Bears, Mixed Emotions, and Canada

July 9th-12th

Good Morning! When we last left off, Sarah and I had spent the night in Ovando with our new friends and were headed towards Holland Lake. Let me catch you up.

After a quick stop at the general store for some skittles and a Sprite, I rolled out of Ovando with Tom, Becca and Chelsea. We rode together for a ways, and then, as it tends to happen, we slowly spread out and I rode solo the rest of the way to Holland Lake. It’s an interesting thing out here—despite wanting to ride with other folks, you have to find your own rythym and pace and do your own thing. Everyone gets it, and there are no hard feelings when someone moves on or hangs back; we’re all riding the same route, but having our own, vastly different and unique experience.

The ride to Holland Lake was gorgeous. The mountains started getting bigger, and the scenery started to look like what you find in Glacier National Park—gorgeous river valleys flanked by huge granite peaks peppered with snow. The route took me on a couple of really fun singletrack sections, too, which is always a treat for this mountain biker.

Sarah texted me on the InReach midday to inform me that after working from Ovando all morning, she’d made it to Holland Lake and was now living her best life. She went on a trail run, and was laying on the beach of one of the prettiest alpine lakes she’d ever been to. That image helped me pedal quickly and get in to the lake early, around 4pm. We went for a swim, had an early dinner and camped at the lake.

I left Holland Lake on the morning of the 10th and headed into a section of the route that my friend Bailey nicknamed “The Bear Maze.” He’d warned me about this area before I left on my trip, and told me, “If you’re going to see a bear anywhere on the route, it’ll be there. The feeling that you’re in Grizzly country is palpable.” With his words playing on repeat in my head, I cautiously headed north and quickly realized why he gave it that name. For the first time in some 2000ish miles, the route entered thick forest and the road was flanked by tight trees on either side. It truly felt like pedaling through a hedgemaze at times, and I could only see about 100-150 yards ahead of me because of the circuitious path the road took.

The longer I spent pedaling through the maze, the more I got used to it, and the thoughts of a Grizzly lunging for me from the brush began to fade. But then, I came around a corner and saw a small black creature in the middle of the road about 120 yards ahead of me. It didn’t notice me at first, and I stopped as soon as I saw it, initially thinking it was a wolf. I reached for my phone to get a photo, and then it dawned on me that this critter was way too small to be a wolf—it was a black bear cub. The excitement of seeing a bear cub wore off instantly when I remembered that cubs don’t wander around in the woods by themselves, and that the cute little cub’s mom was very likely close by. I began clapping my hands and yelling “hey bear” in an attempt to scare the cub (and it’s hidden mother) away, and the cub ran off into the woods. I kept making loads of noise for a few minutes until I worked up the nerve to ride past where the cub had been, and thankfully didn’t see any sign of it or anything else as I rode past. I did, however, find this print in the mud just a little ways past where the cub had been, which confirmed that there were indeed bears in the Bear Maze.

As you can imagine, that encounter woke me up a bit. I began recalling the conversation I’d had with the wildlife photographer in Island Park about how to stay safe in Grizzly country—”make noise in the woods, don’t run from a bear if you see one, and the most important thing is don’t hike or ride by yourself,” he’d said. Perfect, I thought, as I pedaled on by myself with not a soul around.

I kept riding and making lots of noise, alternating between yelling “Hey Bear,” “Heeeeyoooo,” and singing songs as I came around corners in an effort to not surprise anything that may be waiting on the other side. You feel like a total idiot doing this, but it works, and makes you feel a bit better. At one point, the road turns to a thin ribbon of singletrack with knee-high grass on both sides, and winds through thick forest for a mile or two—I sang very loudly through there. 

After a little while I bumped into two women riding southbound who stopped to warn me about 2 massive piles of bear scat they’d seen on the road up ahead. The piles were so large that at first they’d thought it was horse poop, but upon inspection realized it was, indeed, from a bear. Yikes. I told them about the cub I’d seen, and as I rode away they told me to “keep singing.” Copy that! 

A few minutes later I passed the first mountain of bear feces right in the middle of the road. I can confirm that it was large enough to pass for horse manure, which was fairly disconcerting (my horse, Rio, weighs 1300lbs, for what it’s worth). The volume of my singing increased as I passed the second pile, and at that point I really began to wish my father-in-law, who’s a classicly trained vocalist with the voice of an angel, was riding with me— at least at then the singing wouldve been nice to listen to, rather than my tone-deaf “renditions” of John Fogerty’s “Lodi” and The Eagles’ “Take it Easy.” Don Henley I am not—but perhaps that would scare off the bears faster?

I passed a third, very fresh pile of steaming bear poop, and came around a corner mid-song to see a large brown creature running down the middle of the road. I was close enough to immeadlately tell that it was a Grizzly by the characteristic hump on it’s shoulder, which was both an amazing and terrifying thing to see up close. Thankfully, the bear must have been a music snob and thought my Don Henley impression was as terrible as I did, and it scampered off into the woods at full speed. I stopped and started yelling and clapping to make sure it kept running, and after a while took out my bear spray and walked my bike past the spot the bear had been. I found some very fresh grizzly tracks in the soft dirt, but didn’t pause long enough to get a photo.

Thankfully, that was the last bear encounter I had for the day. I feel both very lucky to have seen a bear at all, which is quite a rare experience and treat for a nature lover, and also very lucky that my encounters weren’t any more intimate. I rode to the town of Bigfork, MT, that afternoon, and met Sarah for a lovely night in one of the cutest towns I’ve passed through so far. We had a great dinner at a Sushi restaurant in town, and spent the night in an Inn she’d found on Flathead Lake. 

The next day Sarah and I ran into Chelsea, Tom and Becca as I was leaving Bigfork. They’d camped just about 20 miles outside of town and were on there way in to resupply and take a rest day. We said our goodbyes to them, and I rode on towards Whitefish. The riding consisted of around 60 miles of pavement through the towns of Columbia Falls and Whitefish that morning, and by the time I made it to Whitefish Sarah had already gotten her work done for the day and was en route to our planned campsite that evening at Red Meadow Lake.

I got an InReach message from her later in the afternoon that said “this road is ROUGH, yikes,” and started to wonder about how the 2-wheel drive demo van was doing. I kept pedaling and ran into two women going south, who, upon realizing that “the gal in the van” was my wife, started going on and on about how sweet and amazing she was. Turns out Sarah had stopped to offer them food and drinks just as they were nearing the top of their climb and totallty gassed. Sarah’s trail angel work continues, it seems.

The riding got significantly more challenging after I passed them, and it turned out that the vast majority of the elevation gain for the day took place over about 10 miles right at the end of the ride to Red Meadow Lake. I was completely wrecked by the time I got there, and immeadiately stripped down and jumped in the icey cold water. That was a godsend, as were the pretzels and home-grown apricots that a family offered me while I dried off.

As I was about to leave, two German guys rode up. They asked if I was camping there, and I explained to them that I was meeting my wife down the road at a different campsite. They realized she was “the girl in the van,” and told me to thank her for offering them food, as well. Turns out the one guy Sarah spoke to said they were fine and didn’t need anything to eat, and his buddy was livid with him for that because he was starving. 

I found Sarah at an incredible campsite along a river just outside the border of Glacier National Park. It was one of the most beautiful areas I’ve ridden through yet, and the campsite was like having a front row seat at a private concert your favorite band was playing—Glacier has long been one of my favorite places, but it, like so many National Parks, is crawling with tourists in the Summer. Not here, though.

The first time I visited Glacier was 15 years ago (nearlly to the month), with my dear friend Tyler West. We were in college, and had found internships at a television production company in Missoula for the Summer. That was our justifiation to our parents, but really we both just wanted to explore the Western US, and we ended up putting 10,000 miles on my old Jeep Cherokee doing just that. Tyler actually took me on my first “bikepacking” trip that Summer—it was a poorly planned and short road biking trip (that we both did on mountain bikes) from Missoula to LoLo Hot Springs. We loaded our backpacks with 30+ pounds of camping gear and pedaled on the road in the July heat, and at the time, I absolutely hated it—my how things change. Later that Summer, we went on a backpacking trip in Glacier NP that to this day remains one of my favorite trips of all time. I fell in love with the American West that Summer, and really credit the trip with steering the trajectory of my personal and professional life since. (If you want a good laugh, here’s an old video Tyler and I made about some of our travels that Summer that actually won a Lonely Planet contest back in the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=FKGaV1Io1ZI&fulldescription=1&gl=US&hl=en&client=mv-google). 

Alright, Sarah’s now telling me I’ve spent far too much time this morning waxing poetic about Glacier National Park and Grizzly bear encounters, and it’s time to ride my bike. I crossed into Canada yesterday at the Roosville border crossing station, which was a pretty emotional experience for me, and have about 205 miles left before arriving in Banff and finishing the ride. 

I’ve got a lot more to say about that, but for now, onward!