65 Days Down the Great Divide: A Tour Leader's Report
On July 7, 2026, I rolled out of Whitefish, Montana, at the start of the Adventure Cycling Association's Epic Great Divide tour. On September 9, I stood with our group at the border crossing in Antelope Wells, New Mexico - the southern end of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.
Between those two points: 65 days, about 2,500 miles, 56 riding days, 8 days off, and a high point of 11,900 feet. ACA's 50th anniversary year. Three tour leaders, one support driver keeping the van and trailer pointed the right direction, and the whole thing riding the spine of the continent.
I was one of the tour leaders. This is what that looked like from where I sat - which was usually a bike seat, sometimes a camp chair, and for about ten miles of one particular day, on foot.
The Toughest Ride on the Divide
Here's my journal from Day 53, Coyote Camp Ground, exactly as I wrote it that night (minus the typos):
Today's ride was billed as "The Toughest Ride on the Divide." It didn't disappoint. It didn't help that I kind of psyched myself out before I even got started, listening to riders talk about other people's previous experiences on this route.
It was basically a tough 35-mile climb, of which I probably hiked a good 10 miles, with a couple 2-mile climbs after that. The entire route was a mixture of rocks, rock shelves, and sand, and most of the descents were rocky too. The day started warm, then cooled off, rained, hailed, and warmed up again - the full high-country experience.
I saw a jackrabbit, a deer, and a bear.
I'll be honest about that first part: I'm the guy who was supposed to keep everyone moving that day, and I let other people's war stories get in my head before the wheels ever turned. Then I pushed my bike up a mountain for ten miles. That's the Divide. It doesn't care what your job title is.
The Mud Day
A week later, Day 60, Beaverhead USFS Work Station:
Today's ride was a combination of Day 60 and half of Day 61, to help the van and trailer get to the campground without having to drive the gravel route and possibly damage one or both. The ride went well, even with the rain, lightning, thunder, and mud. The mud was the sticky, slimy sort that packs your tires and is all but impassable. After a rider went down a couple of times, we got off and pushed for about a quarter mile. As expected, the sun came back out about an hour later. All in all, a good ride with lots of varying scenery.
That's leadership on a trip like this in one paragraph: you change the plan so the support vehicle doesn't get destroyed, you ride through lightning anyway, and you push bikes through mud you can't ride. Then the sun comes out like it was nothing.
Three Things 65 Days Taught Me
The actual bike riding is the easy part.
It only takes one person to ruin a trip.
I can do hard things that don't sound like much fun, as long as I keep chipping away at them.
I could write a paragraph after each of those. The first two are about guiding; the third is about me. If you've ever spent nine weeks with the same group of people, you already understand all three.
The Hard Part Nobody Puts in the Brochure
Our group had challenges. Some of it was an age gap, some personality, some differences in ideas about how a trip like this should run. I won't pretend it was all campfire singalongs.
But here's what I'll also tell you: the group did gel. Not as fast as any of us would have liked - honestly, it took a couple of people deciding to leave the trip before the rest of us pulled together - but it happened. By New Mexico, we were a group. Anyone who has been on a long trip knows that's not automatic; it's something you build, day by day, mile by mile.
Would I Do It Again?
No - and not for any reason you'd expect. Not because of the riding, the group, or the work. I've done it, and I don't want to camp for that long again. Sixty-five days is a long time to sleep on the ground, and I get to say that now, honestly, because I finished it.
What I do want - and what I've built Pumped Adventures around - is the same kind of riding at human scale: good routes, good food, a bed at night, and a small group that gels on day one. That's what we run on the Central Coast, and it's what our custom tours are for.
The finish line. Antelope Wells, New Mexico - September 9, 2026.
