Paula and I loaded up the bikes with food and water for 3 days, clothes and sleeping gear for sub freezing temps.

My bike was really living up to its ‘Behemoth’ title, now carrying a zero degree sleeping bag on the seat and a tent on the handlebars. I was really impressed with how it handled though — there’s a reason this bike is so much fun to ride, hard.

Head for the rocks. To a very remote, semi-secret and hard to reach place. A place known only as Area 52.

Paula impersonating the saguaro (just to her left).

Following the AZT 300 route, through all manner of desert, eventually you come to a curious grove of trees. Like an oasis, but with no water, it calls to the cooked riders of the 300.

At 60 degrees the sun felt better than the shade to us, but it was fun to investigate.

Rocks and river are getting close now.

This slickrock ramp is the entrance to ‘the place.’

Area 52.

This will do. Unload the bike, set up the tent and begin devouring rock.

Paula went for the tent, having done a speed workout just that morning. Her legs were screaming at her as she pushed her loaded bike up the final pitch to camp 52.

I made a run up to ‘the anvil’ and ‘the keyhole.’ Neural rust had taken over some of my Area 52 mental map. Time to reinforce the pathways by putting tire to rock.

I had to hit the campsite huck a dozen times. Just so smooth, so much fun. And killer light.

But all too short. Nights are long in December.

Are we here?

Or maybe up there?

It was easy to forget what planet we were on as we walked around in the moonlight, through crumbly moonscape. Awesome.

Christmas morning.

Who needs presents when you wake up next to your sweetie, with bike and endless rockscapes only a breath away? Bright sun, no humans for miles, the emptiness of the wilderness and legs that ache to be spent throughout it.

Area 52, a dreamland.

A place where sherbet colored rock oozes, white gravel slides on hollow shells, where the riding is only limited by your imagination. Cycling as self expression, as art.

A place where strange creatures roam.

And strange things grow…

… and die.

OK, OK, the riding is also somewhat limited by your skill and willingness to take risk.

I kept it pretty conservative, with car and civilization far away, and with no one to inspire/push me to ride stuff above or at my comfort zone. But I did find some nice ‘up’ moves to burn leg muscle on. Like the above double step, which only went after taking a slightly different angle, allowing just two inches more ‘purchase’ and just enough to kick the front wheel up.

Can I get from here to there? Only one way to find out.

Paula floated around on foot (free running?) finding all kinds of interesting stuff to take photos of (most of the photos are hers). It was really fun to finally show her this area, because my words always fail to describe it. You have to be there to understand.

Up…

Down…

Eventually it was time to head back to the white rock, camp, dinner and another long but peaceful night.

I couldn’t resist the temptation for a third ride back up onto the mesa the next morning. With fresh neural pathways (some burned deep with adrenaline) it was a flash to cruise through the heart of 52, all the way out to above the waterfall, with only a dab or two. Then back, feeling the flow, and hitting the campsite huck just one more time before packing up.

First a bit of fully loaded free riding on the way out…

Then 4×4 roads…

ATV trails. It was cool to see our two tire tracks still fresh in the sand. We hadn’t heard or seen anyone, and this was further proof — no one had been on the road in three days — except for some deer prints on top of our tracks in a few places.

Climbing away from the Gila River and the rocks of 52.

Wouldn’t be epic without a little hike-a-bike.

We set a nice mellow pace on the roads back to the car. Saguaro spotting was the game, and we found many an interesting one.

The world is an amazing place. We were lucky enough to experience this small part of it, together, and at the perfect time of year. Thanks Paula — an awesome bikepacking trip!

It started with an early morning punch in the face: 3k of vert in about 6 miles. Rideable? Yeah, save a few rocky pitches. Did it feel good? Not really. Maybe for Lee – he’s lightened his kit, dropped the rack and been training for this trip.

It showed. He stayed ahead as we clawed our way to crest of the Magdalena Mountains.

The road ends here. No coincidence — I wondered how our trail was going to traverse that ridge.

Climb-a-bike, of course.

That, and incredible ridgeline riding.

The trail had a bit of everything to throw at us: contour, thick oaks,

impossible rocks (I walked downhill), gold aspens. We live for this kind of thing.

We dropped off the ridge, in search of trail #10.

But were stopped dead at this mine (look for the old ladder). Walking back up the mountain a small cairn indicated trail dropping steeply.

I took a half dozen turns before losing it completely. We decided to regain the crest trail and search for the “other” trail #10.

Good choice. The next two miles of ST were a bikepacker’s dream, beautifully contoured, somewhat techy, and filled with big views.

BOOM! Diamond mining, military testing, university training — no one could say for sure. But we heard/felt two blasts and saw the plumes of dust across the valley. Socorro has some strange things going on out in the desert…

Us desert dwellers have to soak up as much fall color as we can. We found the other trail #10 and it looked much more used. The first mile was frustratingly steep. We walked down too much, especially through the steep/tight switchbacks.

I’m usually game for a hop or two to get around switchies, but these were over my limit, maybe because of the “loaded” bike.

Afterwards, the trail exceeded all expectations.

A wonderfully deciduous canyon, replete with a running stream, thick carpets of leaves, moss and lichen, fall color, not to mention technical problems and flowing trail.

The trail got faster and more open as we neared the inevitable forest road, heading down Water Canyon.

We weren’t on it long before turning to little used 2-tracks.

This has become a pattern on the GET. Descend grin inducing trail out of the mountains, then absorb the experience while gently cruising 2-tracks and watching the moving scenery and waning light.

It’s a pattern I could get used to.

We followed our noses to a mexican restaurant in Socorro, where local cyclist Mark (Alizhan on mtbr) was kind enough to join us. Mark was instrumental in helping us determine the GET-bike route we had just followed.

He also hooked us up with Karl from Spoke-n-Word Cycles (the only bike shop on the entire GET route!), who offered to be our guide the next morning. He got us onto singletrack right out of town — the Rio Grande Bosque Trail.

Great way to start the day’s ride.

Not-so-great were the 14 goat heads I picked up in my rear tire. I had to air up a few times, but eventually the tire held.

Karl turned around at the top of Johnson Hill road. The guy is a fountain of knowledge about the area, history and mountain biking in general.

We followed deserted 2-tracks across the Valle del Ojo del la Parida, past abandoned ranches, sometimes sporting working wind mills.

Our GPS line told us to continue straight from this tank, and sure enough a tiny trail took us into an arroyo. XC drainage travel is one of the hallmarks of the GET.

Solid rock. Yet another one of Brett’s GET gems. Doubtful anyone has ever ridden a bike through here before, yet here we were, pedaling some amazing MTB terrain.

A couple of pour-offs forced climb-a-bike maneuvers to circumvent.

Then it narrowed to dirt walls before intersecting singletrack.

Cow singletrack, but still pretty darned fun to ride.

We started picking up more goat heads and eventually my tire failed. A half hour of pump ‘n go, adding sealant and other silliness yielded nothing. Normally this would frustrate me, but I distinctly remember thinking repeatedly how happy I was just to be out there.

I was ready to go to tubes, but Lee pulled out a sticky plug and special installation tool. Bingo! The tire held for the rest of the trip.

Semi-improved roads, cows and horses signaled we were nearing the next highway. Our sense of wilderness was fading away. We had crossed a rather remote section of desert.

??

I suggested some night riding, and was a little surprised when Lee took to the idea. He talked me into it more than the other way ’round. It became obvious later that he feeling strong. Very obvious, in fact. I stopped to take one picture and could not bridge the gap for the life of me.

I was falling apart in the darkness as we climbed away. We stopped for food, bringing life back to my bonking body.

“What an awesome night!”, proclaimed Lee after a cold air descent. I couldn’t agree more.

Sunday morning in Manzano. The store was closed, but the church was humming. Lee went to seek some water while I simply sat and observed. There was something comforting about this idyllic little town. People stood in the middle of the highway, talking quietly and enjoying a beautiful morning, waiting for church to begin.

We rolled on down the highway, continuing our Manzano Wilderness detour. With a tailwind and light traffic, it was a breeze. We blew through Torreon and were surprised to find an open cafe in Tajique. It would have been physically impossible for Lee to pass this opportunity up. We downed a large plate of Carne Asada each, then ordered pancakes and eggs for second breakfast.

Unbelievably, we still weren’t full.

Quiet forest roads were on the docket next. That plan was foiled by a newspaper article proclaiming the Tajique/Torreon loop road as a beautiful “fall color drive.” The paper was right, but the number of vehicles we encountered was nauseating. 0.2343 feet onto the first trail there was no one. The only people outside their car at the trailhead had been forced to stop by an overheating engine.

Pine needle singletrack was nice, but short lived. A brief bushwhack led to 4×4 roads.

Bears use the GET too.

Our intended route didn’t exactly go as planned. Let’s just say things got a little exciting out there. We eventually did make it to Highway 337, where we exchanged $1.59 for two of these:

We pedaled off to the Mars Court trailhead, taking the trail a short ways before finding a spot to camp.

Beautiful night. Beautiful, but too long. I pulled out the mp3 player and watched shooting stars before dozing off to sleep again. It was so quiet I had to crank the volume down to levels that would otherwise be inaudible.

The next day we had the pleasure of sampling some of the best cycling Albuquerque has to offer.

Years ago I signed the “Save Otero” petition, not knowing anything about the trail. I can see why there was such a stir to maintain access. This trail is solid gold.

Loaded micro-hucking.

The trail was either ‘fast and swoopy’, or ‘technical and ledgy.’ What a coincidence, my two favorite kinds of trail!

whispy clouds

MTB bliss continued on the Tunnel Trail. A challenging climb followed by endless contour. I was pinching myself, and since we earned this downhill yesterday, it felt like pure gluttony.

And it pretty much was. Lee was almost ready to ride ~2 miles uphill to sniff out a good cafe. But I talked him into Subway, which to my surprise cooked me up the best meal of the trip–a personal pizza with fresh ingredients.

Now it was time to figure out the final leg of the GET-bike route. Luckily we had Matt Turgeon’s GPS track, which took us on parallel roads to I-40, then along I-40 itself via a “hobo” trail, finally intersecting singletrack after ducking under a fence.

I-40 in the background

Quite a connection to make, thanks to Matt and the wonders of the Global Positioning System.

For the next 14 miles we followed the Albuquerque foothills trail system. We had come a long ways to get here, geographically, physically, mentally. Geographically, we had to travel the ~180 miles to arrive at these trails. Moreso, we had explored, sweat our guts out and bled along all our previous GET explorations. Now on our fourth day on the bike, physically our bodies had settled into the rigors of mountain bikepacking. Saddle sores were gone, protesting legs a thing of the past, we had the rhythm, had the flow. Mentally it just seemed natural. Riding trail is what we do. Concerns of the everyday can linger a few days, but not now. Now it was all about the experience.

It didn’t hurt that we had a tail wind. Or that the trail was flowing itself. I knew that days like this don’t come often, so I made the most of it and tried to slow time.

I don’t know how successful I was, but it ranks up there with some of my better days on the bike. Finishing a 5 day tour of alpine Colorado with a first run at Monarch Crest and Rainbow trail is up there, so is descending the final switchbacks of the AZT above the Vermilion cliffs on my way to finishing the AZT TT.

Dream riding, basically.

We approached the cliffs of the Sandia crest and could make out the tram towers. I was astonished to see that we had been gaining elevation consistently — it felt downhill. The base of the tram is the official eastern terminus of the GET, and we were able to take trail all the way there.

Allen Stibora of Mountainair had offered to pick us up and drive us back to Magdalena. Allen was a treat to talk to on the way back — he’s done it all, from cycling across the country to thru-hiking on the AT, CDT, etc. Thanks Allen!

We now know a lot about the GET. Thoughts of a thru-trip dance in my head…

The original plan was to restart where we left off — Bannock Pass. But given that our daily mileage limped along in the 30′s, we didn’t have enough time to complete the trail as planned — and ride back.

Somehow the plan morphed into starting in Jackson (Montana) charting a new course for the first section reported to be “primo” by my route research. We’d skip ~50 trail miles and loop from Jackson instead.

So we drove from Lima to Jackson and stayed in the lodge. I think the hot spring is the only thing keeping Jackson alive. I took a dip and it was revitalizing for my hike-a-bike sore feet and calves.

I spent about an hour in front of the forest map the lodge had on the wall, right next to the bar and posted above a pile of kiddie toys. I should have spent more time studying it–a painful map error was in my (our) future.

Day 5 – Crags and a first for MC

We gathered food and changed a bit of gear before setting off in the morning. Once again it was 10 miles of pleasant and easy dirt roads to get into the thick of things–the perfect warmup for a day of climbing steep singletrack.

We rode south and west out of town, past Miner Lake and following Miner Creek. Immediately it was clear we were in completely different country. Even at 7000 feet the sage gave way to lodgepole pines. It felt more like Colorado at 10’000+.

Dirt road eased to 2-track, technical at times. Lava Mountain Trail on the GDMBR was the closest parallel.

Just before joining the CDT we met a couple on a horse packing trip. They were just wrapping up a 7 day stint on the CDT, from Chief Joseph to Miner Lake. First they thought we were on a day ride. They refused to believe that we we were headed to Chief Joseph Pass.

“I’d really like to hear about it, if you make it. What about the rock slides, the talus? You wonder whether it’s even safe to take a horse up there.”

I wonder too. Bikepackers, on the other hand, can always walk (and we often do). If it’s “safe” for a hiker, it’s safe for us.

I asked Mike if he wanted to turn around, given their warning.

As we climbed I was delighted by familiarity. I’d never been here before, but deep memories were firing.

I spent a summer as a wilderness ranger for Salmon Challis National Forest. We worked in an area known as the Bighorn Crags, and I spent most of that summer wishing I had a bike to explore the wilderness.

Looking at photos and reading trip reports can only jog your memory so much. What about the other senses? There’s nothing like being completely engulfed in it.

At last, I was riding in Crags-like terrain.

And that is most definitely a good thing.

Cresting one saddle it was hard to believe there was a trail through these rugged mountains. With its twisted trees, sheer faces and crystal lakes any old trail would do, no matter how unrideable. But this trail went beyond rideable, well into the primo category.

A virtual playground for bikes. The kind of trail, and day, that you hope never ends.

The afternoon waned as we passed Lena Lake, another picturesque cirque. It was hard to believe, but from here the trail got even better. Beautifully constructed contour trail took us to the Slag-a-melt drainage.

I passed Mike here where he had dabbed on a techy section that seemed like it shouldn’t have given him much trouble. He went back to try it again and proceeded to slice his rear tire’s sidewall.

I was waiting at a small pass, observing a family of grouse. I rode back down find him pulling dozens of goatheads from his tire (from Grand Junction, not here!). No more tubeless for Mike.

The trail lost its wilderness feel; the climb up to Slag-a-melt lakes was an ATV trail. Roots were exposed and gone were the contouring grades. Still a great, challenging climb.

I stopped to filter water at a creek. When I followed Mike’s tracks they went to lower Slag-a-melt lake, where I found him gathering fire wood.

!?

It’s 6:15p. Sundown is in ~3 hours. This is unprecedented! Mike stopping early?!

Everyone has a ‘down’ day every now and again. I wanted to keep moving through this incredible terrain. But camping next to an alpine lake had its appeal as well and the trail would be there tomorrow. I found some middle ground by ditching my gear and pedaling to the upper lake, then to the pass above both lakes.

I saw the same deer twice, eating from the same meadow. More old memories were not-so-subtly jogged as I pedaled the perimeter trail of the upper lake, evening light dancing on the peaks above me.

The wind blew throughout the night, but my tarp kept it off my face, and without the sage/cow allergies I actually slept much better than previous nights.

Day 6 – Pinky woes and berries

It was different to know something about the trail ahead, at least for a short while. With ‘rested’ legs I enjoyed the climb more than I had the previous night, unloaded.

The uber-switchbacks on the descent didn’t disappoint.

For the next 10 miles magical singletrack continued unabated as we traversed just below the continental divide: grin inducing descents, rapid fire switchbacks, rock monster challenges and the bikepacker’s favorite: contouring singletrack.

For a mile the trail held a contour at almost exactly 8700 feet. Lovely.

We gained the divide at a small saddle. Here began a colossal descent into the Idaho.

It started innocently, then got progressively more rocky. The picture taking was good, as Mike and I alternated setting up shots while descending talus laden slopes. I hopped off the bike on one switchback after rounding it only to have the front tire become wedged.

One switchback later Mike stopped to take a photo and somehow got caught on his bike. I heard “oh shit!” and witnessed the “crash” from above, though it was difficult to tell exactly what happened.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah…”

(pause)

“I broke my finger.”

Even from 60′ above I could see something was wrong with his pinky when he held his hand out. It was dislocated, but he was able to pop it back in, as I had done with my pinky some years ago.

At this point I began thinking about bailing options, but I don’t think thoughts of that sort were on Mike’s mind. He drained the adrenaline by continuing down the challenging trail, myself trailing him.

The plummet to Idaho proceeded to turn to super chunk. I’ve seen few downhills that keep your heart rate so high and require so much focus. I’d ride until my concentration failed, pulling off the trail to let Mike by. He’d then reach his limit and wait for me to pass further down.

Down. Down to fifty six hundred feet, the low point of the trip.

How Mike was able to ride with a broken/dislocated finger is beyond me. But he made no indications that it was going to be an issue at all. The trip must go on! A broken finger is just a bump in the road for Mike.

lunch at an old cabin

The less said about the climb back to the divide, the better. Except this: it was lined with berries, giving us the perfect excuse to take a break from the incessant bike pushing.

Singletrack awaited us on the divide, and it was tasty. Not a steep grade to be found. Midway we came upon a southbound section hiker, John, from the UK. We had a great chat, and he sure seemed to be enjoying his time without many concerns and definitely without any worry over pace.

At Big Hole pass the CDT becomes an ATV trail. It started out well enough. For 2.5 miles it was reasonable, traveling through mellow ups and downs. Soon enough the classic divide roller coastering began, and glancing at the maps and GPS didn’t yield much enthusiasm for the trail ahead.

I had a GPS line down May Creek Trail, but conditions were unknown. I could find little reference to anyone using it. So there was a possibility of good trail there, but we’d spend the rest of the day pushing to get there.

After pushing retardedly steep pitches to 7700 feet I stopped at the crest of the fall-line descent and voiced what we’d both been thinking. (Heading back to Big Hole Pass and taking dirt into Wisdom, saving some time to explore the Pioneer Mountains).

“Speak now or forever hold your Big Hole…”

We turned around and never regretted it. The roads from Big Hole were a nice cruise for a while. But I made a deplorable error at one junction.

Two roads led to highway 43. One was labeled a mile shorter than the other, but started out with a gentle climb. I ran through both on my GPS and hastily decided on the shorter one, thinking it was the main travel route, and all downhill.

My reasoning isn’t that important. We would soon name this road Retardo. It didn’t continue to gently descend Ruby Creek. It kept climbing away from it. Hundreds of feet above, each foot of elevation gain was an insult. Sun setting and restaurants closing, we were burning good time.

Finally on pavement, I rode away from Mike’s slow/heavy tires, occasionally stepping on it to make Wisdom by 9pm. I tried not to notice the other graded forest road entering the highway and how it would have saved us several miles and many a minute.

Still, it was a nice, crisp evening to be pedaling. It didn’t feel much like a tail wind, but there was something surreal about pedal mashing into town, dimly lit and blue, at 18 mph. Almost felt like I was going too fast. The restaurant on the other side of town still said open, and though it was 9pm the staff graciously cooked us up a couple of burgers.

We crashed out in the motel across the street.

Day 7 – Shredded tires and other failures in the Pioneers

We pedaled over to the Forest Service office @9am to obtain a forest map (such a map would have been proof against my map blunder the previous evening) and hopefully some trail beta. We found both, and a few trail routes back to Jackson were proposed.

The straightforward route sounded too easy, and though we had no info on connecting trails, the climb up Odell Mountain was rumored to be of quality.

It was. But a short distance up the trail Mike’s chain slipped.

“I don’t think the scenic route is such a good idea with this tire.”

He counted 7 sidewall cuts, with several showing tube.

“I’ve got a park tire boot.”

“Do you have seven of them?”

He tried some booting, but eventually resigned that his tire was done. It was highway time for him. This was definitely a rare trip for Mike. Usually over-prepared and unflinchingly steady, the CDT had seen him crash, injure a pinky, stop before the sun went down and now bail on good singletrack due to a bike issue. Doesn’t sound like the Mike I know, but everyone has their moments, I suppose.

I continued up the trail, hopeful that I could punch through the Pioneers and make it to Jackson by nightfall. Worst case I’d camp somewhere and meet Mike in the morning.

The climb was brilliant–a perfect blend of technical challenge with contour respite.

I dabbed a lot, but never walked more than a few feet at a time. After climbing about 3000 feet my legs were burning. The trail began contouring around Odell Mountain, and each time it entered a meadow there was zero sign of where to go. No CDT posts to look for, just blazes on far distant trees.

I’d head in a general contour, doing everything I could to prevent a dab (the meadows were full of running water and quite wet). Then I’d search up and down the meadow for a blaze or any sign of a trail.

This worked well until I got to the junction for Stewart Meadows. Good trail looked like it continued to Odell Lake. But twenty feet down my intended route I lost the trail. When alone I don’t trust my eyes, having only one pair, so I retraced my steps on the trail and considered all possibilities.

No, no trail. Keep going.

For whatever reason, that’s just what I did, kept going. I did find some blazes, and some pieces of rideable trail. But each meadow was increasingly impossible to decipher.

To my astonishment, I found orphaned pieces of roads. I’d get excited that I found something that was going to whisk me away to the Martin Mine (my next waypoint on the route). But 200 feet later there was literally no sign of the road anymore.

Eventually I was above the mine (per GPS) and standing in a glorious open meadow. Logically I should have turned around long before this, but adventure called and I pointed the bike down and held on. Rolling steeply through high grasses gave an uneasy feeling, but soon I found a bit of trail and some signage at the upper end of the mine.

The lone trail sign pointed me downhill, following the road that once went to the mine. Out of the meadow it was swallowed by the forest, including huge piles of downed trees. I searched for alternate lines or something I was missing, but there wasn’t much.

I had dropped far and fought hard just to get where I was. I thought I was long past the point of no return. Yet still I continued. I pushed through a half dozen log jams, hopeful of improving conditions. If I could just get down to Stewart Meadows, some 2 miles away, a vague but known-to-be-traveled route awaited to take me to Jackson.

I stopped and realized that not only was this descent unlikely to improve, but it was going to burn all my elevation. At best it was going to be a rideable, rutted road. The thought occurred, “I could be descending that wonderful trail I climbed.” Yeah, it’s going to suck to go all the way back, but it’s known suckiness. And there was a guaranteed reward.

So I turned around, and never regretted it. On the way back I stayed closer to what I think is the actual trail, but it was faint, and impossible to follow in the meadows.

The descent, as expected, was blissful. I stopped a few times for snacks at creeks, just to prolong the rocky mayhem.

I rolled back to Wisdom, en route to chocolate milk at the mercantile. The owner knows the area and despite careful explanation of what I had tried to do, he was convinced I had missed an obvious trail up there. I could only shake my head. Finally he asked which trailhead I had started from and the light bulb went off. “Oh, you went way up there?! No wonder things were so hard. Yeah, nobody goes that way anymore.”

The ride back on the highway was a mere formality. The wind was not favorable, but I put in my ear buds and the tunes and memories from the trip flowed. I found the ride back to be highly enjoyable. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, perfectly happy to be where I was.

The views were big. There were few cars–even a couple of fellow cyclists on the road (one about to wrap up a trans America route). I’d gaze over at the divide and remember how good the riding was and how beautiful it was up there.

Simply a good trip.

Lima, Montana is a classic stop for CDT hikers and GDMBR (divide) cyclists. We were about to become divide cyclists ourselves, for a short time. But ours was a different caper. The CDT is a hiking trail, and few cyclists have laid tire to it. Several locals (thanks Greg, Corey and John) were able to give us some clues, but as far as anyone knew, we’d be exploring new terrain as far as mountain bikers are concerned. (Both Mike and I have completed the dirt road GDMBR, and Mike held the record at 16 days for some years).

Part of the motivation for this trip was that the CDT is not currently wilderness for 200+ miles along the MT/ID border, yet new wilderness areas are being proposed. There’s also the danger that cyclists may lose access to non-wilderness areas of the CDT. That would be a shame, and our trip just reinforced why. There’s some fantastic riding on the CDT.

Day 1 – Lima to Deadman Lake.

Ten miles on a dirt road brought us to the Little Sheep Creek trailhead. Our overall goal was to head west and north on the CDT, to Chief Joseph Pass. This trail took us east and south, but also straight to the CDT. More to the point, we had beta that the trail was a good climb.

Hard to pass up on known good singletrack.

The beta was right on. Rideable trail. Stream crossings. Groves of aspens. And plenty of sage.

A short hike-a-bike led to a confusing sign, which someone had “corrected” using a black pen. We’re still not sure exactly which route is the CDT, but we started following CDT signs up a fall-line scar, past a trail-less meadow, finally rewarding us with miles of sweet descending.

photo by MC

Mike commented that it reminded him of Crested Butte in the early nineties (before it was “discovered” and moto’d out). The area definitely had an undiscovered, raw feel to it, though we’d laugh as we repeatedly hit sections where someone had done twenty feet of supreme trailwork, only to go back to faint or no tread just after.

The best source of info on the CDT is Jonathan Ley’s mapset. After Buffalo Spring it noted a ~2 mile section with no trail. An alternate following an unrideable jeep road climb was also given. Mike took to walking the road while I ventured cross country, looking for CDT posts.

I knew where I was going, so I just kept on a climbing contour, passing drainages and gullies. Very friendly XC terrain, but still a bit laborious. Eventually I looked up and saw Mike above and behind me, but he was coasting downhill and following CDT signs. My GPS’s basemap didn’t line up with reality, so instead of a contouring road to follow to the next saddle, I hiked up a fall line one, rejoining the CDT route.

photo by MC

We took a siesta overlooking Bannack Pass, and my allergies caught up to me. Snotty snot, but also hives on the legs. I took occasion to wash them off in the next creek. Something in the sage country doesn’t agree with me.

Descending to Bannack was fast, and not bad for a jeep road. But soon it was time to head back up, and there’s only one way jeep roads do it on the divide: straight up and straight down.

(It would make a great day loop to ride Little Sheep Creek, then the CDT to Bannack, closing the loop on dirt roads)

We wished we had taken the alternate to Divide Lake since we were doing the Deadman-Nicholia loop anyway. But we had already pushed up and coasted down too many times. We continued on to Deadman Lake, where Mike saw a sight he couldn’t resist.

Fish biting like crazy. But daylight was limited, so he was shut out that night. We camped cold by Deadman Lake, and Mike caught several fish early in the morning.

Trail miles – 40

Day 2 – Deadman to Coyote Creek environs

Continuing our theme of searching out good singletrack, we sacrificed progress along the route for the Deadman Nicholia loop. We’d seen pictures of this ride, and it’s a highly recommended alternate on Ley’s maps.

It didn’t disappoint.

Gradual climbing led us to 9600′, and into a moonscape environment.

photo by MC

That pile of rock is a funny one. It was impossible to predict or follow the best line. So we both dabbed in several spots, and Mike had a hilarious rolling crash. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mike crash before, though his roll out of it was so graceful that it almost can’t be called a crash.

On down the Nicholia drainage, more fun descending ensued, through an areas of recent glacial deposits. I was a little disappointed to ride back into the sage, knowing the allergies they would bring.

Worse, a bee flew between my glasses and face. His immediate reaction was to sting. Mine was to grab the brakes with one hand and flick my sunglasses to the ground with the other. Yeowch! Knowing what happened to my ear on my last bee sting, I worried a little that my cheek my swell my eye shut.

We got distracted by Harkness Lakes. Mike by the biting fish and I by the fisherman’s singletrack going ’round the Lake. With neither trail no posts Mike turned to me,

“What do you think?”

“I think I lost the maps.”

They’d flown out of my feed bag some miles ago. And now we really needed them. We started following the GPS line, but it was wrong. But keep wandering in the general direction (GPS inspired or otherwise) and you’ll eventually spot a CDT post somewhere. This is wide open country, afterall.

Some vague trail led us to a saddle above Meadow Creek. We both spotted the contouring trail, but stinky trail dropped us fall-line style down to the creek, only to climb in the same regrettable style.

I actually didn’t find this section too distasteful. Effort could have been saved on the contour / XC option, but I didn’t mind having a trail to follow, especially given how the next miles would unfold.

At the head of Meadow Creek we joined the continental divide and I spied three hikers on their way down. I didn’t like the look of their route — no trail, steep and somewhat rocky.

I caught my breath while Mike and the hikers converged on the pass. It was windy and late in the day, so we didn’t converse too much, though we all would have liked to. We exchanged a bit of trail info and were on our way. (We would later meet these hikers back in Lima, learning that they found my lost maps and also that they have a website: walkingcarrot.com detailing their trip).

A short hike led to open hillsides and overwhelming views.

Pretty magical evening to be out on the bike, though the only trail tread was a brief unrideable section through some rocks.

photo by MC

Post to post riding.

Lack of maps cost us a bit heading to Coyote Creek. I enjoyed the route finding challenges, though, and the lack maps made it all the more mysterious. This section of CDT sure ranks high in the adventure department.

We rejoined good tread in Coyote Creek, where Mike pointed out water but failed to stop. Too excited at the prospect of fun trail, he kept rolling through talus fields, contouring away from Coyote Creek. I pedaled hard to catch him and asked, “why didn’t we stop back there?” We were short on both water and daylight.

We backtracked, filtered water, then continued on the fun trail as the sun set. We found a campsite on the side of the trail suitable for two tarps.

Despite being tired, allergies made for a restless night, once again in the sage country.

Trail miles – only 30. Average speed < 4 mph.

Day 3 – Coyote Creek to Bannock Pass, then off the divide to Grant, MT.

A mishmash of singletrack and jeep roads took us to Tex Creek.

Pleasant 2-tracks continued, bringing us around the Montana side of the divide, in much lower country than the actual divide. We finally caught up to a set of footprints we’d been following for two days. Cicely B started on the Mexico border sometime in the spring, and it looks like she’s going to wrap it up. It’s hard for me to imagine what it’s like to have been on a trail like the CDT for so many months and how it would affect you. She didn’t seem to want to chat, so we rolled on and left her to the natural rhythm of her thru-hike.

At Morrison Lake Mike caught his big catch of the trip. He’d promised me trout every night to placate my bottomless bit of a stomach (not really). But so far he’d only caught fish in the morning, when neither of us were willing to build a fire and wait to clean/cook one.

North of Morrison Lake the CDT follows a jeep trail, and the best word to describe it is agonizing. Attaining the divide at 9000′, hike-a-bike style, was only a warmup. A hot one at that — the heat was surprising and after 3 days in the sun, it was beginning to have an effect.

Once we were on the divide our fears of melting in the sun were blasted into oblivion. We’d fight fierce crosswinds the rest of the day.

Yet another steep drop, just to climb right back up. Fun and exciting in a sick sort of way. I was happy to have my bike for the fast descents, but less happy with it while pushing up the next hill.

I got blown over more than once (right foot on standby for quick unclip), and had the distinct pleasure of being forced to brake while going uphill. We were having contests to see who could coast the furthest up the next hill without pedaling. I was really cooking, tailwind aided, up a short rise before the main “up.” It suddenly got rocky and the event horizon meant I couldn’t see what was ahead.

It’s not often you have to grab a handful of brake while coasting uphill.

After 11 miles along the divide rollercoaster, a bit of singletrack thankfully contoured around the next fall-line climb. It also led to a developed spring.

The singletrack was a good omen. The divide was set to gain over a thousand more feet, and we weren’t in the mood to push our bikes up more jeep road.

We ate a quick lunch at the base of the climb to Elk Mountain. Looking at the tiny trail leading away from the trees our hopes weren’t high. But as we got into the thick of it, we were blown away to find a 90% rideable trail all the way to the top of Elk Mountain.

photo by MC

Heroic trailwork continued, with beautiful trail taking us along the divide, with big views into Idaho. Rocky talus was the theme higher up, eventually giving way to soft and forested trail. I was pinching myself at the wholly unexpected quality of the trail.

photo by MC

“Like all ridge trails, they never last long enough,” says Mike.

How true, how true. Soon we were back on roller coaster jeep roads, sometimes rideable, sometimes not. The late afternoon wind was pretty incredible, and at Bannock Pass we hid in the semi-shelter of the “highway” sign to weigh our options.

Conversation was not easy in the wind. Mike could hardly hear what I was saying. Holding onto the maps was even harder.

While I still had dehydrated meals, I was dangerously low on snacks (on-the-bike food). I had expected things to be slow, but not quite 30 miles a day slow. But still, I had poorly estimated how much food I’d need for four days on the bike. If only Mike had caught the promised fish…. regardless, we weren’t going to make it to Jackson for a resupply, as we had planned.

Mike still had food for another ~day, a combination of better planning and his ability to ride without constant food intake. Leadore was ~15 miles off route, in Idaho. Normally not a big deal for a cyclist — no need to wait for someone to bum a ride from. But the wind made Leadore a non-option. 15 miles with that kind of headwind was the last thing either of us wanted to face this late in the day.

So I suggested Grant, MT. Put the wind to our backs and blast to the Canvas Cafe, a place I had eaten at during my ’04 divide tour and also during the ’05 race. I further suggested we pedal from there back to Lima to resupply, from our own food in the ‘E’. This would split up our planned dirt road ride back to Lima, too.

The power of the sun on the ride to Grant was startling. I’d later learn that the high temperature that day was in the high 90′s. No longer cooled by the incredible divide crosswinds, we finally felt the heat of the evening (!).

At Grant we peeped in the Canvas Cafe only to find it filled with junk. Oops. It’s the only gig in town — what little town there is.

Diesta, the owner, came out while we stood around looking at maps and GPS. She said the cafe was closed, but she always fixes dinner for cyclists who stay in her cabin. We rented her cabin for 25 bucks, complete with a Montana cold shower.

Supper was $5, and it was easily worth $20. Meat, beans, pasta, bread, pears, cottage cheese, cherry pie and pepsi. Even with that I was hungry when I went to bed.

Miles – 55

Day 4 – MC on the GDMBR

Two miles onto the GDMBR, from Mike:

“Ok, I’m sick of dirt roads.”

It ain’t singletrack, it’s true, but I detected a little prejudice against this particular set of dirt roads from the grand master MC. His camera never came out.

From my perspective, it was a pleasant ride, and a perfect “rest day.” You wouldn’t think riding 70 miles on dirt, on the divide route, would be restful. But relative to what we’d been through, it was like coasting downhill — the whole time.

This is one of the better stretches of the GDMBR — it’s vehicle free and has a great rural feel to it. Plus, we had views of the CDT and the terrain we’d been suffering through for the past three days. It was fun to stop and identify landmarks.

Three days on the CDT out, half a day on the GDMBR back. That speaks volumes.

Mileage – 70 easy ones.

In the next chapter we head out onto another CDT loop, this time based out of Jackson, MT.

We got up leisurely, rode a tiny bit of singletrack, then 15 miles of easy spinning along the shores of Hills Creek Lake. I couldn’t have planned a better recovery day!

Day 7 – 18 miles

Back in Oakridge we hit Manning’s Cafe for power breakfast, the hardware store for fuel and the bike shop for a few items, including a new chain for Paula’s bike. Then it was nap time. Followed closely by pizza time! Ray’s grocery has some great items for bike/back packers. Since neither of us had any sign of poison oak rash we were growing less paranoid about it, but we still took advantage of the “town day” to do a batch of laundry. Hanging out in rain gear when it’s 90 outside is big fun!

I pedaled over to the park at some point and saw all the tents for Mountain Bike Oregon. A different deal, that.

I also hit up the guys in the shop for some trail beta. We’re quickly becoming singletrack sluts, and neither of us were very excited about all the pavement awaiting us on the Aufderheide.

Turns out our negative thoughts were unwarranted. We loved the Aufderheide.

But first we tried an alternate route to Westfir. Shorter, but full of insultingly steep climbing — at least first thing in the morning. I was OK with it, but Paula was expressing her displeasure as the road continued to climb towards High Prairie.

My brain values “new” and exploration so highly that I didn’t care how much it climbed. It was cool to see more of Oakridge and to find a route to the trails that avoided busy highway 58. But I commiserated with Paula.

After the red covered bridge we rolled onto the North Fork Trail. This trail is infamous for gifting urushiol rash to many a Cream Puff racer, my pathetic self included. But boy was it fun to ride.

A little overgrown in places, but just what we were looking for — singletrack perfect for loaded touring.

We followed it for about 7 miles, past FR 1910, to FR 1912. I could see the trail continued, but we had been warned that it wasn’t finished beyond. After washing with Technu we crossed the bridge and began chasing down two fellow cyclists.

Not really. A middle aged couple was doing a day ride on the Aufderheide, with hybrid bikes and orange safety vests. This was a good sign for what we were both hoping — that this was a good cycling route.

Sure enough, with no residences, no ranches, just campground and trails, the Aufderheide scenic byway was pretty empty. Maybe one car per half hour kind of empty. It felt like an extra wide bike path at times.

No cars meant we could ride safely next to each other and, gasp, talk! Can road riding be this good? We had some really great conversation, covering a wide range of topics. So much so that this became one of the best days on the trip. When you’ve been with someone for some time (and you both have a lot going on) it can sometimes be hard to find time to sit down and have long, involved conversations. Have I mentioned that I love bike touring? I also know how lucky I am to have someone to share awesome trips like these with. So many lucky stars that I stopped counting…

At 55-65 miles (depending on which road sign you believe) the Aufderheide is nothing to sneeze at, and there is a healthy climb in the middle. Time to switch river drainages from Willamette to Mackenzie!

We stopped in the middle and had a hot lunch – macaroni and oatmeal. Then more pedaling.

When we hit the dam on Cougar Reservoir I pulled out the phone to call my brother and Misty. They were en route to meet us at Belknap Hot Springs. My brother had just returned from several trips, and this was the first time he was around and able to meet up. We had a wonderful evening, eating tasty food, soaking in the springs and hanging out with Al and Misty.

We stayed down the road at Harbick’s Country Inn. Run by an enthusiastic mountain biker, they were very friendly to cyclists (the ACA northern tier route also goes right by their place).

Day 8 – 68 miles

My friend Mark Flint has called the Mackenzie River Trail the best trail in Federation Space. Though there may be something better in Romulan Space, that’s still a pretty strong statement. We were excited to test it.

5 miles pavement brought us to the start of the trail. 5 seconds in I already liked it. Flat, smooth and swoopy. Repeat for mile after mile and you have yourself a good ride.

It was the weekend, so there was some traffic going the other direction (this trail is often shuttled). It was no big deal, except for the nose-to-nose encounter Paula had with a group of guys cookin’ it and pushing each other down the trail. Not a smart thing to be doing on a Saturday — not everyone shuttles the trail and there are hikers out there too! (To their credit, they apologized for going so fast and almost hitting her).

The miles floated by for me, but Paula was getting tired. I was feeling top; she was run down–the difference between a cyclist and runner after 300 miles of singletrack touring.

Near Trail Bridge Reservoir the trail gets a little bit technical and has some exposure. Paula didn’t trust herself to ride semi-dangerous stuff, saying she felt unsteady. Same with one of the shuttlers we ran into on this portion, who could only utter, “I’m hitting the wall, man!” as we passed. From then on, of course, at every little uphill either Paula or I would turn to each other and say “Oh, man I’m hitting the wall!”

As we had been riding I realized that the best plan was to just ride Mackenzie out and back. I had a route over the divide towards Bend. But we had already agreed that anything above 4500′ was out due to Mosquitoes. We could head that way but there was no way to get back without going by Waldo Lake or other Mosquito hell areas.

So I suggested we set up camp near the lake and Paula could take a rest while I rode the rest of Mackenzie. It sounded like a good plan. We found a secluded site, just far enough from the mayhem and noise of the car camping area, and once again next to a rushing stream.

I set off unloaded, with a box full of matches to burn. I had really been enjoying the mellow touring pace we had settled into. It’s nice to see that side of life. But I’ll always have an interest in riding hard and pushing myself.

With limited daylight and plenty of unknown miles yet to cover, this was the perfect opportunity.

I knew about the technical lava rock at the top. But the techy climbing before the blue pool (above) was a complete surprise. I ran into quite a few groups of MTBers thoroughly flustered and demoralized by this surprise section. I was just as surprised as they were, though pleasantly so.

Middle ring hammering brought some good heat to my body. And for some distance the river disappeared, which seemed quite strange. I had grown used to the constant companionship of whichever river we were following.

Not long after I began to hear water again, getting louder and louder. The temperature dropped, thankfully. I began to put it together. There must be a waterfall coming up, and from the sound of it, it’s huge!

Koosah falls, followed by Sahalie Falls. Both very impressive! I continued climbing steeply, reveling in the challenging trail.

When I came to Clear Lake my legs were getting pretty torched, so I took the easier direction (west side) first, for a little recovery. Whew, it was super easy! And views of the lake were awesome.

It was surprising how much the trail wandered around the north side, and I was getting anxious to start heading back to camp (suddenly I was without tent/bag and freedom to stop anywhere on the trail!). Soon enough I was battling it out in the lava rock and laughing each time I’d get jammed. It was disappointing when I came to the paved portion! Paved singletrack, with tight switchbacks! How funny.

I’ll never forget one particular moment on the way down. Yeah, I knew about the waterfalls this time, but nothing could prepare me for the sensation of swooping through the trees, paralleling the rushing river, only to have the river suddenly disappear in front of me, off the edge of the world. One switchback brought me right next to the falls, mid-air, followed by another affording a clear view of the entire drop. It felt like I was the waterfall.

Of course the trail was easier and faster on the way down. After the blue pool I ran into Paula, pushing her bike through the techy stuff. The blue pool sounded cool on the map, so she was riding out to check it out. I didn’t really recommend it, because of how technical it was, but we sat there a while and debated about it. Finally we realized there wasn’t much daylight, and sure enough even without going to the pool we barely made it back before dark.

Day 9 – 45 miles

We really enjoyed our last night camping. We ate like kings — double portions of pasta (dinner) and hot chocolate (morning). Since we were heading back there was no reason to conserve and no reason to get up early. Sleeping in until 9am is a true sign of a good night camping.

I have to admit that all the swoopy smooth trail was getting just a tiny bit tedious by the end of yesterday’s out and back ride. I was happy that we were camping midway on the trail. By the time morning rolled around again I was super psyched to ride as much singletrack as was left.

At some point I stopped to fiddle with something and Paula got a ways ahead of me. She came upon two guys riding with their dog. Not particularly riding fast, she passed one and crept up on the second. At the top of the next hill he turned around and saw her coming.

At that point the race was on. Head down, pedaling for all he’s worth. Buddy and dog in tow, trying to keep pace. After a few minutes the guy behind starts yelling, “Dude! Slow down! You’re killing him [the dog], he can’t keep up!”.

Sometimes you can’t be 100% sure if someone is racing you out on the trail, but there was little doubt here.

He lets her go at the next bridge, stopping to tend to the dog. The second guy then takes the chase position, again doing everything he can to not let Paula out of sight. I rolled up on them at this point and had to hold back the laughter as I watched this guy trying to chase Paula down.

The rest of the trail was less eventful. Pleasant encounters with many a cyclist, including many riding up the trail. We popped out at the Ranger Station to check the bus schedule. There’s only one bus, and it’s at 6pm, so we had some time to kill.

Back to Takoda’s for another huge meal, I started scheming to ride a trail the Inn’s proprietor had raved about: King Castle. He said he shuttled a group of women from CA the other day and they proclaimed it to be one of the best downhills ever.

I’d never heard of it, and couldn’t really tell which trail it was on the map, so I went back to talk to the super enthusiastic innkeeper. Cool guy — he gave me solid info and even offered to shuttle me up the trail. After riding the three major river trails in Oregon without a shuttle you’d think I might take him up on the offer. But I hadn’t shuttled yet, so why start now?

The climb was no big deal, if a little on the hot side. I turned left and climbed the singletrack a little further, to ensure an honest 2000′ climb. From what I saw on the singletrack on the way up, the way down was going to be a blast.

No question, it was. I found it about twice as fun as Alpine trail, though circumstances may have had something to do with that.

I rode back to Paula, napping by the river, and we picked up our belongings for one more ice cream gorging before waiting for the bus.

Yes, it’s true, the city of Eugene runs a regular old city bus all the way out to the Mackenzie Ranger station — some 50 miles away from town. Guess what the fare is? $1.50. This is such an awesome service that we could hardly say no to it.

A purist might have ridden back to my brother’s house, completing the loop, and I had a rough route in mind. But that route had a lot of pavement on it, and only a few miles of trail (Fall Creek). That combined with the Paula still being tired and our limited time to spend with Al and Misty and it was a no brainer.

the lev on the bus

I thought it was a very unique way to end the trip. I installed my headphones into my ears and let the tunes roll as I played through all the good memories of the trip while someone else took care of the driving, and petrol took care of the horsepower rather than my legs. The air conditioning was blasting, and the big windows gave ample viewing opportunities. Quite a few people use this bus, such that the bike racks were both full when the bus picked us up, and many people got on at later stops. What a novel concept — not using the personal automobile as the enabler for recreation.

The bus dropped us off in downtown Eugene. A few miles ride through town brought us back to my brother’s house and the completion of the “loop.”

Day 10 – 38 miles

Total stats:

410 miles
40,000 feet of climbing
8mph average speed (!)
>60% singletrack