TOUR DIVIDE ‘19: NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES
Nick Skarajew reflects upon completing one of the world's toughest cycling events – the "Tour Divide" from Canada to the Mexican border.
In the past, Soup Bæs CX rider and good friend of the Soup Nick Skarajew has filed stories from the Hunt 1000, the Naked Bike Ride and provided commentary on a number of podcasts. We’re lucky to have been inboxed a treasure trove of work from his latest ultra-endurance racing endeavour, where he went and tackled the biggest and most infamous of them all.
“I remember way back in 2017, when trawling Vimeo for recommendations of bike packing films, that I came across “Ride The Divide”. At the time I was preoccupied with my preparations to race locally, and couldn’t really wrap my head around taking on the OG of ultra endurance rides. Fast forward a couple of years and that was very much about to become a reality.”
– NICK SKARAJEW
The statistics of the Tour Divide are just mind boggling. The route was first mapped out over a 4 year period in 1998, and the first Grand Depart took place a decade later by just a handful of people. Stretching 2663 miles for Americans or 4400km for the rest of the world, the route takes you through 2 countries and 7 states. It throws up challenges every day, from the rivers and wet weather of Canada and Montana, to the altitude and climbs of Wyoming and Colorado, finishing with the arid deserts and sapping heat of New Mexico.
Everyday challenges include running out of food or water, exposure to the sun and other ghastly elements, altitude sickness, focus and mental fatigue as well as injuries – and that’s all before you begin to list the things that can go wrong with your bicycle. Preparation is key, and as I found out it involved months and months painstakingly putting together a setup that wouldn’t just be light enough to cart my gear up the 61,000m of vertical gain, but keep reliability to a maximum.
I: OH, CANADA
ALBERTA, CANADA
"Strong and Free"
Pop. 4 million
Capital: Edmonton
Best Known For:
Ice Hockey
Rodeos
Cool Runnings
The Tour Divide officially rolls out at 8am from Banff in Alberta. I opted to fly under the radar and avoid the fanfare surrounding the almost 200 riders as we tried to peel out of the hostel at the edge of town. I bumped into Lewis Brocklehurst and immediately felt a sense of comfort knowing we were all in it together.
My first mission was to arrive at the trailhead near the front to keep my nose clean. The last thing I wanted was to have an unnecessary collision due to a lack of space on the trails. The stress of the event really lifted once we left town and began ripping up the gravel sections and single track, only stopping at the store in Boulton for a hotdog, that brief pitstop would be the last food until arriving in Fernie the following morning.
A quick bite at Tim Hortons (as common as 7Eleven’s in Melbourne) with Lewis went down as we recapped our nights out in the cold, and shared our combined fears of Grizzly Bears. After two giant coffees and an absurd number of pastries we were off once more, sharing the potential problems we would face on the road ahead.
Knowing the border was in sight, it was easy to think that Eureka would be an easy target for dinner time. After Koko Claims 2 hour hike, it seemed that all that lay ahead was straight riding. As with most things in this fantastic world of ultra-endurance cycling, that wouldn’t be the case, especially after coming face to face with the infamous “wall”.
It was a sheer vertical face that started from a river and crept forever skywards. Having to balance the bike in one hand and pull yourself up the mountainside by grabbing hold of branches worn out by riders of years gone by became old news very quickly, but sure enough I finally made it to the top.
The reward for a brief foray into mountaineering – a long descent down into Roosevelt, the border crossing into the United States. A seedy motel room and two footlongs were on the cards before a quick sleep. Then it was rise, shine, then sink some teeth into Montana.
II: HANNAH MONTANA
MONTANA, USA
"Big Sky Country"
Pop. 1 million
Capital: Helena
Best Known For:
Big Skies
Country
Hella Bison
I hit a gentle climb up out of Eureka, moving towards the next pass via some sweet, and very overdue blacktop. Passing the odd Border Security SUV and RV, this was a much faster climb that what I had come across during the first few days. For my first day in the states, things were starting to heat up, the afternoon sun becoming quite warm. Thankfully clean, cold water was in abundance with an ice flow stream every few hundred metres of so. The heat, combined with the temptation to wet the whistle with such fine icy water meant that the water purification tablets I was trying to hold onto were burning through rather quickly.
After a pretty solid day on the bike with minimal naps, I’d found a Laundry in Swan River that was warm, had power and water. Most importantly however, was the role it played in forming a hard barricade between me and the local Grizzly Bears.
The next day had a sweet climb up to Upper Whitefish Lake, meeting 2 couples that were going up the ascent on the south side. Through their warmth and kindness, and not knowing where and when my next meal was coming from, I took them up on their offer of cookies. I’d always regret not accepting offers of food when really hitting the dark spots, and with a journey like this it was something I had to stay on top of. I finished the day with a quick call into Ovando during the late afternoon to secure a bed – the lack of sleep and proper food was starting to get the better of me.
Some dark hallucinations came over me descending into Ovando, but thankfully I was close to arriving in town. Since I was fighting the clock for closing time, I couldn’t pull over for a nap or to try and centre myself, the reward down the road would be the first shower of the event, and the first in 5 days.
The following morning was another early start, greeted with some sweet farmland and sunrises. A few easier climbs let me warm the legs up and regain motivation before I arrived in Lincoln for a signature gas station breakfast. It was there I was glad to bump into the familiar and puffy face of Simone.
What came net was a triple mountain pass that had us land in Helena. A quick stop at a Trail Angels house was a good boost to get the group down to the town. Due to a lack of research on my behalf, I didn’t realise we’d be rolling through the capital city of Montana – albeit a capital just 30,000 people call home. It was rather overwhelming to go from tiny towns, to a city that has multiple gas stations, gas station breakfast options AND traffic lights. It also gave me a chance to sort a SIM card as Telstra had me on the ropes with roaming charges exporting all that sweet, sweet #content.
It just so happened that rolling through Helena I was craving a smoothie, and my Curve GMX2 craved a bath, so I sorted both of those. It was starting to get reasonably late, and I had an offer on a room split with Steve which I took him up on – a good nights sleep would get me riding hard the next day.
Steve had a fairly rough few days to start the Tour Divide, he had been getting the recognised “sausage legs” throughout the first few days, and wanted to keep them elevated in our room, catch a long rest and see where he was at. If that doesn’t sound like enough of a rough start, he had $1000USD stolen from his room the day before the race. This all put things into perspective, and made me seem a little petty over losing a 1L bottle.
My finally goodbye to a state that seemed to go on forever – 1150km of mostly gravel; was my last, very tasty stop. A very motivating sight as I crossed into Idaho.
III: I DA (GRAVEL) HO
IDAHO, USA
"Let it be perpetual"
Pop. 1.7 million
Capital: Boise
Best Known For:
Potatoes
Portrayed by Ralph Wiggum
Some sweet holiday spots were starting to get a little more popular as the 4th of July fast approached us. The vehicles of choice were slowly changing too, from the cars at the top of Montana, to the quad bikes and 2x2 explorers of Idaho – perfect for the double tracks and rail trails which were far removed from being magic carpet rides.
Idaho goes by quickly, the route is in and out of the state in barely a century. The front runners will generally get it done in a handful of hours, leaving a bunch of us pulled up at Island Park Subway trying to suss out a plan of attack. The dark cloud ahead had finally given out and rain had started to fall. A few had decided that their race was done and they were going to start making plans of contingency. Josh and I decided to push on, a decision that would pay off as the weather had cleared. Perhaps fortune favours the brave?
We would finish the day with a cold night sleeping in a toilet block at the ironically named Warm River, a big breakfast at Squirrel Creek on the cards the following morning.
IV: WY OH WYOMING
WYOMING, USA
"Equality State"
Pop. 575,000
Capital: Cheyenne
Best Known For:
Bison
Cowboys
Frontiers
Sparse population
It was an easy first day in Wyoming with a gentle bunch of climbs, following by a few hundred kilometres of road transfer. A few local gravel bunches flew past while we were out there grinding it out through the struggle. By the end of the day I was glad to have made some proper progress even though it wasn’t mountain trails.
My first night in WY ended at Lava Mountain. I was less than 10km out and the road climb quickly turned into a snow and mud descent. I was lucky that a bunch of the other racers had pulled in for the night and had an abundance of space to sleep warm and out of reach of the Grizzly’s.
The luxury of a timber cabin of the night before would soon be forgotten, as I was setting off towards the next “Tour Divide Rite of Passage” – only ever referred to as:
THE BASIN
It’s famed for tough weather events, and being so sparse yet still quite high up, with super difficult winds thrown your way just to mess with you. Being so scared of the unknown led me to have an emotional afternoon in Pinedale, the day finishing with me staying the night on the side of the road looking for a campground that couldn’t be found.
The next night would be much of the same story. I came out the other side of The Basin alive, making Wamsutter by 10pm, but having missed the boat on any accomodation for the night. Not being able to see out the other end of town, I ended up taking on the role of Tom Hanks in The Terminal by hanging out at Loves Truckstop – showering, washing my clothes and taking a cheeky nap.
The next day I was brimming with excitement. Not only was I going to be heading into another state, but I’d get to see probably the most famous lodge on the route. Kristen’s Brush Mountain Lodge was within striking distance, and I was looking forward to seeing one of the institutions of the route.
Throughout the day it was quite warm as I made my way through the valleys, but fortunately my arrival at the lodge gave me good time for a quick break. There I was fortunate enough to meet a resting Sofiane, who was dominating the race at the start. Some pizza, a nap, and I was back out to the mountain pass that would send me into Colorado.
V: SUFFERING IN THE GARDEN OF THE GODS
COLORADO, USA
"Nothing without providence"
Pop. 5.7 million
Capital: Denver
Best Known For:
Weed Legalisation
South Park
Cycling
Rolling into Steamboat Springs at about midnight left me completely cooked. Despite it being a bigger town, I was too late to have a chance of finding any accomodation. I’d bumped into a homeless guy at the local gas station while getting a bite to eat, who offered the idea of going to the Laundromat around the corner. Feeling defeated and with a Ribwich in hand I took him up on the offer. It was an honest moment where we were brought together by circumstance. Mine more temporary, yet both of us in a reasonably desperate situation. Warmth, water and power came at no cost, and was a much better alternative that trying to pitch a tent on someones front lawn in Colorado.
A fairly hard day in the hills had me pulling up stumps in Breckenridge with bike issues. From the afternoons heat the bottom bracket of my bike had started binding up, and my TT bars kept coming loose. The bike was overdue for a bit of TLC as well given the hiding it had been given over the last little bit.
It was a tedious time, one reminiscent of Colin McRae’s wait at Rally Australia 20 years ago, all while Breck Bike Guides feverishly worked away on the GMX2 while I paced impatiently and tried to nap. Seeing the time slip through my fingers was a hard reality to get my head around, but I was planning meticulously and counting the minutes that I would be hoping to claw back out on the road.
A slight navigational error had left me descending down Boreas Pass. In a desperate attempt to get back on pace I flew up and down it, not realising that the route had diverted at the top into what looked like an old river. It was another 30 minutes down the drain and at least 4 hours lost on something I thought I could fix. It meant that my night would be spent in Hartsel, beef chilli and vegetables going down a treat. The camp in the middle of a junkyard not so much.
I hit the road transfer out of town at sunrise, turning back to gravel soon after the sun properly peeked itself over the jagged horizon. What came next was a town I was keen to see – Salida, seen as a bit of a hip haven in the middle of the Colorado desert. The apparent abundance of outdoor stores, breweries and cool cafés couldn’t come soon enough as I ticked off the kilometres towards town.
It was a hot afternoon leading out, the mercury touching 40 degrees. The road out of Salida was up and down, with a number of road climbs before a longer descent down into Sargents as the evening rolled in and I decided to pull up for the night. Being a Saturday it was quite busy, but remained such a cool little spot where everyone does outdoorsy stuff.
Of course I slept through my alarm – waking up in the light is the last thing you want in a bike packing race. Well perhaps after running out of food and water, losing previous light moving forward, being behind the 8 Ball when it comes to restocking supplies, or getting eaten by a Grizzly Bear. Thankfully I still made enough headway to make it to Del Norte with relative ease, the only stop for the day and the beginning of the climb to the highest pass of the whole route.
I felt like I had already acclimatised to what was happening around me, but knew that for someone who lived at sea level, I was going to be in for a rude shock at 3600m. To combat this, I filled up at Del Norte with copious amounts of Subway and Dr Pepper, sitting side by side with local residents who either seemed to be scarily overweight, or rocking face tattoos. I feel I aspire to both.
I got to the top with out too much life-threatening fuss, ready to spend another night in a toilet block. This time it would be with Josh, the first and certainly not the last time we would be sharing each others company in this kind of situation.
And like that, the Indiana Pass was complete, at an elevation that would make tying your shoes difficult.
Talking shoes, after the morning stock up in Platoro, the cleat on my right shoe had worn loose to the point where it had started to rip the backing plate from behind. A friendly local had helped with some tin to create a bigger surface area to bite into, but the left shoe wasn’t far behind.
VI: NEW MEX-CELLENT, I'M HOME!
NEW MEXICO, USA
"It grows as it goes"
Pop. 2 million
Capital: Santa Fe
Best Known For:
Breaking Bad
Uranium
Being the newer Mexico
Some big and tough road transfers saw me wave goodbye to Colorado, a rail crossing landing us in New Mexico, the final of the 7 states. Just after crossing the border I took a nap in the daisy’s to let it all sink in – the finish line in sight.
Later on that afternoon, dark clouds passed over us again, forcing us to pick up the pace to get out of the storm front. In all the fury I had a minor accident when taking my jacket off while riding, leaving my shin scratched up pretty badly. Josh and I then made the decision fairly early in the evening to pull up stumps, a big crack of thunder shortly after confirming we had made the wise choice as we curled up on the floor of another toilet block.
Making it to Sylvia’s Snack Shack was a bit of a treat. It had featured in the “Ride The Divide” movie, and included Sylvia who was arguably the mother figure to all Tour Divide racers. Her Snack Shack was lined with corn chips and other weird American snacks, and her warmth and kindness raised spirits for the final push to the US-Mexico Border.
The high octane American snacks provided just the right amount of fuel for “Dog Valley” further up the road. Dog Valley resembled the favelas of Mexico – rabid dogs popping up from all corners of these small homes to chase Josh and I. Fortunately we had the fuel to outrun them, being helped by power in numbers.
A big push landed us in Abiquiu in time just to make the sizeable gas station. Josh noticed a bunch had pulled up at a rather upmarket hotel in town, our place for the night. We were giggling like little kids at how nice our apartment was, given what we had gone through during the week previous. Knowing the Provadera was ahead, a shower and a decent regroup was needed before pushing on the next day.
The next day would start with a lot of climbing, hopefully making it to Cuba in the early afternoon. Unfortunately a quick Macca’s stop always drags out when meeting some friendly faces. A Contiki tour of mainly Aussies and British tourists had also timed their stop for the same time, and it was refreshing to speak to someone that wasn’t American. They were all happy to see I was flying the flag, albeit a little bit off the pace from the front runners.
The afternoon heat beating down made what was supposed to be an easy road transfer quite tough. I knew it was roughly a 200km section that would get me to Grants the next day, then another long transfer out to Pie Town.
Seeing what remains of Route 66 was a great eyeopener. Grants had the mega sized gas stations which had the key Subway inside. Customary orders of 2 footlongs, plenty of packaged pastries and Dr Pepper were onboard.
The Transfer road quickly turned to lovely dirt rollers, reminiscent of back home in South Australia. The wind had died down enough and it was soon dark by the time I had hit Toaster House in Pie Town. No one else was in, but I knew with a few people behind me there may be some exhausted legs rolling in during the early morning. I couldn’t resist the temptation of taking a look around, and seeing what notes and mementos hikers and riders had left behind.
When I rose up at 4am to make a quick coffee, the front door was open in the breeze. I knew Craig had come in during the middle of the night, his snoring a dead giveaway.
It was hard work heading deeper into New Mexico, but I was progressing a bit quicker than I’d anticipated. Pulling into the Beaverhead Work Centre for $10 worth of soda cans, I was advised that there were some serious bushfires ahead which may make going even tougher.
Despite this I managed to get around the smoke as best I could. Night rose and I decided to call it a day. As I pulled up the coke can I was so deeply depending on fell out the back of my bag and struck the ground. It left me to suck the flat and hot coke out the best that I could.
The next day was characterised by the same bushfires and same smoky haze. Towards the end of the day I pulled into a campsite at the bottom of a gully with some not-so-nice dogs as company. I made sure to keep my distance and chose to sleep on a concrete bench. My dinner for the night was a few hotdogs which would give me some much needed energy for the push to Silver City the next day.
I climbed up through the hazy smoke the next morning, the high elevations with the iffy air quality making lungs heavy and wheezy. A quick road transfer lead to a section that I was really dreading – the hiking section of the CDT, a sharp ridgeline of some really steep single track. A packed single speed wasn’t ideal getting to elevation, but once at heigh it was a great breakup from the mind numbing road transfers.
A welcomed sight of Silver City signalled the end of all the mountain passes. From here to the finish line it would be just 200km of reasonably flat and smooth road to go. I measured it out as a single Around The Bay, just without copping the participation jersey.
The evening had cooled off nicely, and the wind was kind and fresh. It was a great way to reflect on how hard the past few weeks had been. It was also a way to leave the ride on a positive note. A big road section south awaited me as I tacked into a sharp crosswind, funny how the route of the Tour Divide constantly lures you into a false sense of security.
My last night at the Hachita community centre involved a quick nap and a bite to eat. I’d made the choice to wait it out a few hours to at least see the finish line in a little bit of sunlight. The thought of travelling down another dark, straight road was sending me out of my mind, to the point where I didn’t think I would make it. Sure enough the flagpole by the border crossing could be seen far in the distance. Every second felt like hours, but I couldn’t distract myself from creeping closer towards that flagpole and the finish line.
4419km – IT WAS FINALLY CONSIDERED A DONE DEAL.
My fellow Oceanic brethren in Craig (Aus) and Dave (NZ) had pushed through the night just ahead and slept at the gates. It was warming to see the friendly faces that I came across over those few weeks. The goal of 19 days to rival Ty had long been lost, but to get the route done within an hour of calling it 21 days had help put everything in perspective.
By the time I had arrived at the crossing, half the field were still out on course. From 200 starts in little Banff way up north, only 60 or so finished.
I was one of them.
Nick is a regular on the ultra-endurance cycling scene. To keep up to date with more of his adventures, give him a follow over on his Instagram.