Friday marks one month until I head to Banff.
I am excited and nervous in almost equal measure.
For almost two years, the Great Divide has been sitting out there as a goal.
At first, I was not sure it was even doable.
A ride like this does not happen unless you decide to make it a priority. Otherwise, day-to-day life has a way of setting the course, and that course usually looks a lot like the days that came before it.
That is not a bad thing. It is just reality. Family comes first, work has real demands, and the routines of daily life have a way of filling whatever space is left. But if I was ever going to attempt something like the Great Divide, I had to make room for it on purpose.
The timing for something like this is probably never perfect. That has been one of the biggest realities of preparing for this ride. There is no magical window where everything slows down and two months suddenly opens up. So I am very grateful to the people who have added their efforts, patience, and flexibility to help make this opportunity possible.
The more I shared the idea, the more people encouraged me. What started as something that felt almost impossible slowly became something I could actually see myself trying.
Around that same time, another idea helped give shape to the challenge.
In my Vistage group, we talked about the idea of a Misogi. That was the first time I had heard of the concept, and it immediately stuck with me. Later, I came across Michael Easter’s The Comfort Crisis, which explores a similar idea — that maybe our modern lives have become so comfortable that we need to intentionally seek out hard things. Jesse Itzler has also written and talked about this approach: choosing one big challenge each year that is difficult enough to truly test you.
The modern version of the idea is pretty simple: choose a challenge that is hard enough to change how you see yourself, but not so reckless that the risk becomes the point.
There are two simple rules.
It has to be really hard. Hard enough that you have about a 50/50 chance of failing.
And you cannot die.
That idea stuck with me.
The Great Divide felt like it fit.
Actually, it felt like it more than fit. It gave a name to what I had already been thinking about. This route is long, remote, difficult, and unpredictable. There is a real chance I make it to the Mexico border. There is also a real chance I do not.
That is part of what makes it meaningful.
Now, with about one month to go, the planning is nearly complete. The gear is almost worked out. My flight to Calgary is booked. I have been training, although some days I wonder if it has been enough.
I am also fortunate that I will not be starting alone. Two friends from the Asheville area are joining me for the first part of the route, all the way to Butte, Montana. That should be roughly the first 700 miles. I know there will be plenty of hard days even in that section, and I am grateful to have company for the beginning of the ride.
I would be lying if I said I was not nervous.
There are the obvious fears. Bears. Fire. Weather. Cold. Heat. Mechanical problems. Being far from help.
Then there are the quieter fears. Being alone for long stretches. Going too fast. Going too slow. Not being strong enough. Making the wrong decision at the wrong time. Getting out there and realizing the ride is even bigger than I imagined.
I have had plenty of time to think about all of that.
But I have also had plenty of time to think about what keeps pulling me forward.
This is a rare opportunity to see some of the most beautiful places in North America from the seat of my bike. Not quickly. Not through a car window. But slowly, one mile at a time. Mountains, valleys, small towns, long gravel roads, hard climbs, quiet mornings, and whatever else the route brings.
It is also a chance to pass through places that already mean something to me. The route goes right by Carroll College in Helena, Montana where I spent my freshman year. It also passes by Marysville, where Amy and I worked at the Marysville House during college, years before we were married. Later, the route passes through Colorado, a place where I spent years skiing with friends and family as a kid, and where Amy and I later lived, got married, started our family, biked, hiked, and spent a lot of time outdoors. It is also where I kayaked rivers near the route, including the Blue and Arkansas, and spent many days around Salida.
I am looking forward to seeing some of those places again, but in a completely different way.
That part is what keeps me excited.
I know I will miss home. I will miss my family and friends. I will miss our dogs, Stella and Luna. That is not really a fear as much as it is a known reality. There will be days when being away feels harder than the riding.
But that is part of this too.
I am also glad that this ride is connected to something bigger than just me. Raising money for the American Cancer Society has made the ride feel more meaningful. It gives the miles another purpose. It is a reminder that even though this is a personal challenge, the ride can do good beyond the bike.
Of course, I want to make it to the Mexico border.
That is the goal.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize that the border is not the only measure of success. Getting there would be incredible. But the real point is the journey. The point is being willing to try something that once did not feel doable, and being grateful for the people who helped make it possible. The point is preparing as well as I can, accepting the uncertainty, and being willing to find out what happens.
For now, the focus is simple:
Keep riding.
Keep preparing.
Keep showing up.
The final countdown has started.
And I’m grateful you’re here for the journey.
-Bill
