Category Archives: bikepacking

bikepacking, bikes, friends, GPS, travel, USA

Day Two: American Flathead to Red Meadow Lake

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Excited to be heading into the wilderness, after a large breakfast we stocked up on food for the next two days and hit gravel soon out of Eureka. Steadily heading up the Tobacco River valley, shortly after crossing the river we were on highway briefly and then off it again heading for the hills. As the climbing began in earnest and farms were left behind for national forest, it was expected that we’d be rolling on gravel. Strangely, the sealed road just got smoother as our elevation climbed.

Traveling far lighter than other cycle tourists (they generally had far larger routes planned), they were hauled in at our steady pace. It turned out that there were so many other cyclists, we couldn’t possible remember all their names – over about two days we met about twenty-five others. Some we chatted with for quite some time, some briefly and others just exchanged greetings. Plenty of interesting folk out riding bikes.

Shortly after meeting some Alaskans, the seal ended and the gravel began – that, I think, was entirely coincidental. A pleasantly warm day, it was nice to be in clearer air than the smoke-stained skies of British Columbia. At least, it meant we could actually see the view in the distance.

There may have been a lot of trees.

The surface was fantastic and the gradient mild. Things opened up a bit where avalanches had long since cleared the slopes.

A feature of the trip was the many different varieties of wild flowers roadside.

You know, a few more trees. Who me? No, I don’t work for a forest products company, not at all.

Eight hundred metres of climbing done, it only seemed fair to stop at the top of the pass and eat. Also, it would be rude not to chat to more passing cyclists. The downhill was long and also mellow – all the better for looking at the views.

The west side of the spectacular Glacier National Park came in to view. It was easy to pick the patches of forest that had long since, or recently in some case, been ravaged by wildfires.

Being in the mountains so much, we were never short of water sources – water treatment drops were used, probably mostly unnecessary but how can one know?

One of the woman from the top of the pass, Sarah, passed us as we stopped to fill bottles. A novice, she was hauling an extraordinary load – worryingly all carried on the rear of the bike. Shortly after, we were confused to come around the corner, see another cyclist standing on the side of the road and some other guy (no vehicle in sight) who must have apparated there . Eventually we recognised Sarah – that was difficult initially as she was covered in an unhealthy amount of blood. She convinced us she wasn’t concussed and the other guy’s family had driven off to fetch her friend – turned out he wasn’t a wizard, disappointing. We couldn’t do any more than had already been done, so carried on – bike helmets really are quite useful.

The road flattened out as we headed for the Flathead Valley.

It became apparent we were out of the national forest as Private Property and Posted – No Trespassing signs started and we noticed increasing numbers of cabins in woods. Riding south along the Flathead, I’m told it was a lot less remote than the Canadian Flathead.

We never quite sure how many of the cabins and houses were holiday homes, permanent homes or properties of survivalists/preppers. Thankfully the road was still quiet and most traffic, except the FedEx pick-up, courteously slowed for us.

Mid-afternoon we turned away from the Flathead River and started towards Red Meadow Lake – the highest and end point for the day. Stopping again for snacks near a small pond, it may have been the first time we partook of one of the most common delicacies of the trip – frozen burritos. Bought frozen at the start of the day, usually from a gas station, these are much mentioned by GDMBR riders – they gradually thaw and then warm over a hot day, ready to eat heated mid-afternoon (depending on how hot the day is). Another one of those things that taste OK, but it pays not to read the list of ingredients.

A mostly gentle climb up more pristine gravel with even less traffic, it kicked a little for the final section before we rolled ever so slightly down to the lake.

What a pristine spot for a campground nestled between lakes and mountains.

We shared a campsite with Johnny, a young Swiss guy riding the GDMBR – well, a large part of it in the time he had. Understandably, he was tiring of all the beautiful mountains – not really traveling to see places just like home, he longed for flat, open lands. He was quite taken with how little we were carrying and determined to shed some of the many kilograms he was carrying.
The dust of the day washed off in the lake, local fisherman met, exuberant young dog pouncing avoided and sick of mosquitoes – it was time to call an end to a fantastic day on bikes in beautiful big country. It was much quieter and cooler than the previous night, far better for sleeping.

Thanks to Megan for the photos of me riding.

bikepacking, bikes, Canada, friends, GPS, USA

Day One – Out of Canada (so soon?)

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A bit shocked having just come from winter and skiing, sleep was hard to come by in the August heat of the Rockies. Not in any particular rush, breakfast was leisurely and bikes were eventually packed and ready to go. Saying our thanks and goodbyes, we rolled into the centre of town. We promptly stayed for quite some time buying food, unexpectedly meeting friends (whom I knew from previous North American stays) and eating bagels.

This was the first adventure on my new bike. Only having ridden a hundred and thirty kilometres on it, I was keen to see how it would go. My hastily cobbled together luggage arrangement didn’t last long. We hadn’t even got out of town before a malfunction of my saddle bag stopped me in my tracks, a roadside repair was effected. It wasn’t to be the last time in the trip it was overloaded with food, but thankfully it was the last such mishap.

After waiting at a level crossing for a massive-by-NZ-standards, normal-by-North-American-standards train, we were on our way almost two hours after leaving the house. Definitely not in any rush – but we did want to cross the border and make Eureka that night, so that we did make the Whitefish Bike Retreat booking sometime over the approaching weekend.

This below is the route that we were to trace, clockwise, over the following twelve days. A combination of various defined routes, points to meet and spend time with friends, towns, remote backcountry gravel roads and some seal to link it altogether – it was excellent, as will become clear.

Taking a Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (GDMBR) alternate south out of town, we were soon past houses and riding gravel roads through forest. The highway was off on the other side of the Elk River, so our road was quiet – apart from the occasional train nearby. Trending downhill, there were still plenty of climbs to test our legs – neither of us having ridden loaded bikes any great distance for a while. We met our first other bikepackers of the trip – chat with all the interesting riders of their planned trips was good fun.

Crossing the Elk River (my head not in the space of cooling off in rivers, we missed a good stop) the lovely gravel ended and we were spat out at a gas station on a busy highway. It seemed time for ice cream and other rejuvenation. Further down the highway were meant to connect to back roads for the run to the border – but the main highway was too busy, so we turned off quickly for a quieter highway straight to the border. Mid-afternoon by this time, it had really heated up and a nagging hot wind slowed us on the mostly-but-for-two-notable-exceptions downhill to checkpoint.

We joined the actual GDMBR and soon hit the queues at the border crossing. Having cleared US immigration during transit in Los Angeles, the questions of our intentions were very mild. In fact, outlining our planned route the line of interrogation turned into jokes about hearing banjoes playing. Half-five and into Montana we were; first objective of the day complete, it was “only” about twenty kilometres to Eureka, food and a community campsite.

Gravel backroads took us off the highway, and provided plenty of rollers. Pace slowed, but eventually we got a tailwind and a significant downhill into town. Exhausted there was resting in a very small park, with its own menagerie of aggressive turkeys, before trying to find food. Pizza took an age, but then I would join a queue behind what seemed like a whole battalion of Californian wildfire-fighters (wild-firefighters seems a bit unruly; there’s probably a more correct name).

Down the road, right next to the Tobacco River, was the campground. With a few picnic tables and grass, it’s available by payment donation only and is near to the sorts of services those on the GDMBR need. Cycle tourists #4 through to #12 (?) were there for the night and more bikepacking chat ensued – sure was interesting hearing more and varied plans, and backgrounds. Poking around an adjacent compound of historic buildings scratched the itch to know slightly more of where we were. Strange American experience for the day was buying a sealed cup filled with frozen diary, putting it in some futuristic automated machine and out popped a thickshake – curious, so long as one wasn’t so inquisitive as to read the list of ingredients/chemicals.

The evening drew in and after a hot, long day – well, it was a hot night in a bivy bag punctuated by noisy traffic. Fantastic to be out biking in new places, tomorrow – wilderness!

bikepacking, bikes, Canada, friends, travel

Back to Canada

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One Friday I was fastening my ski boots for another great day on the slopes of Treble Cone (good snow, excellent views, fun skiing, variable visibility and crazy winds eventually closing the main chairlift) to wind up ten days’ holiday. The next moment I was trying to decipher a screenshot of a bikepacking loop in Canada and NW USA. A few minutes later I was mildly startled to receive an invite for said trip – the following week. Never wanting to turn down bike trip invites, there was no good reason to not go. That was how I found myself back in Canada the following Tuesday, madness!

In the intervening days, I managed to convince my boss to give me another two weeks leave (huzzah for saving annual leave), book last minute flights, arrange travel insurance, AirBnB, airport transfer, rearrange all manner of day-to-day life things, spend time with family, fly home, work two days, pack my bike, throw all manner of clothes and camping gear in my luggage. It’s difficult to plan and organise for a vacation when one is still on the previous one!

All the things got done, and late Tuesday evening I was in Calgary with a surprising amount of sleep had en route – I stayed overnight as it was late and I wanted more sleep. Next morning, I was on the Airporter heading for Canmore. I only spent one year living there (seven years ago), but it was a fantastic year of friendships, biking, skiing & even some work; Canmore will always be a special place to me. Still, it was odd to be suddenly heading back – especially as I’d not been past Australia in four years.

Arriving at Megan’s, greetings to fill the almost-two years over, a busy afternoon ensued before we hit the road to start the bike trip. I assembled my bike, and loaded borrowed luggage while Megan was working and running errands. I managed a nostalgic walk around town past where I used to walk, work, live, shop and eat. It was just a little odd, not to mention busy. Smoke from wildfires rolled in obscuring the mountains and raining ash on me. I loaded the van with bikes, Megan returned and we hit the road for the four hour drive to Fernie, BC.

New bike eagerly anticipating assembly for its first big adventure.

All ready to go find gravel, hills and not too many or too close bears.

Those iconic peaks again – Three Sisters

and Ha Ling

With kind hospitality from friends of Megan’s, beds were provided and, exhausted, I collapsed – after the flurry of the previous five days, riding bikes again in North America was a fast approaching reality.

bikepacking, event, GPS, NZ

Mini Geyserland Gravel Grind 2018

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My swollen left knee caused by a big Easter of biking slowly returned to normal. However, due to having favoured my knee to get through six hundred kilometres of pain – my lower right leg was messed up for a few weeks. Physio treatment just aggravated it and made walking excruciating, but finally the root of the problem was treated and things came right in time for the Mini GGG. I could walk normally again, and riding was even better – as normal.

I was keen to go on this more-social bikepacking event and meet some new people. Pete kindly lent me his spare bike (a bike that has completed the Tour Divide no less) – we decked it with borrowed bags and adjusted it for me Friday night. Saturday in Rotorua dawned misty with drizzle falling. It really wasn’t too bad by the time we rolled to the start at the very agreeable hour of ten o’clock.

The Mini GGG was more social than most bikepacking events I’ve done as the distances each day were short and the camping spots set. This meant that everyone camped together and, arriving late afternoon, we had plenty of time to make camp and hang out in the shelter cooking, eating and sharing various stories.

Eleven of us set off from the centre of Rotorua and followed a now familiar route to, up, along and off the Mamakus (I’d ridden this way on the first GGG and last year’s Mega Grind). The drizzle continued, but it wasn’t cold or windy – our steady pace was most pleasant and the climb was gradual.

What’s this? How am I at the front? This must be socially paced. Waiting in Mamaku for people to talk to…

Traversing along the top of the ranges, the rain petered out and we became more exposed to the souwester. Having regrouped, it was good to spend some time chatting to Erik (one of the two, Pete being the other, organisers of these wonderful GGGs) about his custom bike (I’m still deciding what to replace my stolen Ogre with) and his experiences writing and editing his soon-to-be-published account of riding Tour Aotearoa one and a half times. Riding in a group of about six there were plenty to chat to; we caught up to another two riders who had got a slight head start on the main group, bringing out total to thirteen.

Passing the highest point of our route, we turned into the wind and our group slowly spread. Definitely one of those days requiring concerted effort to get downhill. Still, it still wasn’t raining, the surface was good and I was thoroughly enjoying experiencing a different bike. Not much of a day for photos, I had little reason to stop and therefore rolled into Tokoroa looking for a good bakery.

Still finding it a little bewildering to be at the vanguard of our little fleet of bikepacking rigs, I settled in with a glorious steak and mushroom pie and other baked treats. Slowly everyone else rolled into town and about half of the group arrived to further deplete the pie stock (they were very good, I may have had another). It was very odd during an “event” sitting still for well over an hour; eventually getting antsy and feeling I should be riding, I made to leave. Quiet country roads took us to our campground, the Jim Barnett Reserve, and I enjoyed hearing stories of this year’s early Tour Aotearoa as I rode with Tony – I had it easy in 2016!

Through a little bit of native bush, we arrived and set up camp. I still have not used my bivy bag – opting again to roll my sleeping bag out in the two-walled shelter. It was certainly warm enough. Alas, the water supply was turned off. Tony and I trekked to a nearby farmhouse and, after being plied with piping hot tea, returned with enough water for many of us to cook our various meals and hot beverages. Dinners were cooked, eaten and much was discussed as our small group lazed in the shelter. A very pleasant evening in good company.

Having not taken the Monday off work, my plan was to ride Days Two and Three on Sunday, get back to Rotorua and drive the few hours home that evening. I decamped, and set off some time before eight. When I made this plan, it was only to be about 120 km of riding – I should be back at my car early afternoon. I did not account for a partial closure of the Waikato River Trail, which meant the day started with a detour adding about an hour to the riding.

The detour had the effect of me modifying my route to ensure I got back to Rotorua to meet various people on time. As it happened, this meant that I skipped the sections of trail I’d ridden previously and spent about ninety percent of the day riding places I’d not yet taken a bike. I thoroughly enjoyed the detour, especially the gravel section, of Mangare and Huirimu Roads. Once again at the YoYo bakery in Mangakino (it has become a regular stopping point) it felt like another two-pie day (their steak and mushroom of comparable high quality to the previous day’s), I ate and took enough away to make sure I didn’t need to stop at another store over the remaining seventy-odd kilometres.

Earlier on Sunday approaching Arapuni – it was far brighter, warmer and more pleasant. The souwester was still a nagging presence for much of the day.

The part of the set-route I was most looking forward to was the only part I’d not ridden before – the final section of the Waikato River Trail. That is, the Whakamaru to Atiamuri section. Twenty-three kilometres of good fun! In parts fast, in other parts little pinch climbs appeared, along with some twists and all following the Waikato upstream. I was not disappointed, it was thoroughly enjoyable. The trail was in fantastic condition too – not too wet or too dry; also, it was deserted on a fine, Sunday afternoon.

A brief stop opposite a youth camp, on an island over a causeway, that I’m reasonably certain I went to at least once as a child. I vaguely remember go karts…

Done. Time for a snack and to get back to Rotorua.

Conscious of the time and having previously ridden the hilly, gravelled back route through Ngakuru – I opted for the quiet State Highway 30 back to town. With the wind at my back, the gradual climb from one catchment to the next wasn’t too much for my legs. At the watershed, I crossed back into the Bay of Plenty and the weekend’s riding was all but over.

An excellent, leisurely little outing – I was a little sad to not to stick around with the group, but I had a great time riding with others and solo. Not to mention, I now have plenty to ponder from riding a different bike. What will my next one be like, where will it take me? Time shall tell…