Tour divide - Day 11

That damn high pitched beeping started again at 3:30am. 

I had a slightly restless sleep but probably managed to sneak at least 4 solid hours. I forced myself into my smelly kit, noticing the stinging of my legs. That sun was vicious yesterday and my legs were quite burnt. I guess I woke Tom as I stumbled around in the dark trying to pack my tent. He scratched around then joined my fumbling in the dark.

Packed, I wandered over to the well and topped my Platypus bottles up, popping an Aquatab into each. I had already shuttled water from the Platypus bladder into my Camelbak, topping it brim full. This was one of the potentially dangerous sections of the divide, water wise. It was hot, dry and while only 120km (75mi) lay between us and resuppply in Wamsutter, if the regular 35-40mph winds were against us we could end up in real trouble. I was packing just on 6 litres and this required the use of my Sea to Summit backpack that had been living tucked away in my frame bag all this time, waiting for the occasion when I would need to go into supertanker mode. 

There was a slight tailwind as we started riding which was a bonus. Tom stopped soon to powder his nose and I kept rolling onward. This year the race route differed from the official ACA route as there were extensive road works around Rawlins so Matt Lee rerouted us through an equally bleak area and through the town of Wamsutter. I soon came across my first pumpjacks quietly pumping away in the early morning light.

Not long after passing these the route took a hard right and began along a very disused looking road. It soon turned from the disused road into what was virtually no road! In fact I took a gentle right on the disused road only to see the gps track diverge to my left. "But I am following wheel tracks" I exclaimed to myself. Going back I could see a very faint trail through the short, sparse grass with some wheel tracks in it. I wasn't the only one to miss the turn onto Matthew's new route it would seem and was glad to now headed the right way. 

It began to climb quite steeply and there was no track. I was bush bashing and I wondered how those "purists" that shunned gps for the race were going to find this trail. Without the magenta line to follow, there was simply nothing there.

I was trying to be all indignant about the lack of progress and how unnecessary this was as I grovelled along the edge of this escarpment but being honest with myself, it was a pretty spectacular sight.

Having said that, I was bloody glad when I was dumped out onto a proper road again. I celebrated by eating my other "best sandwich ever" and I must say it was darn good even at 12 hours old.

It was great to be belting along with a quartering tailwind and I was doing an easy 25km/h now. I also marvelled at how green it was. Apparently they had about 5 inches of unseasonal rain a month before the race and The Basin was as lush as many locals had ever seen it.

The vast expanse gave a huge line of sight and when I saw a range of hills in the distance I tried to estimate how far away they were and guess if I would have to ride past them to get to Wamsutter. I soon found that they were 20km away and yes, I would ride past them. Many times further in fact before I got to my first stop for the day.

I pedalled and pedalled. Then I pedalled some more. I could see that I was moving but my mind questioned what progress I was really making.

Trying to take my mind off the mind-numbingness of The Basin I was snapping random photos, whistling and then eventually listening to some music. This was only about the third time I had to put the ear buds in to help me along.

Then I saw a sign! 26 miles! That wasn't too far. I was making progress after all.

The other sign that I was reaching civilisation was the constant stream of trucks that now belted along the road. It was as if someone had opened a gate and the trucks had sprinted free. Not many showed any courtesy by slowing down and reducing their dust cloud as I had been accustomed to further north on the route. No, these were oil riggers, too busy to worry about a lone cyclist and whether he can breath dust or not.

I began to ride on the upwind side of the road as I saw them approaching, even if this was the wrong side of the road, so as not to be choked.

Eventually Wamsutter came into view. It basically consisted of a huge Love's Truck stop. It had everything a divide rider needed though. A Subway and cold drink. It was getting extremely hot in the sun so I dumped my bike against the wall outside and raced for the air conditioned luxury of the Subway. Here I met a tourer from Slovakia who was extremely chatty. I was doing the usual eat, map read, calculate supplies needed all at once and trying to answer his questions. When the subject came to bears I asked him if he had bear spray yet. He answered in the negative and that he didn't think he would need it. I told him about all of the bear scat I had seen (but at this point didn't know about the bear encounter one of the female racers had with a bear on Richmond Peak) and made him a deal he couldn't refuse on my bear spray. I was pretty confident that I wouldn't need it now that I was south of Pinedale and it was really starting to annoy me as I had been carrying it in a jersey pocket this whole time.

Tom came in to the Subway just as I was about to leave and he looked pretty dejected. As soon as I stepped outside I could feel why. It was like an oven out here. I have to ride another 130km (81mi) through this to get to Brush Mountain Lodge? I was again carrying maximum water as I figured the next section would be as bad, if not worse than The Basin with limited or no resupply.

This proved to hold true as dozens of trucks whizzed by on the loose gravel road. With a belly full of food and drink I was grovelling along at 15km/h and was on the verge of falling asleep. It was like a waking nightmare as I was so tired and it was incredibly hot. I started looking at all of the fracking sheds as I rode past, looking for some shade, any shade at all. But the sun was so neatly overhead that there was no shade and I had left the last tree 170km ago, just outside of Atlantic City.

After an hour or so I passed a larger shed that was just off the road. It had a sliver of shade along one edge so I rode over to it. The shed was empty, with it's side door swinging in the breeze. I leant my bike against the side of it then sat down leaning against the shed myself. This is when I noticed two rabbits sitting next to me in the shade. One jumped up and ran off while the other, clearly in the same frame of mind as me, just eyeballed me back.

Closing my eyes for a while, I nodded off a bit. Unable to sit any longer I threw my backpack full of water on the ground as a pillow, set my timer for 30 minutes and closed my eyes. I slept soundly in the dirt, under the shade of a frac shed, watched over by a guardian rabbit in this vast, barren Basin.

I awoke to feel slightly better. There was no sign of the rabbit though.

I had bought some caffeine pills in Banff  and while I hate taking anything like this I figured now was as good a time as any to try one. As I pedalled off the wind had swung into more of a tailwind and I started making good ground again. I crossed the 789 from Baggs and began climbing into the Sand Hills. Luckily, they were gravel but the road did go up. Gaining elevation did nothing to cool the day, it just made the air thinner.

The road really kicked up at the 200km mark for the day. I had to stop along here as I had come to the end of one of my 5 gps segments that I had the track divided into. While changing the file I rearranged some of my gear and a dry, squashed bagel fell out on the ground. I eyed it, deciding that I wasn't hungry and tossed it into the sage. As I did this Josh D came charging around the bend and passed me like....well, like I was standing still! He was on a mission and riding at cross country pace, 11 days into the race in this 100F sun. WTF? I fully expected to find him around the next corner suffering heat stroke.

Remounting, I resumed my grovell to the top of the climb, one false summit at a time. I caught and passed Josh as he was now grovelling along, about an hour later. He didn't return my "hi" so I guess he was in a very dark place judging by his previous frenetic pace. Maybe he misjudged the distance to the next resupply?

This damn climb went on up to over 8000ft again before it finally dipped down. Then it was a steep, rutted descent that seared the brakes as I made my way up and down a few more climbs into Savery, on the Colorado border.

I hit the "town", turned left along route and didn't even look right. There wasn't anything here services wise and I was squarely focussed on getting to Brush Mountain Lodge. Brush Mountain Lodge is a rider friendly oasis on the northern edge of Colorado. For southbound riders it is welcome relief after hundreds of miles of hard, dry country which taxes not only the body but more so the mind. What makes it really special though is the woman who runs it, Kirsten. She goes out of her way to make every visitor feel special beyond belief and her reputation is worldwide these days.

I had read how riders began climbing the valley that Brush Mountain is in and misjudge the distance still to ride. I fell into the same trap because I didn't account for the amount of  climbing required to reach the Lodge. 

Thinking I would have 15 minutes to ride I was getting very over it by the time I actually rounded the bend and saw the lodge. I was thankful the roadway into the lodge was downhill otherwise the ignominy of pushing my bike through the gates would have been all mine.

The sun had just set as I rolled through those gates some 16 hours and 15 minutes after rolling out from Diagnus Well on the edge of The Basin. There on the deck was Greg and Evan who greeted me with something I didn't quite catch but gathered was cheeky. Kirsten, the guardian angel of Brush Mountain who single handedly brings riders back from the brink, rushed out and gave me the biggest hug I have had in years. I had made it and now I was in heaven!

Kirsten immediately brought out a plate of burgers and chips with a jug of lemonade. I guess when riders have to grovel up that last 1000ft of climb she can judge our imminent arrival to a tee! I was really cooked from today's ride and a bit overwhelmed by the hospitality so that I wasn't sure what to do. I chatted to Greg, Evan and Patrick D as well as Kirsten as she buzzed around making sure everyone was fed and watered. The burgers were bloody awesome. If you want to reacquaint yourself with how good food can taste, take a ride on the divide.

The luxury of a shower AND  shave beckoned so I went to tidy myself up as the others peeled off for bed. They were planning 4am departures whereas I was going to allow myself to enjoy Brush Mountain Lodge a bit. An 8 or 9am start would be the order of the day tomorrow and that allowed time to have my kit washed as well.

Emerging from the shower refreshed I saw that Tom had made it to the lodge as well. I heard that a bunch of riders had stopped in Savery for the night and could not understand why one wouldn't drag themselves to Brush Mountain for the Royal treatment from Kirsten? In the last two days I had done 527km (327mi) with 3650m (12 000ft) climbing on 4 hours sleep just to get here. And, it was worth it!

Today had been a tough day in the heat of The Basin, lugging 6 litres of water. That 253km (157 mi) was really tough and I was quite sunburnt again, with parched lips to match. In fact my skin was looking very dark now and I had a wicked knick tan line happening.

I fell into bed at about 11pm and set the alarm for a luxurious 6:30am. I think I may have been asleep just before my head hit the soft, fluffy pillow tonight.

Cheers.

Tour Divide - Day 10

I awoke to the high pitched beeping of my watch. It was stupid-early again and time to get pedalling. I pack up as quickly as I can and get moving in the early morning light. My overnight accommodation, while not quite 5 star, did the job. I had been warm and safe in there.

Getting my legs to start pedalling each morning wasn't as hard as you might think but I did take it very easy for the first 30 minutes or so to let them warm up. Within a few minutes of starting out this morning I pass Mitchel P, who obviously camped out on the side of the road, packing his gear onto his bike. He is a bit far away to talk to so I give him a big wave. He must have come over the CDT alternate last night after me! 

The elevation profile is mostly downhill today all the way to Atlantic City, on the edge of the Great Basin. But looking more closely at the profile, it bounces along at about 9000ft for the first 20 miles which is really hard going. Lots of short climbs and descents in this thin air are taxing on my legs. When the real descent finally comes it is on rough road, meaning that you can't simply let the bike fly, you must pick your way down the road at reduced speed. I find this really frustrating this morning as I just want to get into Pinedale and eat some real food. I also had a parcel to pick up at the post office and was cheered by the thought until I realised that it was Sunday. The post office would be closed. Two out of two packages missed so far!

But Pinedale is 93km (58mi) away from my camping spot. While about half of that distance is paved, the non paved section is just energy sapping and slow. As I approach the end of the dirt a cloud of dust is rising ahead of me and there is a cacophony of bellowing. There must be 15 cowboys on horses pushing 1000 head of cattle along the road towards me. About half of the herd are across a bridge that spans the Green River. I pull off the road, onto a bit of high ground and wait. Chewing on what beef jerkey I have left I chat with the cowboys that come close to me. I get the standard questions of what am I doing then they realise I am "not from round these parts" and we chat away some more. After about a 10 minute break the cattle are all across the river and I can move on. The cowboys thank me for waiting and not pushing through their herd. What else could I have done? More to the point, what do other people do?

I was relieved to finally get onto the sealed road. I passed a few historic markers but didn't stop as I wanted breakfast.

And I was happy to not stop as I felt ripped off by the descent this morning.......

Much pedalling in circles ensued. I tried to ignore the headwind that was starting to work against me as I counted down the miles to Pinedale. It came into view but took forever to arrive.

Once in town I had a quick scout for food and settled on The Painted Pony cafe' in the main street. I ordered two breakfasts then ploughed into their coffee pot. The fact that every shop in the US seems to have free wifi is the only way I could keep up with what was going on in the world. My mobile phone sim was useless out here.

I paid a visit to the supermarket where I stocked up on real food. Here I bumped into Patrick D who was doing some running repairs on his bike. He was also a vegan so was gorging himself on fresh food as his fuelling opportunities were even more limited than the average Tour Divide racer. 

I rolled out of town somewhat reluctantly as I knew that The Basin lay before me and it was one of the signature sections on the divide that really had to be treated with respect. The next 20 kilometres to Boulder were nice and flat but the sun sure was getting hot again. Even though I was stuffed full from my breakfast and supermarket shop, I stopped at the gas station in Boulder to buy an ice cream.

The next few hours consisted of gently rolling hills as I worked my way along the southern edge of the Bridger Wilderness. There were several markers along here pointing out the history of the area.

As I travelled east toward the Basin the wind began to pick up. It blew so strongly that whenever it was a crosswind it became difficult to ride a straight line. Turning northeast on the Lander cutoff trail it blew from the right direction for a while and I flew along the road.

The sun was beating down on me and even though I had applied sunscreen quite thickly, I was getting roasted alive. The wind became even more vicious and I had began to notice many small caterpillars trying to cross the road from the downwind side. The poor little buggers were inching along then getting blown back a few metres before regaining their feet. 

How could I see this? Well, the wind was so strong that it was blowing me off the road and I had dismounted to walk the crosswind sections. The wind actually blew the back end of my bike out, with it sliding sideways, at one stage! Here, I saw a little caterpillar, struggling away with all his might, get picked up and simply blown into the distance. Gone in an instant!

I was cursing and rejoicing in equal measure now. Cursing the crosswind but rejoicing when it became a tail wind. 50km/h was easily achievable with that wind at my back! 

Eventually, I came to the 28 highway and the route turned north which was basically a quartering tailwind. There was a traveller rest stop with toilets and water so I pulled in to top up my depleted water supply. Here I bumped into Patrick again and another rider, Tom D V. I introduced myself to Tom and we chatted a bit. He rolled out just before me, headed for Atlantic City and dinner.

Someone had painted "Go J.P." and a few other names in white on the shoulder of the road. This went on for a mile or so but I didn't see any "Go Dave" or "Go Toms" on there. What I did see was a huge traffic sign that confirmed what we already knew. That the crosswind was diabolical. Every time a car or truck passed we almost fell off our bikes in it's wind-shadow.

Thankfully the route turned east again and we zipped along without pedalling. I have never ridden in such exposed, windy conditions and I would be thankful never to again!

Tom must have had taller gearing than I because he simply streaked away from me along this section as I could not pedal at all with my 38/12 top gear. We soon passed through South Pass City (which wasn't a city). The climb out of town was a short, brutal pinch as we passed the ruins of the Carrissa Gold Mine. Then we flew along on the breeze at car-like speed into Atlantic City, which also was not a city by any stretch of the imagination.

What it was though is an almost perfectly preserved window into the past. I stopped at the Mercantile, which had several bikes out the front. It looked like an old west saloon and stepping inside, it still was.

 There was a big note proclaiming that the kitchen was closed but I begged the staff to make me a couple of turkey and ham sandwiches. One for now and one to go. There were several riders dining on the same thing and we chatted away while refuelling. I noticed that this sandwich was probably the best I had ever tasted in my life!

I was too shattered to worry about wifi or seeing where anyone was instead focussing my full attention on my sandwich. If I had looked, this is what I might have seen.

As Tom and I dined in the Mercantile, Simon and Beth were dining right around the corner! I had caught up to them finally, only I didn't know it!

So, as a ship in the night, I gathered up my other "best sandwich ever" and rode out into The Basin, taking one last look back at the sun setting over Atlantic City.

 Why ride on? Well, one of the best bits of advice I had read a few years back about the divide race was that you don't stop riding when you have a tailwind. Tonight we had a roaring tailwind and I was going to ride that wind out to Diagnus Well, the last reliable water source before crossing the Basin proper.

I absolutely zipped along and soon caught up to Patrick D. We rode along together for a while but Pat was planning on riding through the night to get to the next town of Wamsutter.

I slowed as I looked for signs of the well. It is located a few hundred metres off the road and is marked with a small sign. Very hard to see at night. Tom came riding along and asked what I was doing. I explained that I wanted to camp next to the last water source and get up stupidly early tomorrow and press on to Wamsutter. I couldn't go any further today.

Looking at my ACA map and my gps I figured that I had gone maybe 1 kilometre past it so we backtracked then saw a faint glow off to the side of the road as the sign on the fence near the well reflected some light. We battled along a sandy track and were happy to confirm that it was in fact Diagnus Well.

The well consisted of a pipe coming out of the ground that continuously flowed water, forming a small swamp in this godforsaken expanse of nothingness.

It was just after 10:30pm so we set up camp and turned in right away. Setting an alarm for 3:30am, I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit my Thermarest pillow.

Cheers.

Tour Divide 2015 - Day 8

I had set my alram for a leisurely 6am. When it went off I just lay there for a few minutes thinking "do I really have to get on my bike today"? I grabbed my phone off the charger and looked at Trackleaders to see where people were. There was a conga line of about 8 riders making their way into Lima from about 20 miles out right up to 5 miles out! I could see that Brett, Josh and Jill were in the group. I didn't want to be passed by that many riders! It was best they don't see me lest I become a mental win for their tired minds and best that they don't become a mental defeat for my tired mind.

I jumped out of bed and quickly began packing up my now dry tent and all of my other belongings that were sprawled across the room. I was trying to shove all of the food I had bought last night into my stuffed bags, not without some difficulty.

Leaving the motel room I saw that the truck stop was open so went and grabbed my morning Starbucks Frappacino. While downing it Brett and Josh rolled in. We exchanged greetings and they said they camped about 20 miles out as they just couldn't reach Lima last night. I told them there were a lot of riders in the same boat as they were trickling into town now. Looking at a grassy spot 50 yards from the truck stop there were a few small tents set up, being late night arrivals. and I noticed Robb Orr appear out of one. I had thought he was long gone. 

The divide does that though. I forget that everyone is struggling each day, trying to find the strength to go on. From the outside people look so strong and focussed but I guess inside these mid-pack racers are much like myself. Tired and trying to maintain the self discipline or motivation to go on. My motivation this morning is the conga line of riders approaching. Beth and Simon's dots are far to the east of Lima having, as I expected, left early this morning. I bid Brett farewell (until next time) and head off toward Idaho. Yes, we get a new state today!

Riding into the morning sun is always my favourite part of the day. The air is still and shadows contrast the landscape. The hills to the east of Lima look like the cover art on the "Ride The Divide" DVD case and I wonder if this is where they got their inspiration.

The roads here are very open.Trees are nonexistant. This would be a section from hell with a strong headwind.

But this morning, there is no wind and I make good time along these relatively flat farm roads. We are heading east toward Macks Inn/Island Park which are just service stops on the I-20 for drivers on the way to Yellowstone but full-on oases to divide riders.

I am soon passing a glassy still Lima Reservoir. Where was that water last night when I needed it?

The open countryside exposed a lot of road to the eye. This can potentially be crushing for the mind but today I was just loving the fact that there weren't any hills and I could easily turn pedals to produce 25-30km/h speeds.

Coming into Lakeview I caught another rider. It turned out to be Doug W. He was on a woodchipper equipped Salsa Fargo so we exchanged bike notes for a bit. He reminded me that I owed him one as he had arrived at the motel in Lima not long before me last night and told them that there was another rider right behind him that would want a room-the last room- and would they hold it. Doug thought that rider was Mitchell, the guy I passed on the Sheep Creek divide crossing but I had leapfrogged into room-winning position now! I thought it was my phone call from the High Country Lodge that secured me the room but apparently not. I thanked Doug very much. ;)

Lakeview came and went as we chatted and I almost forgot to get my camera out to get a snap of this western movie set like town.

I was maintaining a slightly higher pace than Doug so drifted off ahead of him. We had come close to the continental divide again with the Centennial Mountains being just a few kilometres south of us. This was Mt Something or other....I really should have taken a photo of the sign....

The divide coming closer meant my nice flat ride was about to come to an abrupt halt. It was time to go vertical again with the climb up to Red Rock Pass. I had been on the bike for 5:45 by this stage and was glad to get off and walk for a while. As the grade shallowed out I hopped back on and pedalled up to the pass with it's must-do photo opportunity.

I was leaving Montana! There is some Tour Divide folklore that if you can make it out of Montana, you are likely to finish the ride because Montana is brutal. In a race that is north to south, Montana has you going south, east, west and north and lets not forget, up. It is probably bulldust because, as I was going to find out, there are plenty of challenging sections in the southern states that are pushing you to quit. But today, in the nice warm sun on another divide crossing I was happy to be a believer. 

The ride down from Red Rock pass was fast and sketchy as the road was made up of crushed granite. I had a front end slide in a high speed corner that would have been very messy had I not saved it so I backed off the pace in the interests of self preservation. The road soon went up again and high speed front end slides were but a distant memory.

Here, my lack of really-in-depth route knowledge produced a pleasant surprise. I came to an RV park that I had no idea existed. It had a little shop that was chocka-block full of ice creams and sodas! It probably sold other things but all I saw were the ice cream and soda! Just short of two cans and an ice cream sandwich later Doug rolled in for some as well.

Red Rock RV and Camping Park was a little oasis that I would have loved to stay at as the sun was now beating down on me. The intensity of it's bite really had to be felt, being far more savage than the Aussie sun. I guess that altitude may have something to do with it and I was ruing my decision to mail my sun sleeves to Steamboat Springs, another 4 days along route at least.

With a belly full of ice cream and a thunerstorm in the faaar distance I was a happy lad.

It was only a short ride through some fun atv trails to the Macks Inn service stop. Subway seemed to be the obvious choice and we availed ourselves of their air conditioning and wifi. I wasn't hungry as I had just gorged myself on ice cream but Doug tucked in. I rolled across the road to the supermarket and grabbed some cinnamon bagels for a possible camp tonight.

Next up was the dreaded rail trail. Everything written about it dripped loathing and I was about to find out why.

It was an old railway line which had been converted to a recreational trail. This meant that atvs ripped up and down it all day long. How this is exciting, being 50km (30mi) of dead straight trail, I don't know but thousands can't be wrong, right?

Anyway, I almost ate it turning into the bloody abomination. The loose, deep, dark gravel is like riding in a sandpit. It got slightly better the further I got from the trail head but it was always hard work.

The trail always looked smoother and firmer on the other side but when you crossed the centre ridge you found it just as bad. I felt like it was gently climbing (it was actually flat) and I was also pushing a 25mph headwind in the exposed sections so standing on the pedals and powering through was the only way to go. I was glad I didn't know how long it was. I had 30 kilometres in my head for some reason. If I had known it was 50km I would have spat it. As it was I did stop twice to swear profusely into the wind. That helped.......

I had decided that this trail had no redeeming features, none at all. If it did, there would be recreational riders on the trail. Lo and behold I started passing recreational riders. I was passing them very quickly actually as I had been tromping it since I entered the trail and now that the surface was hard packed I was getting some significant forward motion happening!

I had to be careful passing these larger groups as they were in a world of their own and not expecting some hairy, smelly bikepack racer to come barrelling past. but I could see why they were distracted. This end of the trail was absolutely beautiful!

I was soon riding through the Warm River campground at the end of the trail. It had taken me 3 hours to do that 50 kilometres (30mi) at what felt like cross country race effort levels. It sure was nice to be off it but now the road went steeply up and a vicious wind was battering me around. At one point I actually got caught off guard and blown off the road!

Feeling spent after the last 3 hours of rail trail fun, I flopped in the shade on somebody's front lawn as soon as I climbed out of the Warm River valley. This was also because I was in the open now and the 30mph wind brought me to a standstill. Munching one of my flattened bagels I checked the ACA map for accommodation options. Squirrel Creek lodge was my planned stop for the night but I noticed on the map that they required 24 hours prior notice. How could you guarantee where you were going to be in 24 hours time on the divide? I had weak cell reception so I tried calling them but the line just went dead.

Just then another rider pulled up beside me. We exchanged hellos but I didn't catch his name. He looked very young but I guess I looked very old to him. He pulled out a Sub and munched away while I tore my bagel a new one.......not much was said. It was one of those "I've been on my own all day and just want some company" moments. He finished up and said he was pushing on into the ferocious wind. I said I might sit here a bit longer. I watched him crawl along that shoulderless, narrow road being buffetted by the gale. This open farmland gave no shelter.

From where I sat on the lawn I could just see the top of the Grand Tetons in the distance. They are awe inspiring. They inspired even more awe when I considered that I had to ride right around to the other side of them.

Remounting, I battled into the abominable headwind like my young counterpart. Luckily there was only about a mile to go before the route took a hard left onto Cave Falls road and that 30mph wind was all tailwind. I was feeling pretty toasted now and when I came to a sign that said "Squirrel Creek lodge, 2 miles south then 1 mile east" I thought "no way am I going that far off route". Right next to it was a sign for Timberline Golf Club with accommodation and meals just 0.4 mile ahead. "I'll go there" I thought. Now, I had my gps scale zoomed in pretty well, to about 160m, so the last time I looked the route went straight. Here I was thinking that Squirrel Creek was off route and Timberline on route - even though I had been staring at the map not 15 minutes ago and Squirrel Creek was clearly on route. In hindsight this was one of my lowest points of the race as thinking was clearly not happening! I was very tired.

Anyway, I rolled down to Timberline and rocked into the clubhouse to enquire about a room. "Sure thing, you can have a cabin and we are doing a $10 buffet tonight if you would like that" they said. I enquired if I could wash my kit as well and they said they would do it for me. Even better.

So I was escorted to my cabin, which was a quarter mile out the back of the golf course. The ladies in the golf cart took my dirty, smelly kit to wash (I apologised profusely for it's state) and said they would be back in 30 minutes to pick me up for dinner. Cool. A nice long shower then I dressed myself very stylishly in my merino longjohns, my puffy jacket and bike shoes with no socks....the only clothes I had! How I looked for the last 8 days had been the furthest thing from my mind but suddenly I was extremely self conscious. Especially when I got to the clubhouse and there were about 30 people there!

I sat in the room next door to where the main group was so I could spread my maps out on the table. I was offered a beer and when I enquired what they had was told "Fat Tyre". I had abstained these last six months as part of my training but after my free Bud last night I thought "why not" and had my first real beer since Banff (I had broken my drought with a beer each night there). Looking around I spied what I hoped would be my only bears.

Dinner was a seafood buffet, which is always dodgy this far from an ocean, plus the usual mountains of pasta salad, coleslaws etc that Americans seem to enjoy. I kept the seafood to a minimum but piled up the fresh coleslaw and pasta salads. I am pretty sure I got my $10 worth!

I even got a buggy ride back to my cabin and my clean kit presented to me. It was about 9pm now so the buffet wasn't the best use of time but I just could not have ridden any further today, especially with a wild camp as my only real option.

209km with just 1000m climbing was a pretty easy day compared to the last week. If it wasn't for the climb into Yellowstone (the road went up from here) and my knackered state I would have pressed on. Or so I told myself.

Cheers.