2026 Tour Divide Shakedown

2026 Tour Divide Shakedown

June 20, 2026

I've been home less than a day, and it feels like I was away for a week or more, not four days. That's one of the things I love about trips into the mountains, especially those that push your limits. Time moves differently when you're out in it. You're absorbing information with all your senses and constantly making small decisions. Somehow that stacks up differently in memory than four routine days. Over the trip, I covered 454 miles with over 31,000 feet of climbing. Here's a brief overview of how it went.

Where We Left Off

In my last post, I laid out where things stood heading into June. I put off my 2026 Tour Divide race ambitions and planned a shakedown ride instead, which had itself been looking unlikely due to a nuisance knee and busy spring of tent-making. But I couldn't quite let it go, so in the few days before heading out, I threw the gear together and rode out to the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route as this year's racers passed through.

Day 1

128 miles and 10,404' of up

My route started from home in Missoula, with about 55 miles of pavement and gravel out to Ovando, where I joined the race route. From there, I pushed to Lincoln for a resupply, then climbed east toward Helena.

Lincoln came at a reasonable pace. The miles were ticking off. Everything slowed down on the climb out of town. I knew to expect this, but it's still a little deflating to watch your average speed collapse. To compound things, I grabbed a gas station cheeseburger in Lincoln, which didn't sit too well on the climb.

Knee pain showed up around mile 70, which I'd been worried about going in. I kept the pace conservative and made camp at mile 128, with just enough light left to not need a headlamp - success!

Day 2 - The Saddle Adjustment

117 miles and 10,157' of up

Up at 4:30 for what I expected to be an easy downhill run into Helena. But lower back pain and general discomfort on the bike had me constantly shifting position and wondering if I should turn around and head home. In Helena, I chugged coffee and downed grocery store breakfast sandwiches before pushing on.

At the edge of town, I risked making a saddle adjustment. I got back on the bike, and my position felt much better. Hard to believe how much one small change can shift a trip. From there, the day got better and better.

From Helena, the route mostly climbs before the final push over Lava Mountain, a notorious segment of steep, washed-out something or other. Coming down the other side, there's a short, rough section I decided to ride. I made it cleanly, right up until the last two feet, when I got distracted by a log and tipped over. No damage, except to my ego.

From there, I descended along Cataract Creek toward Basin, where I met a powerful, soul-draining headwind. Fortunately, the route soon turned enough that the wind wasn't too annoying. I pulled into Butte around 8pm, did a quick resupply, and pushed on, intending to camp at the CDT crossing. I rode into the dark and found the climb much easier and shorter than I remembered (perhaps for a reason)!

Day 3 - Fleecer Ridge

95 miles and 6,923' of up

I hit snooze until 4:30, when I broke camp and started climbing. Wait, climbing? I thought I was at the top. I hadn't looked at the maps closely enough the night before; the top, and the CDT, were another 5 miles ahead! At least the climb helped keep me warm in the near-freezing morning temps.

One descent and one ascent later, I was on Fleecer Ridge, admiring the wildflowers. The descent from Fleecer is super steep and loose, with no real footing to be had. My approach was basically to point downhill and slide.

At Wise River, I split off from the Divide Route and started heading home. The mental shift of being off the route changed how the miles felt. It didn't help that I was now on pavement with little to no shoulder, and while there wasn't much traffic, the vehicles were fast, and I was not. Not the meditative section of the trip.

Then my vision started going blurry. I cleaned my glasses. Still blurry. I made it to Anaconda, grabbed more gas station food, and after eating and drinking, my eyes cleared up. Dehydration?

Leaving Anaconda was slow. I stopped on my way up to Georgetown Lake to eat a pickle. There was more juice left in the bag than I expected, and between my heavy breathing and the overly ambitious swig I attempted, I inhaled the juice right into my lungs. At least I was off the main road at this point. No witnesses!

I stopped for the night at a campground near Georgetown Lake around 8pm. Having a picnic table to sit at was glorious.

Day 4 - Home

114 miles and 3,583' of up

I expected Day 4 to be an easy one: about 75 miles, mostly downhill, straight home. I slept in until 6:30.

Looking at the maps before heading out, I found a problem I'd missed in my rush to put the trip together. A short stretch near the end of my planned route looked like it required crossing railroad property or a stretch of interstate. I had an alternate in mind, though the tradeoff was 40 extra miles and a climb over Skalhaho Pass, bringing the total to around 115 miles.

I took the alternate. The climb was significant, but on the other side I had a long descent, followed by a tailwind for the final stretch home.

Year Over Year

I'd been curious how this year would compare to last year's shakedown. A few things had changed. I'd switched from a monster gravel bike with minimal front suspension to the Yeti ASR, a full-suspension XC mountain bike. I'd also followed a training plan through the winter, though that fell off significantly after I pushed the race back a year, and the injury had kept me off the bike for most of the month before this trip. I went in feeling quite underprepared.

The comparison was encouraging, though not groundbreaking. Day 1 mileage was the same as last year, but a little faster, and I wasn't as worn out at the end. Day 2 felt significantly better after the saddle adjustment, and I covered a little more ground in less time. Day 3 felt similarly hard both years, and that's where the direct comparison ends (since this year I veered off to loop home). I think I had more in the tank this year and would have continued pulling ahead if I'd stayed on the route like last year. The gains were small, but they add up.

Pain-wise: solid improvement. Last year I had severe back and saddle pain that I still don't fully understand how I rode through. This year, I had intermittent back pain, but it was orders of magnitude less. Saddle pain became significant on Day 3, but I'm pretty sure it was a seam-placement issue in the shorts I switched into that morning. I'm riding chamois-less and still working out the kit. Those shorts are now out of the rotation.

The Yeti ASR feels like the right call. Rougher climbs were more manageable, downhills more controlled, and everything was much less jarring; easier on my gear and my body. That comfort adds up over the long days.

The Gear

The 1P Cirriform SW performed as expected, though there was no testy weather and the condensation risk was low. I'd intended to design something closer to a bivy for the race, but having the protected space inside the SW to get things situated at the end of the day, and to prep in the morning, might be worth just sticking with the SW.

I used the Sassafras for extra carrying capacity since my on-bike system isn't fully dialed yet. The Sassafras isn't something I'd normally recommend for dedicated bike use. The shoulder strap pockets have open tops, and when you're in the aerobars or drops, things can fall out if you forget to cinch them closed. Your knees can also clip bulky contents in the shoulder straps when you're in a more aggressive position. I used it because I needed the volume. For the actual Tour Divide, I'll use something more purpose-built, probably a hip pack or a more minimal vest.

The Real Question

After last year's shakedown, the path forward felt clear. Though I seriously questioned things last year, I didn't want to stop at the turnaround point. That felt like a sign to keep going with my Tour Divide ambitions.

This year, I finished feeling more ambivalent about it. Finishing with the stressful road riding probably didn't help, and I need to decide whether the training effort is worth it to get to where I want to be by the start of the race.

More time in the saddle means less time on foot, and these days, I tend to prefer my feet. When I unicycled the route in 2012, I felt like I was winding between the mountains, rather than being up in them; every time I crossed the CDT I thought, "oh, that is where I want to be..." Still, the pace was slow enough that I felt like I was staying connected. Training for sustained effort in the race means fewer long days in the high country doing what connects me most with the outdoors.

These aren't new questions, and 2027 is still on the calendar. The calling is still there, but I need to have a hard and honest think about other adventures that might be better worth my time and effort.

~Gen