Reset: Going Home from the Great Divide

My average speed keeps increasing.  First, walking to the bus stop.  Then, riding the bus to Denver.  Now, speeding through Denver on the train to the airport.  Soon, flying over the US a distance in mere hours greater than I travel in 2.5 weeks.  Despite the immense relative distance traveled already, I haven’t experienced or seen very much of interest.  But it has given my mind time to focus inward and think about what comes next.

Yesterday, walking around Steamboat, having already dropped my bike off at the local bike shop (Orange Peel Cycles- what a place!) to be packed and shipped home, waiting for 1pm to roll around so I could check into the hotel for the evening, I blended in with the tourists, dirty looking CDT hikers, and local mountain bikers who seemed to be rolling all over the town on their way to local trails that I know nothing about.  It struck me as funny that we all are physically in this same place and time, without knowing what each is up to.  I am just another random person here.  

But on the trail, people know what you are doing and there is a sort of respect, or maybe appreciation, or maybe a communal understanding of what you as an individual are trying to do, biking the GDMBR.  The same could be said of intersecting with CDT hikers- an immediate shared connection, of a similar shared experience, set of struggles and challenges, of a like mindset.  

Rolling into a bigger city or town, you lose that status of sorts, blending into the anonymity of the masses.  But this isn’t always true.  Some places openly and obviously embrace and recognize our presence.  Ovando, Pinedale, Seeley stand out from my experience over these past weeks, and I’m sure there are others that I missed or haven’t gotten to.  

And there are exceptions of course.  Like yesterday, as I explored Steamboat, slowly following the Yampa River through town, a cyclist pegged me as a Divide rider given the bike, my packs, and my overall unpolished, rough appearance.  As we chatted, that same connection appeared, the common thread woven, an immediate trust established.  The same occurred walking into the Orange Peel Cyclery- a shared connection and understanding.  I spent over an hour there, chatting with the other Divide riders and the staff.  We all individually are from different places, doing different jobs, having different lives… but that connection of riding the Divide is real and strong.

In this world where the message it so often to guard yourself, isolate to protect yourself, stick to your tribe and keep your defense sharp and ready, assuming the worst can only happen… this ride has been refreshing.  

When you are camping in the absolute middle of nowhere and another person rolls up and the default is to say “Welcome!  There’s lots of room to pitch your tent here too!”  When a NOBO rider is flying down the Mtn pass as you are struggling up it in the opposite direction and they slam on the brakes to stop and chat with you, sacrificing all their hard earned momentum to connect with you, connect, and share trail beta.  When you are mentally in a funk and just want to be done when another bikepacker flies in the opposite direction flashing a thumbs up or peace sign and you are reminded that it’ll get better sooner.  When you roll up to the one general store in a tiny town and see two other Divide bikes leaning against the wall, and you are automatically excited to see who and what they have been up to and the one employee behind the front counter warmly welcomes you like you’re another local because they get it.

Or like yesterday, when the three gentlemen, Todd, Dave, and Larry, who you’d camped near and swapped stories with two nights ago roll up to the hotel and immediately invite you to join them for dinner later that evening.

It’s not all peachy.  Yeah, we get coal rolled.  Yeah, traffic refuses to move over to give you space.  Yeah, some people scowl at you because bikes are for hippy liberals and you are just getting in their car’s way.  And, I must recognize that being a White middle aged man allows me to easily enter this world with an openness that most others aren’t privileged to so easy unfold to.

Sitting outside last night at dinner with 5 other adventurers, of whom I was the youngest by over 25 years, watching the sun set over town, and sharing once again that connection, that common thread with people I really didn’t know, yet a space in time had been created to just be together and enjoy this… it was a good way to wrap things up.  Their question to me, being that I was finishing and they were just starting their Divide ride, was “What would I do next?”  Would I finish the route, coming back to Steamboat and riding through Colorado and New Mexico to the end at Antelope Wells on the border?  

My answer is yes- I would really like to see that part of the trail and country and to travel it with a little more wisdom now gained.  There are other trails out there too in other parts of the world that call my attention.  But, until then… what?

As I ride the bus from Steamboat to Denver, my first automobile ride in 18 days, and my mind starts to return to its patterns and thoughts of home, I do find myself mulling over and wresting with that question of “until then… what?”

Yes, I really do love riding bikes and being in the natural world and pushing myself to do hard things and seeing what the view is like over the top of the pass.  Those are most definitely things that I seek in doing these sort of adventures.  They are the motivators to get out and go, to leave the comfort of home behind for awhile.

But what about that other piece?  The shared connection that comes from a collective group of people sharing something.  I’m an introvert, and there were absolutely times on this adventure when I shied away from others, but that doesn’t mean I don’t value and want to be a part of that connection.

So, until I can get back out there on two wheels and a bike loaded with all I need, do I just have to wait to be a part of that again?

No.  What if this was part of home?  What if this was just a normal piece of everyday being and life?  What if work, teaching, had this?

I think it can.  So that’s what my “until then” will be.  How do I create this beyond the trail?  How can I bring this shared connection, and the positives that come with it, into the school I teach in?  How do I help everyone in our building feel this connection and benefit from it?  What if students, teachers, staff, and administrators showed up to school each day all with the mindset and understanding that one experiences individually as part of the trail community?  What if it was not a place where individuals disappeared into anonymity, becoming just body in a desk, a person in charge of a class, or a server of lunch?  What if…

That’s a lofty goal.  It should keep me busy until I can get back out here.  It’s just another kind of adventure.