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When I started this ride in Banff, I knew there would be challenges.

I expected long climbs, changing weather, mechanical issues, sore legs, and days that would test me physically.

What I did not expect was that life would have different plans.

Over the past few days, I rode from Montana through Idaho and into Wyoming. Along the way, I crossed another milestone by riding the length of Montana, experienced my first cattle drive, watched the landscape transform around Red Rock Pass and into Idaho, and eventually caught my first full view of the Grand Tetons.

The Tetons deserve every bit of their reputation.

For a couple of days I had been catching glimpses of the backside of the range, but riding alongside them into Jackson was something entirely different. I know my family visited here years ago, but I had forgotten just how spectacular they are. There are places that make you stop, take a deep breath, and simply appreciate where you are. The Tetons are one of those places.

The people along this journey have been every bit as memorable as the scenery.

The ride began with Terry and Troy, and I am grateful we were able to share those first miles together. Starting an adventure like this with friends made the transition from months of planning to actually being on the Great Divide even more meaningful.

As the ride unfolded, Chris from Idaho, Darren from Pennsylvania, and David from Minnesota became familiar faces along the route. Somewhere along the way they stopped feeling like people I had met on the trail and started feeling like friends.

Whether we were sharing campsites, meals, long climbs, or conversations at the end of a difficult day, each of them made this experience richer. One of the unexpected gifts of the Great Divide is how quickly complete strangers become people you genuinely look forward to seeing at the end of the day.

Last night our campground was full of bikepackers. Some were riding south like us, while others were heading north from Colorado with hundreds of miles and countless stories already behind them.

Stories were shared around camp, but to be honest, I was not very engaged in the conversations. Knowing I would be heading home the next morning made everything feel a little too real.

Since I knew I would be flying home, I passed along the food I had just purchased that afternoon, along with the camping gear I could not take on the airplane, to other riders. I was genuinely happy to help fellow bikepackers continue their journeys.

At the same time, it was surprisingly difficult. Just hours earlier, I had bought that food expecting to carry it farther south myself. Handing it over, along with pieces of gear that had become part of my daily routine, made it sink in that while everyone else would be riding again the next morning, my journey was taking a different direction.

This morning I hugged Chris and Darren, wished them safe travels, and watched them continue down the trail while I turned toward Jackson.

That was harder than I expected.

Fortunately, I found a bike shop that boxed my bike for the flight home. As luck would have it, there was a Target across the parking lot where I picked up a suitcase for everything else. Sometimes the logistics work out exactly when you need them to.

As much as I am looking forward to seeing my family and my dogs again, I have mixed emotions about leaving the route.

Life has a way of changing even the best laid plans. An unexpected situation required me to head home, bringing this chapter of the ride to a pause.

The details are not important for this story. What matters is that heading home was the right decision.

One thing this ride has reminded me is that some of the most important lessons have nothing to do with cycling. They come from adapting when things do not go according to plan, accepting what you cannot change, and focusing on what you can.

I am leaving because life changed my plans, not because my body told me it was time to stop. In fact, I feel stronger today than I did a week ago. My knee has recovered, the other aches and pains have mostly disappeared, and I finally feel like I have settled into the rhythm of riding day after day.

That makes leaving disappointing, but it also gives me confidence.

When I left Banff, I wondered if I was capable of riding the Great Divide.

After 1,075 miles, I no longer wonder.

From Banff to Jackson, I climbed mountains I once wondered if I could climb, rode through some of the most incredible landscapes I have ever experienced, met people I hope to stay in touch with for years, and discovered things about myself that I could not have learned any other way.

The Great Divide is not going anywhere.

Neither is my desire to finish it.

This is not the ending I imagined. It is simply where this chapter pauses.

Thank you to everyone who has followed along, donated to the American Cancer Society, sent messages of encouragement, and shared in this adventure. Your support made every mile more meaningful, and the fundraiser continues even though the ride is on pause.

The trail will wait.

And one day, I’ll be back.

-Bill

The last few days have been some of the hardest of the ride so far.

I have now ridden 837 total miles from Banff to Lima, Montana. That number feels both encouraging and a little hard to process. The miles are adding up, but so is the fatigue.

A few days ago, I crossed the 700 mile mark, which was a big milestone. My legs definitely felt it. After many days of riding, climbing, sun, and long hours on the bike, the tiredness has started to build in a different way.

This part of the ride has been beautiful, but it has also been draining.

In Helena, I said “see you later” to Terry and Troy. It was great riding with them. They helped keep the pace steady, and it meant a lot to share the early part of the journey together.

Since Helena, Chris from Idaho, Darren from Pennsylvania, and David from Minnesota have all become familiar faces along the route. Chris and Darren have been part of much of this journey, and David has been showing up more often as we move south.

After being apart since Helena, Darren found us at camp last night, which was a great surprise and felt like reconnecting at exactly the right time. Today, before reaching Lima, we also caught back up with Chris. David was at Divide campground as well, and we shared his site.

They are all strong riders and good people, and those small connections along the route continue to be one of the best parts of this experience. It helps to share the highs and lows of each day with others who understand what this route can ask of you.

After Helena, Chris and I were both tired enough that we chose to skip the major climb for the day and take an alternate route. That was the right decision. There are times on this ride when being smart matters more than being stubborn.

The next day started just north of Wise River and ended at Bannack State Park. I rode with Chris and David all day. The morning was rough. I was tired from multiple days of riding in the sun, and I think I was also dehydrated. More than that, I was feeling low.

I was missing home.

I miss my family more than anything, and in an unexpected way, I am grateful for that feeling. Being out here has reminded me how much I love my family and how grateful I am for the life we have together. The distance makes that clearer, not smaller.

That does not make the feeling easy. The physical side of this ride is difficult, but I know I can keep pedaling. The mental side is different. There are moments when the miles, the fatigue, and the distance from home all catch up at once.

At the same time, I do not see that as a bad thing. It is part of what this experience is teaching me.

The section between Wise River and Bannack State Park was absolutely amazing. The scenery was incredible, and the riding was great. That is part of what makes this experience so complicated. A day can be beautiful and difficult at the same time.

Today brought another challenge. Overnight, my knee went out and was very painful. Thankfully, it popped back in with a little effort, but it hurt for most of the day.

I rode with Darren today, and even with the knee pain, we finished a 26 mile climb. By the time we reached the top, I was physically drained. Missing home was better today, but my body was tired. We still had 40 miles to go to Lima.

Eventually, we made it.

It ended up being an 80 mile day, the longest of the ride so far. Big Sheep Creek Canyon was a highlight and a very cool section to ride through. After the pain, fatigue, and mental battles of the past few days, rolling into Lima felt like a real accomplishment.

Tonight, I have a hotel room and laundry.

Out here, that feels like luxury.

The ride is still going. I am still moving south. Some days are strong, some days are low, and some days are both. That seems to be the rhythm of the Great Divide.

Thank you to everyone following along, sending encouragement, and supporting the American Cancer Society fundraiser. The messages and support matter more than you know, especially on the hard days.

-Bill

We have now made it from Banff to Fernie, covering 159 miles over the first three riding days.
Monday was a travel day, followed by bike assembly and the first reminder of how generous the bikepacking community can be. Rae and Austin welcomed us to camp in the backyard of Rae’s dad, Bill. They did not stop there. They also made us dinner, which was an incredible way to begin this trip.

After months of planning and training, that first night was a great reminder that this ride is not only about the route. It is also about the people we meet along the way.

Speaking of that, Chris from Idaho has been riding with us for the past day and a half. He camped with us and is also staying at the Airbnb in Fernie tonight. It has been great sharing the early miles, camp conversations, and a little extra trail knowledge with someone who started out as a stranger just a day ago.

Day 1 ended near the north end of Spray Lakes Reservoir, just off Kananaskis Lakes Trail, after our first real push south from Banff. Seeing the route on a map is one thing. Rolling into camp surrounded by the mountains made it feel like the journey had truly begun.

Since then, we have been riding about 50 miles a day. The scenery has been incredible. The mountains are stunning, rugged, and constantly present. Every day has brought views that make it hard not to stop and take everything in.

We have also had plenty of wildlife sightings already. We have seen black bears and grizzlies, fortunately nothing too close, along with mountain goats or sheep, deer, elk, and what may have been an ermine. I am still not completely sure about that last one, but it was a quick and interesting sighting.

The weather has been good for riding overall. Today brought a strong headwind from Sparwood to Fernie, and that section was tougher than expected. It was not particularly technical, but some of the rocky roads were among the roughest surfaces I have ridden. It was a reminder that a road does not need to be technical to be demanding.

We have stayed at two campgrounds so far, including one near the Elk Lakes area and another in Elkford. I have been especially grateful for the showers at both.

Tonight, we are taking a break from camping at an Airbnb in Fernie. The alternative was dispersed camping and trying to find a suitable spot along the trail. With rain in the forecast and uncertainty around where we would land, this felt like the right choice.

Most importantly, I am feeling really good. My legs are tired at the end of each day, as they should be, but I do not feel worn down. That is encouraging as we settle into the rhythm of the ride.
Tomorrow, assuming all goes well, we should reach the Canada and United States border.

Thank you to everyone following along, supporting the American Cancer Society fundraiser, and sending encouragement. It is great to know there are so many people riding along with us in spirit.

-Bill

After months of planning, training, packing, repacking, and trying to think through every possible detail, the trip is officially underway.

I am writing this from the airplane on the way to Calgary. My first update from the road is not from a remote trail or mountain pass. It is a photo of my bike being loaded onto a Delta flight.

For now, that feels like a very important milestone.

The plan is to arrive in Canmore, get settled, put the bike back together, and then ride to Banff before beginning the journey south. That might be tonight or tomorrow depending on how the day goes.

There are still plenty of unknowns ahead, but this is the moment when the planning starts turning into the real thing.

Thank you to everyone who has supported the fundraiser, shared the site, sent encouragement, and followed along so far. Reaching the halfway point toward the American Cancer Society goal before the ride begins has been incredible.

Next stop: Canmore.

Scratch that! Going to Banff instead and going to get ready there.

-Bill

Departure is close, and the nature of this journey is about to change.

Until now, most of the work has happened behind the scenes. Soon, the route itself will begin making the decisions.

I have a general plan for the ride, but not a fixed daily itinerary. Weather, trail conditions, mechanical issues, fatigue, and many other variables will determine how each day unfolds.

I want the freedom to make good decisions rather than feel obligated to reach a certain place on a certain day. The goal is to move steadily, stay safe, take care of the bike and myself, and adapt to whatever the route brings.

Once the ride begins, the live tracker will be the easiest way to follow my progress. I also plan to share photos and updates whenever service, time, and energy allow.

Some days may produce a longer story. Others may produce only a photo or a few sentences. There may also be stretches when you do not hear from me at all.

That will most likely mean I am beyond cell service, working through a difficult section, or focused on eating, recovering, and getting ready to ride again the next morning.

There is also some news worth sharing before I go.
As of today, we reached the halfway point toward the $25,000 fundraising goal for the American Cancer Society. That is an incredible milestone to reach before the first mile has even been ridden. There is still a long way to go, but reaching the halfway point makes the impact of this effort feel very real. To everyone who has donated, shared the fundraiser, or helped spread the word, thank you.

One of the most meaningful and unexpected parts of this experience has been reconnecting with people I have not spoken with in far too long.

I have heard from old friends, former colleagues, riding partners, and people from many different chapters of my life. Some conversations picked up as though no time had passed. Others brought back stories and memories I had nearly forgotten.

Every one of them has reminded me how fortunate I am to have so many people willing to encourage me and be part of this. The support has meant more than I can fully express.

In my first posts, I wrote: Keep riding. Keep preparing. Keep showing up.

The riding and showing up will continue. But the preparation is nearly over.

Now it is time to begin.

Thank you for helping me get to the start.

-Bill

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

I’ve been thinking about when to write the first post for this site. Part of me thought I should wait until I was about a month out from the start. That felt like the official time to begin posting updates.

But the truth is, the ride has already started in a lot of ways.

Not the Great Divide itself. That begins on June 22, when I roll out from Banff and start heading south toward Antelope Wells. But the preparation, the planning, the early mornings, the tired legs, and the constant balancing act between work, home, family, and training are already very real.

So this feels like the right time to begin.

I’ve wanted to ride the Great Divide for a long time. It has been one of those big rides that stays in the back of your mind. The kind of challenge that keeps calling even when life is full and busy. The scale of it, the remoteness, the mountains, the uncertainty, and the simplicity of moving forward by bike have always pulled me toward it.

At the same time, I didn’t want this ride to be only about checking off a personal goal.

As I got more serious about actually doing it, I started thinking about how the ride could serve a bigger purpose. If I was going to ask people to follow along for 2,700 miles, maybe I could also ask them to help make a difference.

That is why I’m using this ride to raise money for the American Cancer Society.

Year to date, I’ve ridden about 1,500 miles. That feels like a lot, and it is. Those miles have been squeezed into mornings, evenings, weekends, and whatever windows I can find around work and home commitments.

I’m also fortunate to train in and around Asheville, North Carolina, where the terrain does not give up many easy miles. So far this year, I’ve logged almost 130,000 feet of elevation gain. That climbing has been good preparation, and a steady reminder that the Great Divide will ask a lot from both the bike and the body.

Still, it is humbling to think that once I’m on the Great Divide, I’ll need to ride roughly my year to date mileage in just over a month.

That thought makes the whole thing feel very real.

I’m training as much as I can. Some weeks feel strong. Some weeks feel like life has other plans. I’m learning to accept both. The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is to keep showing up.

That feels like the right mindset for this ride.

This is something I have wanted to do for a long time. It is also an opportunity to make a difference while doing it. Both of those things are true, and together they make the ride feel even more meaningful.

I’m grateful for everyone who has already encouraged me, asked questions, donated, shared the site, or simply said, “I’ll be following along.” That matters more than you know.

For now, the focus is simple:

Keep riding.
Keep preparing.
Keep showing up.

The miles are starting to feel real.

And I’m glad you’re here for the journey.

-Bill