Singletrack/MTB
Gravel/All-road
Dirt-road Touring
Fat-bike
The Dark Divide 300 is a challenging mixed-terrain route traversing the expansive ancestral lands of the Squaxin Island Tribe, Nisqually Tribe of Indians, Cowlitz Indian Tribe, and Confederated Tribes of the Grand Ronde through what is known commonly as the Southern Cascade Mountain Range in Washington. Find a recap from three participants of the first annual grand depart here…
Words by Becca Book (3rd place overall, 2nd place women), Katie Smyth (7th place overall, 3rd place women), and Raasika Gaugler (15th place overall, 6th place women); photos by various participants
On an overcast Thursday in early August, a group of 27 cyclists gathered in Squaxin Park with an intriguing mix of bikes, each reflecting their personality. They were color-coordinated and loud, home-made, and custom-curated. A full third of those on the starting line were WTFNB riders, thanks in large part to three years of thoughtful community building by race organizer Ben Everett.
At 7 a.m. sharp, the group rolled out, riding “into the trees, into the trees” as the trail anthem “A Forest” by The Cure directs. The first 28 miles follow a smooth multi-use trail, allowing time to build connections between riders before scattering into the remote Dark Divide Roadless Area for which the route is named. Riders exchanged familiar greetings: “Did I pack enough snacks?”… “Maybe I packed too many snacks?”… “How many snacks are too many?” With each pedal stroke, the anxiety fades and is replaced by a shared desire for adventure. The transition from the city to mountain, from group to alone, happens in increments. The first group sprints ahead. They will ride through the night.
After the small town of Eatonville, the route reaches the first gravel climb. The steepest part is at an opening in the forest with tall trees and purplish-pink flowers. Breathtaking scenery accompanied by brutal climbs is a recurring theme on this route. Pacific Northwest routes often follow logging roads, which the Department of Natural Resources will tear up once the prime slices of lumber have been logged. The road clambers over a half-dozen boulder piles placed to let everyone know there are no more trees worth logging before descending down a smooth road into Packwood. To the left, rugged cliffs frame the first views of Tahoma (Mt. Rainier).
Packwood is a full-service town and offers riders the last creature comforts before winding deeper into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. The route winds through the fertile valley carved by the Cowlitz and Cispus Rivers to an unmaintained road dotted with fallen trees, debris, and a series of gravel washouts to duck and dodge through. Success is rewarded by a 5,000-foot climb to Juniper Ridge.
Juniper Ridge is crowned by a mountain bike trail that quickly becomes too steep and powdery to ride, with grades reaching 40 percent. It’s hard to even hike, forcing riders to tackle the trail through some combination of pushing or shouldering their bikes. Carefully assess where to put your foot, as there is a sheer face to the right that could be described either as an epic vista or a gaping void.
This 2.5-mile struggle leads to an open ridge line with alpine flowers and views of Tahoma and Pahto (Mt. Adams) that float above even the most persistent Pacific Northwest clouds. The sandy terroir, while by no means easy to ride, contributes to a rather pleasant sensation that you are floating down the ridge line. The trail quickly dives into a deep tangle of moto trails that was a mess of hike-a-bike with a few tumbles into the bushes for most racers.
By the first night of the first day of the grand depart, dots were strung along the course from the climb out of Packwood to deep in the Dark Divide, but the darkness made any idea of the distance abstract. Each racer had a similar view of a small section of trail eaten by milky black. The rest of the surroundings blend together into a series of ups and downs, rarely broken by the lights of a passing motorist. One motorist who thinks they are being helpful volunteers that there are cougars in the area. Some of the racers try to nap, surrounded by stumps that look like bears and cougars or any other beast you could imagine in the narrow beam of a head lamp. The weight of solitude is heavy in the darkness, but as dawn slowly approaches, the darkness is broken by streaks of color through the sky, more vivid than our shared hallucinations. The Perseids were peaking that night, and shooting stars lit up the sky above each ridge line.
After what could have been forever or no time at all, the sunrise glows purple through a haze that settles low on the horizon with a few peaks poking through. After nearly a day of solitude, the animals become welcoming companions, and the volcanoes become friends that visit on the horizon to tell you that you’re moving closer to Portland. Tahoma moves behind you, and Pahto grows larger to your left. The ripe huckleberries start to shine in the dawn light, offering an appealing snack.
For those with a more hearty appetite after cycling 200 miles, there is another resupply option at Trout Lake. The little town offers burgers, scones, and an opportunity to catch up on wifi. The route from Trout Lake to the tiny unincorporated hamlet of Stabler is easy, even at night; the few potholes are highlighted in the slow flickering of a dynamo, but you rarely go slow enough for a dynamo to cut out.
Even a hamburger is no panacea to the challenges of the route. The brush grows thicker out of Stabler, eventually growing so thick that it prickles your skin as you ride past. The dense, lush greenery creeps in more and more as the trail gets steeper. A series of ditches make climbing the already chunky terrain even more difficult with a series of off-camber, up-down punches. Each ditch feels like a personal affront, accompanied by a kick in the crotch and a slap in the face from a nearby branch.
The top of the 4,000-foot climb must include an epic view, but a heatwave and the previous 270 miles made it hard to enjoy even alpine flowers and open scenery. The summit offered little beyond smothering heat. When a descent finally came, it was chunky and rough and had lots of potholes. There is no respite until you reach the very bottom, where a river offers a cooling swimming hole that can reinvigorate even the most numb and weary bodies.
The final segment of the race was best narrated by Shania Twain, as heard on a phone speaker: “Let’s go girls!!!” The route starts to descend back into civilization, plummeting down the mountain directly onto the truck route that leads to a bike path sandwiched between four lanes of interstate traffic. Finally, you are entering Oregon! Hands up to fist pump. The last eight miles follow a river path by the airport, which could have gone on forever. You cut across a highway covered in broken grass and pass a line of trailers on the street and are unceremoniously jolted back to everyday life at the finish line, the parking lot of a New Seasons Market.
This route and the people it attracts reflect our shared desires for both solitude and community. Our experiences demonstrate that you can pursue both simultaneously. It takes a lot of people to ride alone: fellow riders to confirm you have the right amount of snacks, trail angels offering cold Cokes on alpine forest roads, friends who open their homes, and organizers like Ben who make it happen and are there to wish you luck at the start. Community will exist because we choose to build it, see it, and appreciate it. It can exist alongside solitude.
Further Reading
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