Why Ride the Divide?
Answering the "why the hell are you doing this?" question
Alongside “how do you train for something like that?” the most common question I’ve received about the Tour Divide in recent months has been “what made you want to do that?” (usually followed with some form of “I guess your idea of fun is very different from mine!)
So I thought I’d share a little bit about my path to here and what prompted me to sacrifice my mornings, nights and weekends for the last year and a half in pursuit of what Justinas Leveika - winner of last year’s Tour - described recently as “one of the most brutal ultra races on earth.”
The path to here
A couple of years ago, I read the book Just Ride by Ty Hopkins, which chronicled his adventure during the 2018 Tour Divide. From the book’s description:
“The route, the conditions, the gear, the strategy, the training, the mental struggles, the embarrassing moments, and the physical battle are all described throughout a story that offers a genuine look into what was experienced and felt throughout the ultimate test of mountain bike endurance.”
I’d never heard of the Tour Divide before, but I found the idea fascinating. What would it take to ride 4,500km? Why did he seem to take so much satisfaction out of it despite the misery (sometimes quite graphic misery) he went through? How did he stick through the hard times long enough to enjoy the high points?
Doing something like this seemed unachievable and abstract to me at the time. Not only would it be an unrealistic undertaking on its own, but I had two young kids at home, a busy job and plenty of other things going on in life. Frankly, even the idea of taking that much time off work seemed unrealistic. So I parked the thought at the back of my mind and forgot about it for a while.
Then I saw Jack Keogh’s superb film “The Hardest Race on Earth” on YouTube in late 2023. The film documented the ups and downs - warts and all - of his experiences on the Divide in honest, heartfelt detail, and I got hooked on the idea that this might be something that a mere mortal like me might dream of. That film has been top of mind for me ever since I first saw it, and I’ve watched it many times, including as recently as the last couple of weeks.
From there I went deep down the rabbit hole of videos from other people who have done the ride - from the elite racers like Lael Wilcox and Lachlan Morton, to the hundreds of videos from everyday people like me (Matt Smith, Rob Givens, Chris Smith, Justin McKinley, Team Rowdy and so many more) who set out to accomplish something remarkable.
Then something clicked in my head: I had an upcoming three-week sabbatical from work coming up in 2025 - maybe, just maybe, I could actually consider taking this on.
So I chatted about the idea with my wife and after getting her support… ok, after getting muted agreement… ok, after getting a non-committal grunt, I started to think more and more about this as an idea rather than a pipe dream.
At the start my preparation was non-committal - I wanted to stay in shape and needed to lose some weight anyway, I figured, and so I could start to “train” without signing up for something. That was in January 2024. I also started to research the route, and gear, and followed that year’s ride closely to learn more about it. It was only in the Fall that I really decided to commit (with my wife’s actual buy-in, this time!).
But why?
I grew up riding bikes. In fact, some of my earliest, fondest and sometimes most painful memories are of getting into various scrapes and escapades on two wheels. As I grew up, I kept cycling - to and from school; to and from my paper round; doing laps up in the large wooded area behind my parents’ house.
In university I casually got into cross-country mountain biking, and rode briefly with a university club. After I moved to Canada and got settled, I started to pick up cycling again… until my bike fell off the back of a car when my girlfriend at the time was driving it home one day, the frame was wrecked, and after that cycling drifted into the background for a while.
Fast forward a few years, and I was reintroduced to the sport. I bought a Cannondale cyclocross bike somewhere around 2015, and was re-hooked once again. A year or two later my dad - who has been an avid cyclist my whole life, but especially so since he retired - raised the idea of doing a bike tour when he visited one year. So I bought myself some panniers, loaded up and we headed out on a week-long tour from Toronto, up through the Muskoka region, across Algonquin Park, down through the Kawartha Lakes and back to Toronto.
I absolutely loved it, and did a few more tours over the next couple of years. I’ve always gravitated towards sports and events where it was me vs myself, pushing myself to be better every time - and touring scratched that itch perfectly. Just me against the clock - no opponents, no teams - just me and a drive to keep improving. From that perspective, ultra-endurance cycling is a great fit with my personality.
On top of this, I’ve always felt drawn to mountains. When someone tells me to go to my “happy place”, I picture myself sipping coffee while sitting on a balcony in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - surrounded by mountains on all sides - and immediately feel relaxed.
The Princess Margaret Cancer Foundation
In addition to riding the Divide this year, I’ve opted to do the ride as a fundraiser for the Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation (PMCF), for two reasons:
So this isn’t a purely personal undertaking, and I can leave a positive mark not just on myself but on the world by striving to complete this ride.
So that, when my head is in a dark place - when I have to wake after yet another 4-hour night of sleep for a training ride, or need to push through exhaustion on the ride itself - I have an external motivator to keep me going, knowing that other people have committed their hard-earned dollars and that I need to give it everything I can to not let them down.
Cancer is a topic that’s near and dear to my heart. I’ve lost several family members, friends and colleagues to cancer, including two of my grandparents - and I know several people currently going through treatment and recovery.
PMCF is one of the world’s top cancer research organizations, and is dedicated to advancing cancer research, patient care and treatment. PMCF is behind some of the most advanced cancer research and treatments in the world, right here in Canada.
I first participated in fundraisers for PMCF a few years after arriving in Canada in the mid-2000s, twice joining their two-day, 60km “Walk to Conquer Cancer,” each time raising $2,000 to participate. Last year, I joined another fundraiser - the two-day, 200km “Ride to Conquer Cancer” from Toronto to Niagara Falls - and this time raised over $6,000.
This time I’m aiming for $10,000. As my brain rationalized it, if I can raise $6k for two days of riding, $10k for 20+ significantly harder days should be doable! At the time of writing, I am sitting at around $7,000. Getting there!
(To that point, if you’ve made it this far - thank you. And if you’re moved to contribute, I’d be incredibly grateful for your support.)
So, why the Tour Divide?
Because it’s hard. Because it’s long. Because it’s uncertain. And because that’s exactly what makes it worth doing.
Somewhere between the long training rides, the gear spreadsheets, the aching legs, and the early mornings, I’ve discovered a deeper sense of purpose about this crazy undertaking - one that connects my love of adventure, my desire to push myself, and my hope to make a difference.
This journey isn’t just about crossing a finish line in New Mexico. It’s about honoring the people I’ve loved and lost, getting back to my happy place, showing my kids what dedication looks like, and proving to myself that the impossible might just be possible.
If I can turn that spark of curiosity from a book and a YouTube video into 4,500 kilometers of dirt, gravel, and grit, and improve the world a little bit along the way, that feels like something good to aspire to.