In September of 2022 I participated in a bikepacking race around Montana. After the race I wrote a recap of my ride. Its featured here https://bikepacking.com/news/2022-montana-bike-odyssey-recap/ as well.

I never know what to expect for a trip like this. There is no way to know what will happen, what will break, what will hurt, when you’ll feel great or when you’ll crack. 

Maybe you won’t crack. Perhaps you want to. 

When I heard of the Montana Bike Odyssey, I knew I had to participate. I couldn’t pass up a 1700 mile epic that starts and finishes a mile from my house in Bozeman. 

The MBO is ridden as a clockwise loop through Montana. Approximately 1000 miles of gravel and the remainder being remote paved county roads and bicycle paths. With over 100,000 feet of climbing and descending this route has found many of the mountain passes worth peddling in Montana. The first thousand miles are spent west of the divide, with forests of conifers, sustained climbs and long descents. The second half the route drops east of the divide where it becomes stark and vast. A wide open sky with rolling climbs, heading down the plains towards the canyons of the Missouri river. Towns are scattered along the route, mostly ranching and farming communities. Everything from one street, one bar towns to the seemingly big cities of Missoula and Great Falls. Many times it’s remote, passing through lonely sections of national forest, offering access to endless wildlife and solitude. A true Odyssey. 

In July 2021, I rode the tour divide route from Whitefish to Antelope Wells. I set out solo, long after the grand depart, with no ideas of racing. My goal was to finish. I’ve been obsessed with the TD since it was introduced to me, and I felt I had to ride it. I met friends along the way and rode miles that pushed the boundaries of what I thought was possible for me. I finished the route happy but unsatisfied. I knew I could go faster and put in longer days. Especially if someone was chasing me. I wanted to race. The MBO started a week after I returned to Bozeman from New Mexico, too soon I decided. I set my sights on 2022. 

Two days before the start of 2022 MBO smoke arrived in the valley. The culprit unknown, “somewhere out west” was thrown around. Clear skies had prevailed all summer, until now. Disappointing but a good reminder of how quickly conditions can change. The smoke would persist the entirety of the race, varying in severity day by day and valley by valley. 

The night before we race. Five eager participants gathered at the home of route developer, race organizer and participant Graham Goff. 

After completing the 2018 trans am race with his son Ben Goff, Graham and Ben began developing a route of their own. In September 2020 after countless hours of planning and thousands of miles spent driving on bumpy roads the Montana Bike Odyssey was born. Graham has ridden and completed all three Odyssesss since its conception. Graham’s dedication to his passion and the sport of Bikepacking is what makes this community so great.

A pre-ride brief, bike check and pizza. With such a small group it was casual, we talked about bags and components, knowing we were kindred spirits. For all of us to be here we must be the same kind of crazy. It was clear this group was here to race, to push big miles and themselves. All of us except Graham were MBO first timers but everyone had experiences that would aid them. Confidence was expressed. 

7AM, September 6^th. A small crowd waved us off. Pedaling away from the Bozeman Public library, the same spot we’d hopefully all finish at. 1700 miles from now. There was 10 miles of neutral start. We chatted with each other and the few friends who ridden down to join us for a few miles. Going through the final checks in my head. “I think I have everything. Remember there is a long way to go.” It was cold, but I knew today would be hot and exposed. We hit gravel north of town, zig zaging north, south, west, and south again. Passing grain silos and old trucks. Through Three Forks and the headwaters of the Missouri. Heading south for Ennis up the Madison River drainage, with our first pass over the Gravely mountains looming in the distance. 120 miles in I looked at fellow racer Dexter Kopas with astonishment when he said he was planning to push through the night another 80 miles to Dillon. Knowing it would be foolish to blow up on day one, I went on another ten miles and slept. I would not see Dexter until I finished, 13 days later. 

Day four I slept for an extra hour after waking up to frozen water bottles and ice-covered handlebars. Forgetting gloves did not help. Summer was certainly over. 

Day eight started with a climb. Ten miles and 2000+ ft found me on top fiddling with my derailleur. Trying to diagnose why my shifting was so clunky. Quickly I discovered my lower jockey wheel had seized. I removed the screw. As it pulled through the shredded bearing disintegrated, dispersing its contents in every direction on the dark road. With the help of Graham, who had caught me the night before, we pieced together what we could and got the screw back in. It was a loose mess, but it spun and I could shift. One hundred miles and lots of climbing to Whitefish. The bike shops there offering my best, and only chance at a replacement. We made it at dusk, the bike shops had all closed. An REI 15 miles down the highway was open for another 25 minutes and seemed to have a set of jockey wheels that would work. With the help of an eager uber driver who was willing to speed, Graham for watching my bike and the guys at REI for selling me a part they don’t retail, we were back rolling by 9pm. 

Day twelve I experienced my highest moment of the trip. A sunrise over the Missouri breaks that had me convinced I was in the African Savanna. I also experienced my lowest after crossing the first river ferry of the day. It was 80 miles to the next ferry, and it closed in 10 hours. If I missed it, I would have to wait 12 hours. My legs felt like lead, the mud made it feel as if I was dragging an anchor and the 300+ miles I had left felt insurmountable. I yelled and cried. Asking myself why I was even doing it. If it hurt this bad why would I subject myself to this. I stopped pedaling. I told myself I wasn’t going to make the ferry. It lasted less than a minute but that moment would define the entire ride. I had to get back on the bike and keep going. The only way out is forward, and only yourself can make you do it. I hit dry gravel and I was laughing. In Big Sandy I resupplied for the hundred plus miles to Lewistown. I downed a can of pears in syrup. My legs came back and I made the ferry with time to spare. 

280 miles to the finish and it felt like nothing could stop me. One big day, some sleep and then whatever’s left. I rode with everything I had to get away from a chasing Graham. Sixty miles from the finish I could see the Bridger Mountains reaching high over the hills. I was heading that way, closing in on home. Arriving back at the library, family and friends were there to greet me. I was smiling, smelly and satisfied. 

There is no knowing what will happen on a ride like this. What can be known is that it will be a ride of not only beautiful roads, trails and vistas but also of emotions and experiences. It’s a razors edge, your body teetering between exhaustion and motion. Your head is swapping from mania to gloom. An experience like this one distills life down to little wins and losses, to climbs and descents, to food and rest. It brings it home that we should always be moving forward.