Fernie – Eureka – Flathead – Whitefish: 229 km

“Hi fellas! Beautiful day for a ride!”

An obese border officer with a messy moustache waves at us.

“Park your bike anywhere and please come in.”

This seems an unamerican way of getting into the country. But it’s a pleasant one for sure. Marijn and I are the only ones there, the officials are extremely welcoming and even take a picture of us with the flag. And so our Great American Road Trip begins.

In these first kilometres nothing is different from Canada but the flags on the poles in the gardens of the houses next to the road. Not even the amount of flags has changed, just the colours and design. Similar penetration of four wheel drive trucks. We camp in a park in the first city we get into. OK, maybe the storefronts here a bit more western. Eureka, what a name for a village. We’ll have 90 days on our visa to ride to the Mexican border. Which is doable, but we still might need them all. It will be by far the longest period of time I spend in a single country on this trip. But it’s a lifelong dream I’m cashing in. I’ve always imagined doing it by car, the American way, yet by bike might be even better.

The first two days of the American section of The Great Divide takes us over the Flathead mountain range. Just about 2 weeks ago, when the race was passing by, dozens of cyclists have been rescued from there. We’ve been warned more than once. We’re not afraid however, we’re packing heavy, winter clothes included. Before we set out a stranger hands us $ 40. He loves what we’re doing, and “since we didn’t ask for money, here is some.” A strange way of thinking, but we’ll take it any day. “Buy yourselves a beer guys!”

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The climb over the gravel is horrific. Our tires slush over the wet sand. Until the pass becomes impassable. The road is covered with snow and ice, about half a meter thick. We’ll have to hike. And hike we do. It takes us about three hours to get over the snow-covered section, pushing our way too heavy bikes up the steepest gradients while we slip and slide, hoping for traction with each step. We stop every 200 meters to catch our breath, our shoes soaking wet, blisters on our hands. It seems endless. Hike a bike, they call it here. It’s a much too frivolous term for such a grinding act of attrition. But we push through and we make it. We always make it. We sleep next to a river somewhere in the forest. Once our fire is going, the rain starts and drowns it out. Hard day.

The morning brings smoother sailing, even though it’s our seventh consecutive day on the bike. We have the prospect of a warm shower and a rest day. We arrive in Whitefish where we are warmly welcomed by Chuck and Rita. After a wash, they immediately take us out to dinner. We have burgers overlooking the lake. They won’t let us pay for anything. We camp in their garden. Avid cyclists themselves, Chuck is quite busy picking up cyclotourers from the airport and bringing them home to stay in their garden, or even to another town from where the Great Divide starts. We feel welcome here. So welcome that we stay another day. We spend it sitting at the lake, fixing my tent and cleaning our bikes. Ready for the next couple of days. Yet, I’m starting to worry a little bit. The past couple of days have been hard on our bikes and bodies. Compared to the other Great Dividers that we meet, our gear is not really up to the task. Or at least it stands out. Our touring bikes have much smaller tires, mine has no suspension, and both of us are seriously heavily packed. Everybody we’ve met on the trail rides full suspension mountain bikes with huge tire widths and just some frame bags. I guess we’ll find out in the next couple of weeks…