Category Archives: The Great Divide

Days 7 and 8: Kremmling to Silverthorne

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Day 7: Kremmling to Arapaho NF

I took my time leaving Kremmling, knowing I only had about 30 miles to cover, and it was a relatively easy day. A few miles south of town, i turned off onto a dirt road that followed the Colorado River for a while before turning south. A short climb led to Middle Park, a broad, windswept valley that has a reservoir sitting in the middle on the Williams Fork. I’ll be passing through a similar area–South Park–next week. The road was pretty smooth and had gentle grades as it made its way up stream, behind the Williams Fork Mountains. There were still some heart-pounding hillls to climb, but overall it was a relatively mellow day.

My legs do feel somewhat dead and tired, but the biggest complaint I have is my ass. Although not as tender as during the first few days, it can still be somewhat uncomfortable to spend so much time in the saddle. I’ve found that using Desitin, the ointment for diaper rash, has soothed my butt and I’ve also been experimenting with some different seat heights. Other than that, I’m feelling in pretty good shape a week into the trip. I have a bunch of nicks and cuts on my hands that are taking a while to heal, but I’m not struggling with any real injuries or ailments.

I stopped for the day at about 3pm, only about 4 hours after I started riding. I knew where I’d be camping because Ginette and I had spent a night in the area a few weeks back, before we did some hiking in the nearby Eagles Nest Wilderness. Just a half mile inside the forest boundary, I turned up a side road and found a great campsite beside Keyser Creek and beneath lots of tall conifers. Took a refreshing dunk in the water after putting up my tent and then took a nap. It was great to set up camp early in the afternoon, without being dead tired, and I’m glad I could catch up on some sleep. I’ve been getting at least 9 hours a night, but I think my body still needs more. Same thing with food: I’m eating huge quantities, yet still feel hungry. One of the many great things about this trip is that I can eat whatever and however much I want, yet still lose weight!

Day 8: Arapaho NF to Silverthorne

Today’s ride was also on the short end–a little less than 30 miles, most of it on paved roads. Unlike the past few mornings, when dew was covering everything, today began dry, but the wind kept getting stronger. After a few miles on a hard-packed dirt road, I came to the Henderson industrial complex. On this side of the Continental Divide is a massive mill and tailings pond; on the other side is the continent’s largest molybdenum mine. The two are connected by a gigantic underground conveyer system that goes straight through the Divide. It’s pretty much an industrial sacrifice area, but it’s hard for me to get all self-righteous since my bike frame is chro-moly, as in chrome-molybdenum.

The ride through the mine is the ascent to Ute Pass, which is all paved and never gets too steep. On the other side, there are incredible views of the Gore Range on the other side of the Blue River Valley. Today’s strong westerly winds were creating some interesting cloud formations over the peaks and helped slow my descent toward Highway 9. From there, it was 13 miles to Silverthorne. Lots of traffic, but a huge shoulder for me to ride in so I felt totally safe. I was going NW for part of the way and enjoyed a nice tailwind.

Once I got to Silverthorne, known best for its huge number of outlet stores along I-70, I headed to Chipotle for some lunch and then to my motel. Unfortunately, no laundry machines, so I to ride to the laundromat, about a mile away. I stripped down to just my shorts/bathing suit and washed everything else. Not a minute too soon–I was really starting to smell!

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Days 5 and 6: Steamboat Springs to Kremmling

Days 5 and 6: Steamboat to Kremmling

More than a century ago, it took about two days for the stage coach to travel from Steamboat Springs to Kremmling and that’s about how long it took me to bike the 80-odd miles. These two days featured some tough stretches but the route passed through beautiful country that I’ve never explored, except by train.

I left Steamboat on Tuesday morning after running some errands: mailing about five pounds of gear that I don’t really need back home, buying new gloves at the bike store, picking up food at Safeway, etc. The ride out of Steamboat was easy enough and I saw tons of recreational cyclists, all of whom seemed to get a kick out of me. The route makes its way up the Yampa River, passing by some trophy homes and ranchettes before entering Pleasant Valley, where I had about 50 ravens fly over my head.
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The dirt road then ascends to Stagecoach Reservoir, where it was sort of fun to ride over a narrow causeway above the dam. There were trout anglers fishing in the tailwaters below and people waterskiing on the reservoir. For a few miles, you follow a path around the edge of the lake that sometimes narrows to almost single track but is never too steep. There are lots of houses around the lake, and nice to see many of them with solar arrays.

From the reservoir, the route continues ascending up Morrison Creek and into the Routt National Forest, though it takes a long time to get to public lands. One thing about this route is that you pass by a lot of private land–mostly hay farms, cattle ranches, or subdivided rangeland in this first week–as you make on your way to the higher elevation national forests. I opted to ride all the way to the top of Lynx Pass, which wasn’t too bad of a climb and the road was in decent shape. Even better, I had a tailwind for a change1

Just on the other side of the pass, I biked up a side road for a half mile or so and made my camp near Tee Pee Creek, which emptied into a small pond. There were signs advertising moose in the area but I didn’t see any. If there weren’t a Forest Service work station nearby, I would have stripped down and taken a swim in that pond, but I heard some voices and opted to go upstream, where I found a mini-pool, about the size of a bathtub and two feet deep, where I could bathe and wash my clothes. The water wasn’t too cold and it felt both primal and refreshing.

Took a pretty cool time-lapse of the sunset with my iPhone, which I’d upload if I could find a decent internet connection, and then hit the sack early, like 9pm. I decided not to put the fly on my tent, so of course it rained overnight. I got a little damp before I woke up and quickly threw the fly on the tent. Fell right back to sleep: insomnia is not going to be a problem on this trip.

It was super damp in the morning and the sun wouldn’t come out so I had to pack my wet tent into my bag before taking off. My shoes were also soaking wet because I forgot to take them inside my tent. But that didn’t really matter because a few miles into Wednesday’s ride I had to ford a stream and walk through calf-high water in Rock Creek, close to where there’s an impressive 2-story building that served as the stage coach station more than a century ago.

Although I had camped near the top of Lynx Pass, the first dozen miles or so today still featured a fair amount of hills and was slower than expected. I’ve made the mistake before of thinking that achieving the top of a pass means it’s all downhilll from there. On a road bike in Colorado, that’s pretty much true–you top out and then go right down. But on these dirt roads, you’re often summiting a ridge, then dropping into a valley that’s usually braided by streams and interspersed with ridges. So after reaching the “top” of a climb, I might go another 5 or 10 miles before the descent.

My guide map was a little off, telling me to go up a paved road for 2/10 of a mile to get onto the forest road that descends to the Colorado River; in reality, the road was right in front of me. I was a little worried I was getting lost, in part because my GPS watch died this morning for no apparent reason, but after a half hour or so of riding I could tell I was on the right track.

The ride down to the Colorado River is described as one of the wildest descents on the whole GDMBR, and with just cause. You lose about 1,300 feet in the last few miles and have great views of the river valley below. Went from aspen to juniper to sagebrush in a matter of minutes.
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When I got to the crossing and RR station at Radium, I found tons of rafters in the river. I was also treated to the passing of the Amtrak California Zephyr, which goes from Chicago to the SF Bay Area. Ginette and I took the trip a few years ago and I recognized the area around Radium from that brief introduction.

I filled up on water in the river, thinking I might camp in the surrounding highlands without access to a stream. I wasn’t sure if I could make the nearly 20 miles to the tiny town of Kremmling. As I was leaving the river, the sky continued to darken and soon there was a lot of thunder and lightning. And then it started to pour. I circled back a mile on the route to the Radium campground and put up my tent, thinking I would either wait out the storm inside or just crash there for the evening. But as soon as I was done with setting up the tent, the skies started to clear as the storm either dissipated or moved on, so I repacked my bag and set off. I knew it might still rain, but overcast skies would also make for a cooler ascent.

The climb from Radium is grueling. The road is as wide as a highway and almost like pavement, but you can see ahead of your for a long while and know you’ll be cranking in your granny gear for the next half hour just to reach that bend in the road. The surroundings are impressive: from Inspiration Point you can see the Colorado way below and the RR line snaking along the wall of Gore Canyon. I was passed by tons of buses and vans from rafting companies that operate out of Kremmling and was surprised by how heavy the recreational use was on a Wednesday.
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After cresting a watershed divide, the last 8 miles to Kremmling were mostly–but not totally–downhill. The prospect of a shower and some non-camping food had succeeded in motivating me to do more than 40 miles through the toughest terrain I’ve seen yet.

I found a cheap hotel/hostel here in town and put away a heroic amount of food at the saloon across the street: 1/2 pound cheese burger with bacon, plus fries, salad, a chocolate sundae dessert, and a couple beers. I really needed that. While riding/camping it can be a challenge to consume enough food.

I’m now in the Moose Cafe in Kremmling, finishing up breakfast and getting ready to head off. Tonight I’ll be camping and tomorrow I’ll roll into Silverthorne, where I’ll stay in a motel Friday night and meet Ginette on Saturday morning. I’m definitely feeling full after that breakfast: the pancakes had the circumference of a volley ball.

Days 0 to 4: Wyoming to Steamboat Springs

I survived my first 110 miles on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. As expected, this is a tough ride, especially those uphills on dirt roads, but so far I’m keeping pace with my plan and enjoying myself.

Here’s my first batch of journal entries:

Day 0: Denver to Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming

I was having  a pretty crappy day until right before sunset. Back in Denver, I’d spent the day scrambling to get ready for the trip, tie up loose ends at work, and buy some last-minute provisions and gear. But despite weeks of preparations, in which I turned my basement into a supply cache and covered the wall in maps, I still wasn’t ready to go when the zero hour arrived. We left at 4:30pm, 2.5 hours later than planned, then hit bad traffic on the way out of town. The whole process of packing, planning, and preparing to sign off from work for a month had left me stressed, exhausted . . . and definitely in need of a vacation!

About halfway between Laramie and Rawlins, we pulled off I-80 and started up a gravel road. Within a few minutes we escaped the din of the interstate and started climbing on a gravel road toward the Medicine Bow National Forest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pronghorn running in parallel with the car, only about 25 feet away. Mistakenly called “antelope,” the pronghorn are second only to cheetahs in their running speed (and the cats can only sprint for a short while). My speedometer read 40 mph but the pronghorn was still outpacing us on my left. I could see its mouth was slightly open, sucking in air to fuel that incredible cardiovascular system. The pronghorn sped up, dashed across the road in front of us, and sped off into the sagebrush steppe.

I’d heard about the exact same display from John Morgart, a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologist who led the recovery program for the endangered Sonoran pronghorn (and the Mexican gray wolf) before he died of cancer a few years ago. Pronghorn up here in Wyoming are relatively abundant, while the subspecies that lives along the U.S.-Mexico border is considered one of the most imperiled mammals  on the continent. It’s one of the species I wrote about in Endangered.

It was some treat to see  that animal  run. The legs were pumping so fast they were blurry to my eyes. Over the next few miles, we saw a big herd of pronghorn off to the right, then a bunch of mule deer, which seemed like real slow-pokes.

It only took us about 5 miles to reach the National Forest and find a nice campsite beside a rock outcropping with swallows darting into and out of the holes pockmarked in the formation.

Tomorrow, we’ll wake up relatively early and drive another hour or two to my starting point. I’ve decided to begin where the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route crosses the Emigrant Trail–the corridor in which the California, Mormon, and Oregon trails all pass through. Seems like a fitting crossroads from which to set off. I emigrated from the Northeast to the West in 1995, so I’ve been here about 17 of my 41 years, nearly half my life. I think I’m here to stay.

After Ginette drops me off tomorrow morning near Rawlins, I’ll start pedaling south–and uphill–into the Sierra Madre Mountains. It looks to be a challenging day, with one crossing of the Continental Divide at Middlewood Hill, but I’m only planning to do about 35 miles. On Saturday I’ll cross into Colorado, camp out again, then make my way to Steamboat Springs on Sunday. I’ll spend Monday in Steamboat, though it probably won’t be a total rest day. I’m planning to go downhilling at the ski resort. Should be pretty sweet putting my trailer-less bike on a chair lift and zooming up the hill.

Although the day ended well, I’m still feeling a bit nervous about the trip, mostly worrying about whether I’ve brought the right stuff with me. I spent many an evening over the past few weeks plotting my possessions, even going to far as to weigh pretty much everything. We’ll see how much survives the full trip.

Day 1: Middlewood Hill to Little Sandstone Creek, Medicine Bow, NF

Feeling tired but much relieved after getting the first day under my belt. I did 24 miles, the first half into a ferocious headwind that wouldn’t quit.

I had planned to start at the intersection of the GDMBR and the Emigrant Trail, but we discovered that juncture was in the middle of a construction zone. I was chomping at the bit, dying to get on the bike and start this thing already, but we came to a stoplight in the middle of nowhere that was on a 10-minute delay to allow vehicles coming the opposite direction to pass. A few miles later, we came to another one and had to wait 10 minutes. I was getting really cranky and impatient, but I didn’t want to start the ride with 18-wheelers barreling by and showing us in dust on the shoulder, and I knew it would take me a good half hour to pack my stuff before setting off. So we kept driving another 10 miles or so and finally exited the 17-mile construction zone. We passed a couple of bikers and I felt like such a cheater as we ascended toward Middlewood Hill. Ginette knew it would take me a while to get my shit together and wanted to find some shade, but there wasn’t much timber atop Middlewood. We pulled off on a sideroad, I repacked my bag, loaded up on water, and then said goodbye to Ginette and the pups. I apologized profusely for being so grumpy the past few days, but she knew it was because of the stress of starting such a big undertaking and me being super tired after weeks of burning the candle at both ends.

And then off she drove and I was alone. But only for about 5 minutes. I crested a small hill–actually, my first crossing of the Continental Divide–and at the summit I found the two bikers on the side of the road, fixing a flat. Joe and Rhea had started a month before, at the border of Canada, and they were headed all the way down to the border with Mexico. I was amazed at how little stuff they had. My bag weighed a whopping 54 pounds when I set off, plus another dozen or so pounds for my Camelbak backpack and bike bags, plus 16 pounds for the BOB trailer itself. These guys were doing the whole GDMBR with just a few on-bike panniers. It turned out that Joe actually made the bags himself. He works at REI in Madison, Wisconsin, where Rhea is a student, with a year to go before graduating. In previous summers, Joe had hiked the entire Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Appalachian Trail–the Triple Crown of long-distance hiking. He knows how to travel light and I felt like I was pulling a stagecoach behind me.

I was encouraged that I was able to keep up with them–this being my first day and around their 30th–but maybe they were just showing pity on me. The wind was brutal–sustained at 20 or 30 mph and we were riding square into it. I was suffering, but also felt some consolation when Joe described that 12 mile stretch as the worst they’d been through so far. For me it was a baptism by fire.

I felt OK on the bike. I was kind a dehydrated by the end and probably should have ate more. I’ve only peed a few times today so I really should be drinking more. The ride itself felt like it was mostly uphill, but I started at about eight thousand feet and have made camp here at about the same elevation. There were some pretty steep downhills, and the road surface was sort a gravelly and loose, so I took it pretty easy. Sometimes the wind was so strong it felt like I had to pedal to go downhill.

As we reached the forest boundary at about 15 miles the skies started to get darker and virga turned into some raindrops, but it never did dump. I left Joe and Rhea about 19 miles since they wanted to stop for lunch and I was planning to only go about four miles farther, to the next water source. I thought about getting water where they stopped, at Big Sandstone Creek, but I knew the next few miles would be mostly uphill, and they were.

Little Sandstone Creek wasn’t much, just a trickle going under a culvert. I found it easiest to get water in a little pool that had some fish in it–trout, I believe. Every so often, a tiny fish would jump out of the pool to snag an insect. Joe and Rhea caught up to me and then kept going, hoping to reach the Colorado border, another fifteen miles or so. I was feeling pretty zonked as I put up my tent and unpaked. I ate some Ramen, then mashed potatoes with prosciutto. As I was making dinner, a thunderstorm whipped up. Some really gusty outflows before the storm arrived with thunder, lighting, and a brief downpour. I dumped everything in my tent to wait it out. I’m glad I have this tent for times like that–I better if I’m gonna haul this thing a thousand miles. The storm cleared in time for a gorgeous sunset that put a smile on my face.

Day 2: Little Sandstone Creek, Wyo. to Summit Creek, Colo., Routt NF

I pushed myself today and did 44 miles, crossing from Wyoming into Colorado and trading the Medicine Bow NF for Rout NF. I woke up at about 7 am, still pretty tired, and took a couple of hours to repack my gear and think about what I can ditch. It was a pleasant morning, with lots of dew on the tall grass until the sun came out and dried everything out. I left my camp at about 9:30 a.m., passed through a local attraction known as Aspen Alley, and then climbed a couple of miles on decent dirt roads until I reached my first stretch of pavement. The next 13 miles were fun–mostly downhill on a smooth surface1 At times I was flying at 30 mph, eating up the miles like I haven’t before on this trip. There were a couple of flat stretches with a bit of a headwind, and a few uphill pitches to make things interesting, but overall it felt fucking great to be moving that fast!

I turned off the highway and started up the Little Snake River, along the Wyoming-Colorado border. I decided to take what’s called the Columbine Alternate since it’s 32 versus 36 miles to Steamboat Lake, it’s not as steep and it doesn’t go as high. It was still a pretty ride next to the river and nice to have a series of rollers that allowed me to gain some momentum on the downhills. The road was also in pretty good shape and I’m starting to realize that has a major effect on my speed. Ascending along the Little Snake, it started to get downright hot and I could see the perspiration shinning on my forearms. I took off my helmet for the long uphill stretches to cool off but that hour or two while the sun was baking took a lot out of me.

The route passed through hay farms along the river, flanked by some ridges and mountains with trees on their tops. At the Little Snake, my altimeter read 6,666′ and aside from stay in Steamboat, I think that’s gonna be the lowest elevation I’ll see until the very end. Over the next 20 miles or so, I gained about 1,500′ in elevation. I passed by the enormous and opulent Three Forks Ranch, which doubles as a luxury resort. I cooled off in the Lower Fork of the Little Snake by dunking my head while getting water. The last 10 miles or so of the ride were rough. The farther and higher I went, the steeper the road and the looser the surface. The road would climb gently, then hit a really steep pitch for a couple hundred yards that had me in my lowest gear and pushing with all my might. On a few of the hardest hills I had to stop multiple times because my legs would eventually fail. My heart was ticking at a pretty good clip, but it wasn’t super elevated–the limiting factor seemed to be my leg strength.

I started out the day doing a pretty good job of staying hydrated, but toward the end I stopped peeing and started flagging. If I can keep my piss clear and copious, I’ll have a much better time this summer!

I had thoughts about making the climb all the way up to Columbine, to aroudn 8,700′, but I found a choice campsite fairly close to a water source and decided to call it quits when I heard some thunder around 5pm. I thought it was going to dump like it did yesterday evening, but the rain never came–only a rainbow. At sunset, there was a warm pink light bathing Hahns Peak and now it looks to be clearing up for the night. I’m beat but overall I’m feeling pretty good about today. I was able to do nearly double as many miles as yesterday and I’m starting to get the hang of this. I still feel like I’m carrying way too much weight and will arrive in Steamboat with a bunch of uneaten food, an extra gas cannister, etc. But this was all by design–I wanted to make sure I  could pack away enough provisions for a longer trip in the backcountry. Between Steamboat and Silverthorne, I’ll be out for four days and three nights, but I will be able to resupply in Kremmling. Tomorrow I have a tough start, with at least 500 feet of climbing over the next few miles to get to Columbine, but from there it’s downhill for a while and not too far to pavement, where I hope to cruise at a pretty good clip.

I’m looking forward to Steamboat and a day off. My legs are tired and my butt is sore. I’m already starting to envision the comforts of civilization: showering, slepeing in a  bed, eating yummy food, drinking beer.

Days 3 and 4: Summit Creek to Steamboat Springs

Sunday dawned overcast and it started to sprinkle as I was breaking camp. Some monsoon moisture has been making its way north into Colorado over the past few days–I think this is why I keep hitting winds from the south and southwest. Right off the bat, I faced a fairly brutal climb of a few miles to reach the high point of Columbine. The dirt road got kinda loose near the top and really slowed me down. The day before, right before I made camp, a passing motorist told me it was only a quarter mile until the road turned to pavement. Well, it was actually 2.5 miles, so I guess he forgot to carry the decimal or something. The downhill from Columbine to Steamboat Lake took no time at all, but the skies kept getting darker. I opted to stop for some lunch at the Clark general store and enjoyed a tasty ham and cheese sanwhich with fig spread and local greens. But lounging on the porch would have its price. As I mounted my bike for the last 20 miles to Steamboat it started to drizzle and then started to really pour. But riding in the rain wasn’t bad at all–it helped keep me cool and I was already drenched in sweat. There was a fair amount of traffic on the road, and sometimes not a great shoulder, but it’s a route heavily used by recreational cyclists, so motorists seemed to be extra generous in giving me space.

Getting around Steamboat Springs was really easy thanks to the city’s great bike trail system. Most of my ride to my motel was along the Yampa River, which had a surprising amount of water flowing. I checked in to the generic Steamboat Hotel, which is nothing special but seemed like the Grand Hyatt compared to my accomodations over the past few days.

I’d covered 110 miles in my first three days and boy was my ass sore1 My butt, rather than my legs, lungs, or other body parts, seems to be my limiting factor for bicycling, whether I’m on my road or mountain bike. I got clean, did some laundry, talked to Ginette, and walked across the street for dinner, a bison burger that really hit the spot.

That was yesterday, and this evening I’m still in Steamboat after spending a great day downhilling at the ski resort. I got there pretty early, thinking it would be stormy in the afternoon and they’d shut down the lifts. It’s $35 to ride the gonodola up the hill all day, which isn’t cheap but around a third of the price for a lift ticket during ski season.

Downhilling at Steamboat was awesome! I’ve only done this twice before–once at Winter Park, once at Crested Butte–but I’m starting to get a little addicted. I mean, what’s not to like about having a gondola or chair lift whisk you and your bike thousands of feet up a mountain so you can fly down singletrack trails for a half hour without hardly pedaling. It was a Monday, so there was hardly anyone on the mountain and the thunderstorms held off for the three hours I was there. Downhilling is actually more tiring than you’d think because you tend to stand on your pedals, rather than sit, and it’s like being in a tuck position while skiing for a long time. Eventually your thighs start burning. But compared to bikepacking along the Great Divide, it’s nothing!

Tomorrow morning I’m setting off again, hoping to do around 35 miles. I’ll be staying in a motel in Silverthorne on Friday night and camping out until then. I’ll pass by the tiny town of Kremmling, probably Wednesday, but otherwise it’ll be pretty remote country before reaching the I-70 corridor.

First test ride: signs of drought

My campsite
My home away from home

You’d think someone preparing to bikepack more than 1,000 miles along the Continental Divide would have some experience with this form of travel, but I’m a total newbie. So this weekend I decided to take a test trip to see what I’m getting myself into.

The good news is that I’m still psyched to tackle the Great Divide Mountain Biking Route, starting in about six weeks, and I’m feeling more confident now that I have at least one night under my belt. The bad news is that I’m gonna suffer this summer. There’s just no quick or easy way to bike up a steep dirt road while hauling 40+ pounds behind you. Much of my time in the saddle will be spent cranking slowly and steadily until gravity takes over and I can fly down the backside of a hill or mountain pass, only to repeat again and again.

This weekend’s trip was in a part of central Colorado that I’ve never visited: the mountains between South Park and Salida. On Saturday, I drove 2.5 hours from Denver, parked my car, and set off into the San Isabel National Forest with the goal of camping at the top of a 1,000-foot climb. I only rode about 10 miles, but it took two hours. Near the summit, at 10,000 feet elevation, the road was so steep I was barely able to turn the cranks in my lowest gear.

There was a reward at the top: a pretty campsite amid aspens and conifers that offered views of the Collegiate Peaks. At night, the Milky Way twinkled in the rarefied air and the next morning dawned without a hint of a cloud. It looked like it hadn’t rained or snowed in these parts in ages and that lack of moisture will pose one of my biggest challenges. Had I done this trip last summer, the record snowpack from the previous winter would have forced me to take detours, but this year I’ll face the opposite problem: a deep drought has dried up water sources and primed the high country for wildfires that could also force me off the route.

Mountain biking with a trailer can be grueling, but there’s a major benefit to the punishment: after reaching your destination, you can unhitch your possessions, hop back on your bike, and feel like you’re Lance Armstrong. On Sunday morning, I did just that and explored a network of dirt roads around my campsite before heading down the hill (the descent took me only 20 minutes).

All in all, a successful maiden voyage that allowed me to test out a bunch of new gear and better envision myself on the route. The parched vegetation, shriveled creeks, and smoke rising from nearby wildfires offered sobering reminders of the drought’s impact and how my journey this summer will encapsulate the fundamental dilemma of the American West: how to find enough water to survive.