad as our experience in Colorado. So, we pushed onward.

The elevation profile looked almost comical, resembling two giant bat ears connected by a long ~30 mile climb in between. We knew stopping early in Fernie was going to give us a huge climb first thing in the morning, but it was totally worth it. We were on vacation after all!

So, the first climb began immediately, complete with an intimidating 18% grade sign. Thankfully, the gravel remained smooth enough that it was entirely rideable, though the humidity had us soaked within minutes.

A long descent followed beside crystal-clear turquoise rivers. At one point, we caught the unmistakable smell of sulfur and convinced ourselves there had to be hot springs nearby. We peeled off the road and took a walk along the stream side, putting our hands in the water to search for warmth amongst the ice. No luck!

The remainder of the afternoon was dominated by the slow climb toward the infamous Koko Claims. For mile after mile, we slowly gained elevation before the road simply disappeared into loose rockslides.

And Koko began. The hike-a-bike was relentless and lasted for so long that our average speed over the whole 52 mile day was <5 mph.

Some sections approached 25% grade, covered with unstable rock and loose dirt that made finding secure footing difficult. We pushed our loaded bikes carefully, stopping often to catch our breath before continuing upward. Calves burning, the heavy weight of the bikes made heavier by the crushing weight of gravity, and our shoes slipping on loose dry dirt and rocks. Up and up we went, and periodically we would go down briefly only to re-ascend another steep, avalanche hill.

Originally, we had hoped to descend Koko that evening and camp at the base, but by the time we reached the top, the sun was dropping and all three of us were exhausted.

Fortunately, a small snowmobile cabin sat at the top, and it was beautiful.

No, it wasn't fancy at all. The modest place smelled of spray paint with a mottled, dirty yellow floor, but it had ****STARLINK****! When 2 months of our lives are spent outside in the wilderness in SOS services, the possibility of internet AND indoors gives us hearts in our eyes.

We cozied up inside, eating dinner without a care of bears, and enjoyed the rare luxury of internet access. Tomorrow would be our penultimate day on tour, and the excitement (and a bit of sadness) was palpable.

Day 46: Snowmobile Cabin to Elkwood Campground

55 miles; 4,455 ft of elevation gain: Strava map

Around 2 AM, I woke to the terrifying sounds of an animal being positively obliterated somewhere outside the cabin. I immediately thought of bears and nudged Uri awake, concerned. In the early morning fogginess, I went through the mental calculations if bears could open doors. Were we safe in here, with all of our food???

It was totally fine, but Uri did then have to use the bathroom and stepped outside, on edge and equipped with bear spray. No sign of anything at all. By morning there also wasn't a single sign of what had happened.

Tomorrow we would be finishing the tour! We packed up our things, dancing to music, and soaking in the realization that the Great Divide was coming to a close. But not before we descended Koko Claims.

I am so glad we didn't attempt this the night before. Descending Koko proved every bit as difficult as expected and was also challenging going down as going up (though we definitely had it easier going down the northface compared to the folks who had to push uphill on the avalanche slide). Loose rockslides forced us to walk much of the way, and despite being cautious, I still managed to fall several times. RIP my derailleur, never to ever be recovered.

Post-Koko, the reward was another beautiful day of riding, despite being net uphill all day. Mountains surrounded us while daisies and tall pink wildflowers carpeted the forest floor everywhere. Wildfire smoke still made the views hazy, but it couldn't fully hide the scenery. There was also evidence of previous forest fires, with stands of trees being singed and blackened.

One frightening moment came when a white company truck flew around a blind corner far too fast, narrowly missing Casey. We flagged down the following truck, explained what had happened, and the supervisor, a real Sam Elliot lookalike, assured us he would deal with it.

The all day uphill wasn't especially steep, just long. We passed the hours listening to music, audiobooks, and I made slow progress through Lonesome Dove. The road wasn't complicated either: straight. It was a bit monotonous at times, and I found that I actually craved a periodic uphill climb just to give me something to work towards that wasn't just the end of the road.

Late in the afternoon, we approached Boulton Campground, where multiple riders had recently reported aggressive bears around their tents. None of us wanted to spend the night there, but we also knew there was a camp store and...ice cream! The ice cream stand closed around 6 PM, and we were going to cut it really close.

Suddenly, we found another burst of energy. We sprinted over the final itty-bitty pass (SOBO riders alluded to the "big pass" we had to cross, but it was a joke compared to what we had done already), flew down fast and very beautiful double-track, followed the mowed powerlines, and reached the store with thirty minutes to spare. Giant ice cream cones and 2-for-1 hot dogs never tasted so good!

A little shy of our mileage goal today, we pushed a few more miles to the quiet Elkwood Campground. It required some decent paved uphills, which after eating copious amounts of calories made me want to vomit. Worth it. We paid the ~$30 for a site and pitched our tents in an area, not too far from the showers and bear boxes. The campground host gave us an extra shower token (each worth 5 mins) which felt like absolute luxury.

We settled into our tents, the sadness of tomorrow being the final day building. It's funny, some moments I want to be done and to be home. And, moments later, I feel the pang of not yet wanting to return to a 9-to-5, hamster-wheel routine. I missed my cats, and I wanted to move into my new home properly, but I was sad to lose this sense of freedom.

Day 47: Elkwood Campground to Banff, Canada!

52 miles; 2,730 ft of elevation gain: Strava map

Sometime around 2 AM, all three of us woke to loud crashing sounds in the woods. We all immediately assumed the worst, the thought propagated by warning signs all through camp. Bears.

"Guys, there is a bear outside of my tent. What do I do??" Casey called frantically from her tent 15 ft away.

I was immobilized, mentally flipping through all the knowledge I had about bears in my head. I knew how to use the bear spray, but you definitely didn't want to spray it while you were inside the tent. Do you preemptively unzip your tent in case the bear tries to get in? Do you make a lot of loud noise in advance or try to be still and let the bear just lumber by? Uri and I remained quiet, listening, waiting, and trying to get a sense for what was happening out there. The creaking and cracking continued, until eventually we all realized that they were just branches. Phew!

Morning arrived more peacefully after that. A cold breakfast at the picnic tables while the morning sun filtered through the trees, creating a sun screen that was strengthened (likely) by the continuing smoke.

Because trail maintenance had closed part of the official route, we followed a dusty road detour for the first twenty miles. Cars and trucks constantly blasted past, coating us in a plume of dust. We covered our faces and powered through it, annoyed that this was how we were spending our final day. The detour did chop off a significant part of our elevation for the day, so when we crested the "high point", we had fairly little physical hard labor to do besides just putting in the final miles.

Around midday, we reached a beautiful lake and stopped for lunch high up above the shoreline. We sat quietly in the sun, realizing we were halfway through our final day on the Great Divide. I was excited to push to the end, but I was equally happy to sit by this huge turquoise lake, with mountains surrounding the shoreline and wildflowers sprinkling the edges. We napped in the sunlight.

Oddly, I expected the last twenty-five miles to feel long and emotional. Instead, they flew by.

The riding was some of the best of the entire trip! Flowing singletrack hugged the lakeshore before opening into fast double-track weaving effortlessly through the forest. It was a stark comparison to the dusty, flat, car-filled road in the morning. And we felt incredibly strong, the excitement building as we neared the finish. Our bodies were fueled by adrenaline and many weeks of shaping our muscles for this activity. I felt so weathered and capable.

Then suddenly..It was over. The trail opened into a parking lot in Banff, Canada. My Garmin chimed a little song and said "You win! Route complete."

We hugged, laughed, cried a little, and took photos beneath the finish sign. After 2,700 miles, we had done it. And I felt so good––physically, mentally, emotionally. Despite me having some migrating pains during the tour, my body finished in one solid piece. We all did, and I was so grateful for it.

Of course, our priorities immediately shifted. Chinese buffet.

We raced into downtown Banff, weaving through crowds of tourists, crossing the river, and dodging pedestrians until we reached the restaurant. The main strip in Banff was a packed nightmare of tourists, making it hard to roll a loaded bike through all the people. And everyone looked like a cupcake, wearing their whitest and cleanest best outfits. Covered in dirt, sweat, and grease, we unapologetically made it to the buffet.

To our surprise, it was completely empty except for the three of us. We celebrated with plate after plate after plate of food, followed by dessert, and then more food. Texts then were sent to select folks to let them know we finished. I had thought that this was going to be emotional dinner, but it actually wasn't sinking in yet. What does it mean to be done with the tour? Surely this was just another dinner stop, and we would be continuing on tomorrow. It would take a while for it to truly set in.

Stuffed beyond belief, we bought a few beers and wandered down to the river. Sitting along the water, we called family and friends, letting the sun slowly start to set.

We weren't quite done after all. Banff was far too expensive for us to spend the night ($800/night for a hotel?? $100/night for a hostel bed??). With no Warmshowers hosts available, we simply rode about a mile back down the trail, slipped quietly into the woods, and pitched our tents one final time. One last night sleeping outside. One last night putting down the ground tarp and going through the familiar motions of pitching our tent and storing our food away. I was a ball of mixed emotions.

Day 48: One Final Rest Day

Our final morning on the trip was wonderfully unhurried, though I realize I've been saying that for almost every day since we decided that we preferred waking up no earlier than 7-7:30.

Uri and I packed up our little hidden campsite, letting Casey have her own slow morning since we had nothing to do until 4 PM. We wandered back into Banff around 8:30 AM, savoring the strange feeling of having nowhere left to ride. Today, we would be tourists.

Coffee first at Mountain Folk Coffee, followed shortly afterward by...another coffee at McDonald's. Reconvened with Casey, we ordered some cheap food there and loitered with WI-FI for several hours. We then loitered at the library for longer, sharing photos and catching up on internet things. A quick stop at the thrift store and then the bike shop to remove Casey's pedals.

Uri's parents would drive from Bozeman to come graciously fetch the three of us, and with two bikes on the back rack and one bike in the car, we all drove "home".

Home was a strange concept. I was from PA, Casey from NY, and Uri from MT. Casey, Uri, and I met in Ithaca, NY. Uri and I lived there for about 7 years, and then Uri and I lived in Blacksburg, VA for about 9 months. Right before the tour, we "moved" to Bozeman, where all of our belongings were stalled in New Jersey with a moving company. So, with a new house that was void of contents, we started the bike tour. Now, we were returning to our home, currently stacked with moving boxes waiting to be opened.

Casey was a saint. Within minutes of coming home, she began to help us unpack, and over the next 48 hours, we had a semblance of a home. 3 AM two days after our arrival, we took Casey to the bus station so she could head home to Salt Lake.

So, we were all home. And thus concludes our travels.

Thank you for tuning into our journey! A reflections write-up will be coming. In the meantime, enjoy this selection of quotes from folks during the bike ride.

Quotes from the Great Divide: Anyone/ Anywhere

• My crotch needs water

• I have herpes, you don’t scare me 

• Biking is the fucking worst 

• I’m in a dangerous state of lethargy 

• Climbing is just like going uphill 

• Coffeetone: it’s like ecotone but it’s at the intersection of high performance and shitting yourself 

• I have to put my butt patches back on 

• You don’t need good luck, you are good luck! 

• [theater voice] It’s this damn pedaling that’s driving me mad! 

• That’s a good cow trough 

• It’s only 20 miles, it can’t be that hard 

• I have a varicose vein in my testicle

• He’s so fucking hot and so fucking gay 

• I’m a slut for icecream 

• What’s the point of riding bikes across the country if I’m not high a LITTLE bit 

• I love a washed ear plug

• You can pop my blackheads if you want

• Are you cosplaying as a Republican??

• I wish my skin wasn’t falling off

• When did you last shit yourself 

• I have so many secrets 

• She’s got a good rear end (Diane the Van)

• I have a bread fupa 

• I put vagacil on my butt 

• I had a dream I was in a cult and it was very nice 

• In Montana, you don’t lose your girl, you just lose your turn 

• Finish this bitch! 

• I want to quit 

• If you’re lucky you’ll be young forever. Your body won’t, but you will 

• If I had balls, I would have nutted myself

• Inshallah Erin gets a glizzy

• Give it your best shot, sunshine! 

• Nazis don’t ride bikes!

• I need water on my butthole 

• I am so not impressed by the men of the world 

• I should have married a man 

• I’m a sexy Greek god that smells like day old pizza

• Casey looks like an 8 year old boy 

• We’re not little bitches anymore 

• Guys, I am so bored 

• I love Elon Musk. Lets say a prayer for him 

• Poop is the only thing on my mind 

• Y’all are wrapping up! 🤙

• I’m having a superiority complex 

• This time tomorrow, we will be in God’s country (the Asian Buffet) 

• You biked from Mexico to Canada? Was it easy?

• I miss my Red40

• Never let me bike uphill after 2 glizzies again 

• Chinese buffets hate to see us coming

• Let’s go home!