Tour Divide 2024 Recap: Part 2

Through darkness to light

This is part 2 of my Tour Divide reflections. For part 1, click here.

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Let’s see. Where did we leave off?

Ahhh. Yes. Out of the darkness.

Day 8: Island Park to Lava Mountain Lodge. 155 miles.

A critical turning point. Both in the moment and in the big picture of Jackson the human & athlete - a victory in and of itself. This was probably the most important day of the entire Divide. I was on the razor’s edge of quitting just the day before, close to writing off ultra cycling altogether. I doubted myself and couldn’t imagine continuing. And even getting on the bike this morning was extremely difficult. I still felt awful and told myself that even if I only made it 50 miles today that would be a success.

But you just have to start moving forward.

Hard to feel that bad when you’re riding through your home state with views like this.

The day started with beautiful trails outside of Island Park and rolling roads through eastern Idaho and into Wyoming. As an Idaho native, I’m biased, but it was some of the prettiest terrain on the entire route. I started finding my rhythm and just stayed focused on my new approach: listen to your body and take care of yourself. Don’t get caught up in racing. Keep moving forward.

Soon enough the Tetons appeared and I felt emotional, those mountains are simply stunning. I entered Grand Teton National Park with Jason Kiefer, a Boulder guy with mutual friends and great energy. We would spend a lot of time riding together over the next few days.

I had to stop and take lots of pictures today.

The miles clicked away and I started feeling back to my normal self. It was truly wild how quickly things changed on the Divide. I was ahead of my schedule for the day, thinking I would only have the energy to camp in the park 100 miles in. Each day on the Divide is a constant, evolving calculation of where and when you’d be sleeping that night. You ride the rollercoaster of weather, bodily sensations, and speed to “make hay while the sun is shining.” So I continued, yo-yo’ing with Jason and we decided it was within reach to ride up and over the impressive Togwotee Pass to Lava Mountain Lodge where a hot meal and a shower were waiting.

It was a long day - over 13 hours in the saddle - but I was back in this, the belief in myself slowly reviving.

Day 9: Lava Mountain Lodge to Atlantic City. 170 miles.

Another day, another pass for breakfast. There’s a lot of climbing on the Divide, and many passes came early in the morning for me. I grew to enjoy these morning mountains to wake up and settle into the rhythm of the day. Today’s brekkie was Union Pass, a beautiful climb that starts pretty easily, then dropkicks you in the nuts with some steep and techy pushes, before rewarding you with incredible views of the Wind River Range on a high plateau. A long, muddy, and gripping descent before a slog over rough, rocky dirt roads felt endless. Our next checkpoint was the key resupply town of Pinedale, Wyoming, about halfway through our day, where we’d take some time to recharge before the final push to Atlantic City.

Top of Union Pass

Jason rolled into town a bit ahead of me and we met up at the local bike shop to get the bikes cleaned after a couple of muddy days. We both decided it was a good idea to take some extra time here to do some self-care: mega brunch, coffee stop, and ship home some unneeded items.

In the midst of ultra racing, it’s incredibly tempting to get caught up in the game of not stopping, constantly check the race tracker (and thus your position as compared to others), and stress about “wasting” time. As I learned earlier, sometimes investing a bit of time in taking care of yourself in the form of good food and quality sleep pays itself back with dividends. I could have saved a couple of hours by blowing through town, eating more candy for lunch on my muddy, squeaky bike. But instead I ate a massive, real food meal and lightened my load, helping me go faster in the long run.

The next stretch was long but smooth, a beautiful tailwind carrying us the 80ish miles through the appetizer to the Great Basin, which we’d tackle the next morning. We arrived in the quasi-ghost town of Atlantic City at sunset, begging the local bar to feed us after closing time before stopping for the night at a bed and breakfast. Tomorrow we’d tackle one of the big cruxes of the Tour Divide in the morning: The Great Basin of Wyoming.

Day 10: Atlantic City to Brush Mountain Lodge. 178 miles.

Today is the day. Battle with The Basin. When you start contemplating riding the Divide and digging into the research of the route, one of the first things you hear about is The Great Basin - a roughly 100 mile stretch of barren landscape, devoid of any services (and for the most part water). It’s infamous for wind, heat, and if it’s stormy: peanut butter mud. Last year the story of the Divide was the 3 leaders huddling in a porta potty in the middle of the Basin for like 12 hours while they waited for the mud to dry.

I started around 5am, and I probably should have started even earlier. The main portion of the Great Basin on the Tour Divide route is between Atlantic City and Wamsutter. However, as I would soon painfully realize, it doesn’t end there. A light breakfast and coffee courtesy of Wild Bill’s bed and breakfast and I was off on my own, into the sunrise and the unknown.

The endless expanse = a canvas for beautifully colored skies.

8 hours of this.

For the most part, it was smooth. It sounds like many of the front runners encountered mud and tough conditions, but I was able to make excellent time through this stretch. The Basin was more of a mental battle than a physical battle. It’s just so exposed and mind-numbing. But it was fast rolling and I was well stocked up on food and water. It took me just under 8 hours to make it to Wamsutter.

Wamsutter is a glorified truck stop off the highway with a big gas station and a Subway. I made another grave mistake here. With Colorado and the Divide oasis of Brush Mountain Lodge “only” 80 miles away, I felt a little rushed to resupply and get moving again. I stocked up on food and a big, salty footlong sub, but failed to take the time to properly rehydrate and load up with fluids for the next section. This would absolutely crack me in a few hours.

Melting.

There’s a bit of a balance to strike with breaks/resupply. Most of the time, it’s important to be efficient and speedy when resupplying. It’s really easy to waste time, which over the course of a 3 week race can add up. But again, you must invest the time to truly recharge before a difficult section, get what you need, and hit the reset button to feel strong and make up that time.

The next 8 hours were really, really hard. I left Wamsutter and it was already over 100 degrees F. I realized I was not totally rehydrated from the first part of the Basin and was going through my water supply quite quickly. I was in the Basin 2.0, a section that for me was much tougher than the main part. With more climbing, wind, and high temperatures I was in for a long grind. Luckily I found a questionable stream to filter water, but I was feeling terrible when I finally made it to Colorado, dehydrated and beat down.

One tough climb away from the amazing Brush Mountain Lodge I had to just keep pushing. I arrived around 9pm to a squad of Tour Divide veterans, the amazing owner Kirsten, and a few other racers. With the help of pizza, laundry, a shower, and liters of water I started recovering but was still really out of it. I would end up staying here for another extended break, sleeping in and giving my body the rest it needed.

But I’m in Colorado, and officially over halfway into the Tour Divide.

Day 11: Brush Mountain Lodge to Radium. 110 miles.

I sleep through my alarm, almost missing breakfast. It’s what my body needed after my rough day yesterday, so I listen. I eat some pancakes and coffee, swap out my brake pads and head out, much later than my typical dawn patrol rollout.

Another pass right off the bat makes for a challenging morning, as I’m still not fully recovered from my day in Basin hell yesterday. The next key point is Steamboat Springs, where I’d replace my worn chain. It’s a quick job thanks to Orange Peel bike shop literally on the route and after a burrito and gas station resupply I’m on my way again, outrunning an incoming thunderstorm descending upon town. I also have my first “dotwatcher” experience - my dad’s close friend Mike waiting for me on the bike path in Steamboat to cheer me on as I go through. It’s pretty special to feel the love from so many people in my community, and it was such a nice surprise to see someone I knew out there.

Can’t tell if Mike is laughing or wincing at how bad I must smell.

I decide to have a shorter day today. The last few have been pretty big and I recognize that I’m digging a bit of a hole again. At this point in the ride I’m much more tuned in to what I’m capable of doing sustainably and the self-awareness of body sensation is strong.

One of the coolest parts of this journey was how in touch I became with my body and developing a true sense of how much I could push or not.

Once out of Steamboat the terrain is pleasantly rolling, a mix of buttery smooth gravel roads and pavement. I climb the second major pass of the day, Lynx Pass, before a really fun sunset descent into Radium, which is where I’d camp for the night just off the Colorado River. I eat a dinner of gas station snacks and meet a Kiwi who was riding northbound (started in New Mexico and on his way to Banff), and soon I was asleep.

Day 12: Radium to Salida. 193 miles.

Another day, another early morning climb to start the day.

With the shorter day yesterday it was a 3am wakeup with the first goal being Silverthorne. The daily routine on the Tour Divide very much revolves around food and sleep - finding major resupply points and determining where it made the most sense to sleep that night. Once I found my rhythm and my body began to adapt to the daily stress of riding, I was able to cover some solid mileage. I naturally fell into a pretty conservative but effective strategy of trying to be efficient and fast during the day, and stopping at a reasonable time of night to sleep 5-6 hours. I was able to ride strongly and cover a lot of distance this way while still recovering well.

A couple of mid-range climbs separated me from Summit County and the major towns of Silverthorne, Frisco, and Breckenridge. I felt amazing today. The weather was incredible and the legs were strong, crushing the high-elevation passes Colorado is infamous for. One of the benefits of living at 7,400 feet all winter is I’m pretty well adapted to exercising at altitude.

I ate a huge breakfast burrito and French Toast in Silverthorne before pushing on to the biggest climb of the day, Boreas Pass, just past Breckenridge. Boreas is a stunning, 10 mile climb that tops out a bit over 11,000 feet. A quick photo and snack at the top and I’m descending the other side. I miss the turn for a singletrack addition off the main descent and have to backtrack and climb back up. Oops.

Breakfast for two? More like breakfast for one.

I’m still feeling strong and confident I can make it to Salida tonight. I book a motel and press on, cruising through the South Park basin and finally over a gorgeous climb with a pastel sunset backdrop before descending into town. My dinner? Microwave noodles from the gas station and a protein shake. The glamour of the Tour Divide in caloric form.

I feel like myself again. I’m strong and in the flow. I try not to think too far ahead, but I’ll be in New Mexico in a couple of days(!).

Day 12: Salida to Del Norte. 155 miles.

Guess what? Another pass. This is getting ridiculous. A quick hotel breakfast and I’m off, soon tackling the mighty Marshall Pass - a nice 3,700 feet of climbing to start my day. Both the legs and mind are in sync this morning and feeling fantastic. This entire day I’m steady, efficient, and energized. I’m on top of my hydration and nutrition, and it honestly feels like an easy day on the bike despite being over 150 miles of riding and nearly 10,000 feet of climbing. It’s a crazy sensation to be this far into the longest ride/race of my life, having experienced so many ups and downs already and big miles, and to be feeling this good. But you must ride the high while you can.

That’s a big hill.

Another day, another pass.

There’s not much to report on for today. A lot of rolling gravel roads, a couple of big climbs, and a quick-hitting thunderstorm are the highlights. I also catch some riders that were pretty far ahead of me after my break in Island Park. Although I took a step back from the racing aspect, I’m now feeling the competitive fire awaken a bit. The top 20 is within sight and I’m ahead of my original goal of a 20-day finish. I can’t help but return to the racing mindset. I love it. But I’ve found a balance - still very much aware of the dark side of it and I remind myself to maintain my newfound Jackson’s Tao of Ultra Racing.

Do it in my own way, don’t compare, and listen to my body. Remain chill, you must.

Typical.

I arrive in the small town of Del Norte, where the only open restaurant is a fancy hotel bar. I don’t really care that I’m sweaty and smelly so I sit at the bar, chatting with some locals, eat sweet potato fries and ravioli, and drink a beer. There’s pretty much no lodging available, and the free camping in the park is unappealing due to a mosquito frenzy, so I continue riding for another hour and a half to camp part way up tomorrow’s climb.

Day 13: Del Norte to Taos Holy Cross Hospital. 92 miles.

The day started with - yep, you guessed it - another pass. This time it was the Big Daddy of the Divide: Indiana Pass. Cresting over 12,000 feet it’s the highest point of the route, and a definite beast of a climb equal parts challenging and beautiful. It’s exposed up high and I was glad to be up and through it in the early morning, as thunderstorms would batter its slopes later that day.

I experienced many incredible sunrises and sunsets on the Divide, including this one on Indiana Pass.

I descend into the small town of Platoro, Colorado. From here it’s less than 40 miles to the New Mexico border. I fuel up on a big breakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee and restock my snack supplies before a long and rolling dirt descent. Behind me, I see Indiana Pass in the distance, shrouded in an ominous bank of dark clouds. Lightning flashes. An old general store clerk warns me about some thunderstorms rolling in later in the afternoon and how the dirt roads around this area turn into an unrideable mess in the rain. I thank him for the beta, pay for my Snickers and root beer, and try not to stress. Can’t control the weather as they say, but little did I know this storm would soon end my Divide run.

The next obstacle was a paved climb, only about 30 minutes long, but the storm arrived ahead of schedule. Soon I was scrambling to put on all my rain gear - Goretex jacket, pants, waterproof gloves and overmitts - as the thunder boomed in sync with lightning flashes (never a good time on a climb). I rode as hard as I could, just trying to get up and over this pass as there was no shelter to be taken.

I felt relief as I pass over the summit, which quickly morphed into cold as the sweat I’d been producing under my rain gear cools down on the descent. I catch a fellow racer. We turn off onto a dirt road, and a few miles later we’re there. The fifth and final state of the Tour Divide: New Mexico. Shortly after this, we reach an even more mind-blowing milestone: mile 2,000. Less than 700 miles to the finish in Antelope Wells.

!!!!!!

However great the elation we feel, the Divide has a way of snatching it out of your nerve-damaged hands. Almost instantaneously after crossing into NM we hit the worst mud of the entire ride thus far. The rain had stopped, the sun was reappearing, and the water-saturated clay dirt was slowly drying, turning into a peanut butter-like consistency that literally stopped me in my tracks. I was forced to alternate between walking, scraping mud from all crevices, and trying to ride. It was looking like my goal of reaching the next town before dark was less and less likely with how slow the progress was going. But it got better, and soon we switched from mud and dirt to a rocky hike a bike and subsequent descent that was much more manageable.

Unfortunately, this is where things fell apart. After the chunky rocky descent, we re-entered the forest, which still had some patches of mud and standing water not yet fully dried out from the sun. I sweep around a soft corner, not even moving very fast, and almost immediately I’m flying off the bike and hit the ground. My front tire felt like it hit a patch of black ice. I’m guessing I hadn’t shed all the previous mud from it and its traction was severely limited. Combine that with a small, unseen patch of greasy mud and a light corner meant I stood no chance.

I’ve written about this at length on an earlier post so I won’t rehash the story, but it soon became obvious that my wrist was broken. I tried to continue but with a long, rugged singletrack section ahead in another thunderstorm it just wasn’t possible.

Tour Divide over. So close. But shit happens; this is bike racing after all.

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It’s exactly 3 weeks since this all went down as I write this. I’m in a cast for a couple more and can start riding again. I’ve been doing some running and a little bit of indoor riding to keep the legs moving but have been taking a lot of time to rest the body and mind. I was pretty tired and very hungry for a while after getting home, and my brain mushy. I feel mostly back to normal now and my mental state about the whole ordeal has evolved tremendously. I’m even more excited about big bike rides than before I started the Tour Divide. I want to go back and try this again next year, and I have some fresh goals to look forward to.

It’s easy to feel discouraged about not finishing, to feel like I failed. It for sure sucks to have it all end so suddenly in a negative way, but there’s a silver lining in that it’s made me even more motivated and excited as an athlete, as a cyclist. I rode 2,000 miles from Canada to New Mexico self-supported. I learned an insane amount about bikepacking, ultra racing, and this incredible route that will aid me in my next attempt and future challenges.

The best part? Feeling the love and inspiration from my community here in Idaho and beyond, and the created connection over shared stories despite not making it to the end. Plus, we’ve raised over $5,000 for the Be Good Foundation and Love Like Ky, and are hard at work compiling all of the ride footage and putting together the documentary film project.

There is much to be grateful for, and I’m already looking back on this ride as the start of something very special.

Thanks for reading.

-j