On Scratching and a 2,000-mile Bike Ride

Tour Divide 2024 report part 1

I’d done it. I crossed into the Carson National Forest and thus the fifth and final state of the Tour Divide: New Mexico. I had just ridden 2,000 miles in 13 days and was on track for finishing the route in under 18 days, well ahead of my initial goal of 20. Passing through an impressive thunderstorm along a high mountain pass, I was navigating the muddy aftermath when I came around a corner, hit a sneaky patch of greasy mud, and immediately lost my front wheel. I hit the deck almost instantaneously. The brunt of the fall was on my left wrist, and I knew something wasn’t right. I took out my med kit, quickly cleaned a cut on my knee and kept riding. I was in an extremely remote and technical part of the route - about to enter a new section of the Divide for this year, an 18-mile stretch of singletrack on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Hoping I could push through this to a campground and entrance to the highway to reassess my injuries, I started the singletrack.

Entering New Mexico, the fifth and final state.

It was immediately clear it wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t bear weight on my wrist, the pain and swelling was brutal. With alternating steep ascents and descents over technical, chunky rocks, this section was going to take hours to navigate. Thunder boomed. It was nearly 5pm. Then the rain came. I knew there was another campground about 5 miles behind me, where I hoped there might be a pit toilet to take shelter in. It was at this moment I knew my race was over - it was simply impossible and dangerous to continue riding. So I backtracked, making it to a campground toilet just in time to miss the brunt of the storm. I had to make the tough call to contact Search and Rescue to get me out of there, as I was in no shape to ride the 30 miles to the nearest paved road to hitchhike to Taos, hours away by car. Later that night, x-rays confirmed a fracture in my radius and bruised ribs. It was devastating.

Seeking refuge in a pit toilet while I wait to be rescued.

I had “scratched” from the Tour Divide, only 700 miles from the finish. It was certainly not how I had imagined the ride to end, but this is the risk we take when embarking on such endeavors. I had overcome so much, from snow and freezing temps in Canada and Montana, to swollen legs and stomach problems in Idaho to almost ending my ride a week earlier. Despite the trials and tribulations I had found my rhythm and was feeling solid, making up the time I had lost and just coming into my own in the homestretch. I was broken, mentally and physically, and as I sat in a Super 8 motel in Taos, NM I felt lost and depressed. So much had been put into this. And suddenly it was done.

But to wallow in what could or should have been done is a pointless exercise. It discounts what I had accomplished up to this point. The essence of bikepacking and ultra racing is that despite the outcome, the richness of experience every mile, every day is a gift. The daily process of growth and learning is tremendous; the constant navigation of the ups and downs builds resilience as a human and athlete. I went through a sort of bike-powered transcendence while having my mini meltdown in Island Park, ID. A revelation that riding my own ride in my own style and not stressing about the other participants or some sort of self-imposed expectation about racing actually makes me enjoy it much more. This allowed me to breathe the mountain air more deeply and paradoxically ride faster, more freely. The pressure valve was released, and I could settle in.

I’m incredibely proud of the journey I went through. I was embraced in the unknown, pushing myself to new places and rode my bike, self-supported, from Canada to New Mexico. I had found the flow.

As I reflect back I’m becoming more and more aware of this. A recognition of overcoming my own mental limitations and realizing that I’m capable of so much more than I understand. I struggle with self-doubt, fear of failure, and a lack of self compassion. I’m far too often paralyzed by destructive thought patterns and feelings of being an impostor - of not belonging or deserving of success. A major reason for even attempting the Tour Divide was to face these challenges, as the bike is a place where I feel the most myself and the most confident, and I knew it would be the ultimate arena for testing my mental strength and working through my own self-imposed demons. A year ago while following the 2023 edition, I was in the early stages of developing a thyroid disorder that sent my mental health spiraling, and the last year was one of the toughest of my life. I knew this was something I needed to attempt.

All is not lost. I am back at home recovering, following local 15-year-old hero Edyn Teitge as he nears the finish of the Divide in what is perhaps the most inspiring ride of the entire race. I feel supported and loved by a vast community of friends, family, and strangers who followed my ride and have been inspired by my journey and strength. I have hours and hours of footage to continue the documentary project, and have raised over $5,000 for the Be Good Foundation and Love Like Ky Foundation. And I’m already looking towards the next goals later this summer and scheming ahead for a return to the Tour Divide in 2025. I’m perhaps even more in love with this crazy sport than before I started.

Donuts are scientifically proven to heal broken bones.

In the coming weeks I’ll be writing more posts recapping the adventure from the start, so stay tuned for more. Thank you to everyone who followed my dot and sent messages of encouragement and support while I was out on the trail. It was one of the most special experiences of my life, and it’s even more special to share it.

Toodles for now, time for another nap.

-jackson