Whitefish – Veterans Camp – Seeley Lake – Ovando – Llama Farm – Helena: 409 km

Leaving the comfort of Chuck and Rita’s home and the breezy vibe of Whitefish after two days is hard. But we’re excited of what lays ahead. Still in relaxation mode we decide to trade in some of the climbs and gravel roads for asphalt. Only three days ago we pushed our bikes over the snow-covered Red Meadows pass, now we stop to take swims. We wind up at a campsite run by and for Veterans. Just opened. They have us for free. 

The next day is much the same; swims, rivers and asphalt. This time however, we can’t find a place to sleep. We’re in Seeley Lake, a small village, next to, you guessed it, a lake. It’s popular amongst American tourists. We ask the bartender if we can sleep in the restaurant’s garden. Hard no. We’re too tired to cycle back into the forest to find a place to pitch our tents. So, we ask around. People sit on the decks of their holiday homes, watching the sunset. We ask if we can make camp in their garden. They look at us with sympathy but we get a bunch of no’s. I stroll around and stumble upon a messy garden with a big fire pit. Outside people. They’re busy walking in and out of the wooden house. I approach them, when I see the big ‘Trump 2024’ flag. I stop in my tracks for a second. But I guess this is America too, and it’s not the first time we see those flags, or we’ve been told how the democrats ‘are ruining this country’. But it’s also good to step outside of your bubble, meet some people with different views on the world.

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They’re a bit confused by my proposal, they look at each other for a second, then at me, judging my character. Eventually they’re OK with it. We have dinner off of paper plates that we throw into the firepit once we’re done. They’re moving, and their porch is scattered with carton boxes. They seem genuinely happy to have guests as it gives them a break from the stress of packing. We don’t talk about politics that night, and even though I think all of us know that we have opposing views of the world, of reality for that matter, the time we spend together is lovely. It might help that Marijn and I are white.

Back on The Great Divide. Our morning kilometres are hard. It’s dusty and hot, the gradients are unforgiving. Somewhere, halfway up a climb, drenched in sweat and lurking eagerly from our water bottles we hear music coming up the hill. It turns out to be another cyclist, who seems to have a much easier time than we’re having. To be fear, he’s riding a mountain bike set up much lighter than we are. Trent is his name. We ride together towards the next town; Ovando.

Ovando is a village of nothing; a couple of houses and a shop. It would be an insignificant place, if it wasn’t for their cyclist-friendliness. In the centre, if you can call a junction a centre, there are a tipi, a wagon, and two cabins free for cyclists to sleep in. We stop for a coke, meet a bunch of other Great Divide riders. We had planned on more kilometres today, but we simply can’t leave. The coke’s soon turn into beers. We share our food between us and have marshmallows over the fire. Short day, great meetings.

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In Ovando the tales of the Llama Farm started. There is a place, an oasis for cyclists, just down the road. A day’s drive from here. The people we meet heading north buzz about it. We decide we ought to check it out too. The way there is gruelling. The climbs and the downhills are too rough for our bikes. This is not gravel anymore, these are rock gardens. We bump and stumble over the parkours. Here and there we have to push our bikes because of the lack of grip and the double-digit gradients. On the downhills we have to concentrate, while our hands cramp from clamping down on our brakes. Are we still having fun? It’s all worth it when we arrive. The Llama Farm – somehow only has a few Alpaca’s – is run by two trail angels. There’s a note outside that invites us to take anything from the fridge. There are sandwiches, sodas and beers in there. On the land behind the main house there are six cabins to choose from, all fully stacked with food. What a place. We meet Trent again, but also Matt and Renee, who we’ve met in Ovando are here. We share the night emptying the fridge and cooking from the pantry.

This might be what The Great Divide is all about. Meeting other cyclists and being surprised by bike minded places. The next day’s road takes us to Helena, Montana’s capital. Our expectations are high, this is a capital after all, but are a little disappointed by Helena’s size. It has a main road and some neighbourhoods, that’s all. Nonetheless, we spend two nights there. We have to rest a little, do some chores and clean our bikes. We sleep in Linda’s garden, our Warm Showers host. It’s remarkable how all the cities differ from the farmland and tiny villages. In the wilderness the ranches fly conservative and Trumpian flags. In the town the houses show BLM signs and LGBTQ+ flags. Politics are identity here, and people are not afraid to show it. But there’s no middle ground. It’s black or white, no space for gray.