Bikepacking in Montana: From Helena to the Outskirts of Yellowstone
The second half of Montana is where the forests give way, where the horizon widens… and where water becomes scarce! In mid-July 2024, we left Helena, the state capital, and headed south along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (GDMBR): 515 km and 5,984 m of elevation gain over eight days of cycling, passing through Butte, the grueling descent of Fleecer Ridge, the Elkhorn Hot Springs, and the ghost town of Bannack, all the way to the Red Rock Lakes, just a stone’s throw from Idaho and Yellowstone.
In the podcast, Marie-Liesse and I shared our first impressions with Jean-Mi. Here, I’ll highlight the moments that stood out the most to us, and I’ll give you everything you need to know to bike through southern Montana: the route, the stops along the way, the heat, water, where to stay, and how to survive Fleecer Ridge (and the flies).
In a nutshell
- When: July 13–20, 2024, as a couple, in the middle of a heat wave.
- The route: from Helena to Upper Lake, in the Red Rock Lakes Reservation, via Boulder, Basin, Butte, Fleecer Ridge, Elkhorn Hot Springs, Bannack, Clark Canyon, and Lima.
- The route: 515 km and 5,984 m of elevation gain over 8 days of cycling (37 hours in the saddle), including a short 8-km ride to reach the hot springs.
- The challenge: the descent down Fleecer Ridge, which is said to have a 26% grade, and the heat: we often stop around 11 a.m. for lunch and a rest, then ride until sunset, which is very late in July.
- Accommodations: the community hall in Basin (5 to 10 dollars per person), self-service campgrounds where you pay by placing money in an envelope, a hot springs lodge, and Warmshowers hosts.
- The people we met: a man who had just been released from prison, a 77-year-old cyclist who snores like no one else, and Lynn and Chip, our road grandparents.
Our Biking Itinerary in Southern Montana
- Helena → Boulder → Basin: 83 km, with a long break in the shade in Boulder during the hottest part of the day.
- Basin → Butte, the Copper City: 63 km.
- Butte → a self-service campground: 61 km and 1,145 m of elevation gain, along an old railroad track and past dried-up water sources.
- Self-service campground → Fleecer Ridge → a campground 8 km from Elkhorn: 74 km and 1,271 m of elevation gain, with a descent gradient of -26%.
- Camping → Elkhorn Hot Springs: 8 km, and a whole day in the hot springs.
- Elkhorn → Bannack → Clark Canyon Reservoir: 77 km, a detour through the ghost town, then a headwind.
- Clark Canyon → Lima: 58 km, via an old railroad track rather than the official trail.
- Lima → Upper Lake Campground, in the Red Rock Lakes Reserve: 92 km without a single tree for shelter.
| Day | Step | km | D+ | Weather |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Helena → Boulder → Basin | 83 km | 1,284 m | 6:45 a.m. |
| 2 | Basin → Hill | 63 km | 783 m | 4:39 |
| 3 | Butte → self-service campground | 61 km | 1,145 m | 5:44 a.m. |
| 4 | Self-service campground → Fleecer Ridge → campground | 74 km | 1,271 m | 5:55 a.m. |
| 5 | Camping → Elkhorn Hot Springs | 8 km | 56 m | 12:24 a.m. |
| 6 | Elkhorn → Bannack → Clark Canyon | 77 km | 400 m | 4:22 a.m. |
| 7 | Clark Canyon → Lima | 58 km | 362 m | 3:17 |
| 8 | Lima → Upper Lake Campground | 92 km | 683 m | 6:05 a.m. |
| Helena's Total at Red Rock Lakes | 515 km | 5,984 m | 37:12 |
The times listed are riding times, excluding breaks.
All our routes are on the Route & Stats page, under the “Banff > Sargents” section, and details for each day are on Julien’s Strava profile.
Our Experience in Southern Montana
Two Cokes and a Second Chance
South of Helena, the sun beats down so hard that we’ve adjusted our schedule: we often stop around 11 a.m. for lunch and a rest, then ride until sunset, which comes very late in July. In Boulder, nap time finds us in front of a bar with tinted windows. We push open the door for a Coke. Inside, a whole world: bowling lanes, dartboards, pool tables… and, all in all, just one waitress and one customer.
When it came time to pay, I rummaged through my pockets: I didn’t have enough cash for two Cokes. The waitress took my bills, then reached into her tip jar to make up the difference, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We were speechless!
The customer, for his part, has long, very black hair, almost white skin, and a cane leaning against the counter. He wants to know everything: about Canada, bears, customs. Then, without being asked, he tells us he’s just been released after seventeen years in prison. Youthful follies, which he regrets. We don’t press for more details: if he’s out, he deserves a second chance. But luck, as it happens, isn’t on his side. An illness is eating away at his bones, the government has cut off his benefits, and he’s not allowed to leave the country. Tomorrow, he has an interview for a job delivering pizzas.
“Do you have any photos of Canada?” I hand him my phone. The mountains scroll past under his thumb, and his eyes light up like a child’s in front of a store window. Before limping away, he wants to buy us a drink. We decline, of course. I never saw him again, and I still think about him often. That day, I realized how lucky I was: a passport to cross borders, legs to pedal, and enough money to pay for this trip.
All-Nighter in Basin
Basin consists of just a handful of houses. But every cyclist on the Great Divide knows its community hall, where you can sleep for $5 to $10. While waiting for nightfall, we settle into the café, beneath a TV that’s showing only one story: Donald Trump has just been shot in the ear by a gunman during a campaign rally in Pennsylvania.
A customer turns to us. If the candidate had been killed, she explains very seriously, she would have picked up the phone without dialing a number and blurted out, “Is this really the war you want?” She’s convinced that someone, somewhere, is listening in on her calls. We leave the café with more questions than answers.
In the room, two young people from Helena are heading off to a music festival in Butte. As night falls, Pascal shows up: 77 years old, with the legs of a young man, and a passion for his own adventures, which he recounts at the top of his lungs while we’re trying to sleep. We’re overcome by fits of laughter—impossible to stifle! An hour later, we’re not laughing so much. Pascal is snoring. Not just a little snore—it’s like a tractor engine! Even Marie-Liesse, who usually sleeps like a log, wakes up. As for me, I spend the night whistling and throwing whatever I can get my hands on in his direction. Nothing works. In the morning, Pascal asks us if everyone slept well. The silence is as deep as a cathedral.
Butte, USA
On the road to Butte, I was so tired that Marie-Liesse caught me pedaling with my eyes closed. “What are you doing?” “Taking a technical nap.” We laugh about it now, because I didn’t fall!
Butte is unlike any other town in Montana. It sprang up on “the richest hill in the world,” above its copper mines, with miners from Ireland and all over. Here, people don’t say “Butte, Montana”—they say “Butte, America”—and they say it with pride. For us, the main discovery here is the free refills: all-you-can-drink Coke and iced tea with our burger at a country restaurant. A cyclist’s paradise!
We’re staying at John’s place—the Warmshowers host who has welcomed the most cyclists in town, hundreds in total. His garage has become a dormitory, with bunk beds filling every corner: most nights, about fifteen people sleep here; on some days, as many as thirty; and John cooks for everyone. Tonight, we’re alone with him, and the big house tells a different story: it was meant for two, and his partner never shared his fondness for these passing strangers. By opening his door too widely, perhaps he’s lost sight of himself a little. Before we go to sleep, he gives us two pieces of advice: leave Butte via an old railroad track, and be wary of a certain descent with a 26% grade.
Getting Off the Beaten Path (Finally)
I have to admit something. At the start of the Great Divide, I wanted to ride the entire route, just like the riders who complete it in a few days. Every detour felt like a betrayal, even when we were both exhausted. Then Marie-Liesse got injured, we had to avoid a section known for being hellish, and dozens of cyclists admitted to us that they’d skipped it too, so they wouldn’t have to push their bikes for three days. Since then, I’ve been able to breathe easier. And we argue a lot less!
John’s old railroad track has been turned into a beautiful single track, and beyond it, Montana takes on a whole new look. The conifer forests give way to rolling hills stretching as far as the eye can see. A long climb takes our breath away—both literally and figuratively. It’s Monday morning, and we’re not at the office!
But we miscalculated our water supply. The ponds marked on the map are dry, and the next water source is a day and a half away. At noon, we have lunch huddled against the frame of an abandoned trailer—the only shade for miles, a shade that’s shrinking before our eyes! That’s when two cars pull up: a liter of water each, ice cubes included. Thank you, thoughtful strangers!
The evening campground is self-service: an envelope in a box, and a pump with water so cold that our makeshift shower makes our legs ache. Around us, a man who lives year-round in his RV, and an uncle with two teenagers who are devouring the Great Divide at a hundred, sometimes two hundred kilometers a day. We, with our 50 kg, have to admit defeat. The real masters of the place, however, are the chipmunks—little squirrels that steal anything left lying around, even a book. Tonight, our panniers will be locked tight!
Fleecer Ridge, the upside-down wall
That morning, we’d been on the road for a month. Marie-Liesse, who used to cry on every hill in Canada, said it without hesitation: the hardest part is behind us. We’ve found our rhythm—and even a routine. Long-distance travel is full of these things, contrary to what we’d imagined.
Thirty kilometers in the cool air, and here we are at the top of Fleecer Ridge, the most dreaded descent on the Great Divide in Montana, with a gradient of minus 26 percent. Many people bypass it by taking the road. We, however, want to tackle it. At the top, we run into two cyclists who’ve just climbed this wall in the opposite direction, pushing their bikes. Barely out of breath. Superheroes!
Holding a 50-kg bike on a slope like this, with a snack pack on my hip and my camera bouncing along over my shoulder, is a constant battle against gravity. Marie-Liesse rides ahead and, against all odds, manages it much better than I do. When she looks back, I’m five meters behind her—and, seen from below, at the third-floor level of a building. But we make it to the bottom, in one piece!
Further on, we came across Gary, a British guy carrying lighter gear and in a bit more of a hurry than we were, who’d gotten a flat in his tubeless tire on the descent. An hour of repairs, a plug that wouldn’t stay in, and a burger by the side of the road—a treat from Gary to thank us. There were fifty kilometers left to the campground, in an area known for its bears, and we covered them in one go.
Late in the afternoon, the sky turns orange. It’s not the golden hour yet—it’s smoke from a forest fire, dozens of kilometers away. A few days earlier, near Helena, a water bomber pilot was killed while fighting one of these fires. We thought about it for a long time that evening.
Elkhorn: The Art of Doing Nothing
Eight kilometers away, Elkhorn Hot Springs offers us exactly what we’d been dreaming of: a wooden lodge nestled in the mountains, and natural hot springs. We spend a whole day there doing absolutely nothing. It’s pure bliss!
The only downside: the walls. They’re so thin that at 5 a.m., we get a front-row seat to three 51-year-old American cyclists—bursting with energy—packing up as if they were camping alone in the middle of the woods. In the next room, a guest finally yells—in English—that people have no respect for anything anymore. Under the covers, we cry with laughter in silence.
It was also in Elkhorn that we met Lynn and Chip, a retired couple who were also hiking the Great Divide. We hit it off right away. They left a day before us, but we promised to meet up again.
Bannack, the town where time has stood still
There are three days left until we reach Lima, and our panniers are almost empty. Fortunately, we’re not traveling as a pair but as a trio. Our third companion is a cyclist’s travel journal, published five or six years ago on Crazy Guy on a Bike, a website featuring cycling travel stories. He wrote down everything: every water source, every grocery store, almost every flower. He mentions a small country market a little further down the road. With a logbook this old, we sometimes come across a closed door. This one opens to reveal a lovely grandmother and shelves full of goods. Phew!
Lynn and Chip recommended we take a detour to Bannack. We were expecting a freshly painted “Wild West Disneyland.” Instead, we discovered about fifty log buildings from the 1860s, simply preserved from the elements: the school, the hotel, the barber shop, the general store, and the jail. Inside, the wallpaper, photos, and furniture remained exactly where they were. We wandered from one house to the next like ghosts visiting other ghosts!
A guide hears us speaking French and answers us in perfect French: his great-great-grandmother was from Alsace. He tells us about the discovery of gold in 1862, how the town filled up with thousands of prospectors in just a few months, and how it even became, in 1864, the first capital of the Montana Territory. Then the gold ran out, and everyone left. Today, Bannack is a state park, frozen in its final moments.
Clark Canyon, Under the Full Moon
On the trail leading toward Clark Canyon, a headwind keeps us rooted in place. In the distance, two small colored dots are slowly getting bigger. It’s Sarah and Tom, two Brits who set out from Patagonia and are on their way to Canada on the same bikes as us—Tumbleweed Prospectors. After half an hour of fiddling with gear and handlebars in the middle of nowhere, we get a valuable tip: an old railroad track leads to Lima much more easily than the official trail.
At the Clark Canyon Reservoir campground, the pump is dry, and the brown water in the lake doesn’t look very inviting. We knock on Nicole’s door; she lives right on the water’s edge. She gives us water and fruit, and lets us sleep under the shelter she’d set aside for her friends. The sun is setting, a huge full moon is reflected in the lake, the kids are playing around the fire, and the dogs are running all over the place. Marie-Liesse goes to bed. As for me, I stay up a little longer, lost in time.
Lima, the base camp
The next day, we take Sarah and Tom’s route. We’re tired, running low on food, and we have nothing left to prove to anyone. In Lima, a surprise: Lynn and Chip are there, as well as Dino and Suzy—whom we’d met at our hosts’ place in Helena—along with some of their friends. Eight cyclists at the same motel, plus the three American women from Elkhorn: Lima has become the base camp for the Great Divide!
We’re having dinner with Lynn and Chip. They met through cycling, crisscrossed the United States and Canada under their own steam, cover as many kilometers as we do every day… and are vegetarians, just when we feel like we can only keep going by eating meat. That evening, they become our surrogate grandparents!
A Fly's Paradise
From Lima to the Upper Lake campground, it’s 92 km through the Red Rock Lakes Reserve, without a single tree for shade. We planned to leave early. We forgot to set the alarm. At 9 a.m., fresh as a daisy, we realized that all the cyclists had already left. New challenge: catch up to them all and be the first to arrive at the campground!
We ride alone for most of the day. A herd of pronghorns gallops almost alongside us, and there are so many deer that we can’t take a landscape photo without one in the frame. Then we spot the three American women. We line up one behind the other, in racing position, and pass them with a hearty “See you tonight.” The others fall behind one by one. We’re the first to arrive! Everyone catches up with us in less than an hour: we’re carrying the heaviest loads, but we’re also the youngest.
The campground is gorgeous: six campsites, a lake below, a pink-and-purple sunset. And flies. Not flies that buzz around you—no, flies that crawl all over you. It’s impossible to sit still; everyone eats while walking, jumping, and waving their arms. Seen from a distance, we must look like a cult in the middle of a ritual!
I finally find the only place free of flies: the restroom. I lie down on the cool floor, at last at peace. It doesn’t take long for Marie-Liesse to find me… and she joins me. Until, strangely enough, someone wants to use the restroom! As night falls, the flies disappear, and we all have dinner together, recounting the day’s events.
Goodbye, Montana
Montana was our first U.S. state, and it took us just over three weeks to fall in love with it. There, we discovered American culture—its burgers and gas stations that look like oases, its herds roaming freely along the roadsides, its birds of prey and deer around every bend. And above all, its people—often very different from what we’d imagined, yet almost always disarmingly generous. The next day, we’ll head into Idaho, then on to Wyoming, bound for Yellowstone!
Practical Information for Cycling in Southern Montana
Driving in the Heat
- In July, do what we do: stop around 11 a.m. for lunch and a rest, then enjoy the long evenings—the sun sets very late.
- Bring more water than you expect to need. In the summer, the ponds and streams shown on maps may be dry, and some campground water pumps may be dry as well (such as at Clark Canyon). Filter whatever water you find.
- Don't hesitate to ask drivers and campers for water—we've never been turned down!
Fleecer Ridge, the dreaded pass
- The descent from Fleecer Ridge, between Butte and Wise River, is one of the steepest on the Great Divide (with a reported gradient of minus 26%), on rocky, slippery terrain. Most cyclists walk down it, pushing their bikes.
- Helmets are required, and make sure to secure anything that might bounce around (fanny pack, camera).
- If you're carrying too much or are tired, there's a paved road along the river that lets you avoid it.
Refuel
- Between Butte and Lima, grocery stores are few and far between: be sure to bring at least three days' worth of food with you.
- Online accounts, such as those from Crazy Guy on a Bike, list water sources and stores, but some are out of date: check the hours when you have a signal.
- Food is expensive in the United States, especially at gas stations. The good news is that Montana doesn't have a sales tax!
Where to Stay in Southern Montana
- The Basin Community Hall: $5 to $10 per person; very popular with cyclists on the Great Divide.
- Self-service campgrounds: You pay by slipping an envelope into a box. Some have a drinking water pump.
- Elkhorn Hot Springs: a lodge with natural hot springs, perfect for a relaxing day.
- Warmshowers: In Butte, John has hosted hundreds of cyclists—sometimes as many as thirty in a single night—in his garage, which he has converted into a dormitory.
- Campers: If everything is booked, just ask. Nicole let us use her shelter at Clark Canyon.
Forest Fires and Small Animals
- Forest fires are common in the summer: an orange-hued sky is often a sign of a fire, even one in the distance. Check the fire maps (InciWeb) and road closures before you leave.
- Chipmunks steal anything left lying around: make sure to close your bags, even if it's just for a minute.
- Around the Red Rock lakes, the flies can be unbearable in July. Be sure to bring long-sleeved clothing and insect repellent.
Butte and Bannack: Montana's Mining History
- Bannack: In July 1862, the discovery of gold there sparked Montana’s first major gold rush. In 1864, the town became the first capital of the Montana Territory. Today, it is a state park, featuring more than fifty historic buildings.
- Butte: By the end of the 19th century, its mines had made it one of the world’s leading copper producers, earning it the nickname “the richest hill in the world.” Its miners, who came from Ireland and elsewhere, gave it another nickname: “Butte, America.”
Your questions about biking in southern Montana
It’s a very steep and rocky descent between Butte and Wise River, with a gradient of 26 percent. Most cyclists walk down it while holding onto their bikes, and there’s a paved road that allows you to avoid it.
At the Basin Community Center (5 to 10 dollars per person), with Warmshowers hosts in Butte, at self-service campgrounds, at the Elkhorn Hot Springs Lodge, or at the Clark Canyon Reservoir campground.
Yes, it's a bit of a detour from the Great Divide. Bannack is a state park where you can freely explore about 50 buildings dating from the 1860s.
Ride early in the morning and late in the afternoon, take a long break during the hottest part of the day, and bring more water than you expect to need: in the summer, many water sources run dry.
We covered 515 km and 5,984 m of elevation gain over 8 days of cycling, including a rest day at Elkhorn Hot Springs—for a total of about 37 hours in the saddle.
Because Butte grew up around its copper mines, with workers coming from all over the world. Its residents still prefer this nickname to “Butte, Montana.”
Episodes to Listen To
Episode 9: “A Sleepless Night in Montana” (Boulder, Basin, Pascal, Butte)
Episode 10: “The Chipmunks Strike Back” (the railroad, the water, Fleecer Ridge, the fires)
Episode 11: “Fly Paradise” (Elkhorn, Bannack, Clark Canyon, Lima, Upper Lake)
You can find them all on our podcast page, on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and Deezer. Part 1 covers the beginning of Montana, from the Canadian border to Helena. And the rest—Yellowstone and Wyoming—is in episodes 12 through 14! To support the blog, click here!
Julien Roche
Julien Roche, co-founder of Fast Won't Last. Since June 2024, he has been cycling across the Americas with Marie-Liesse, from Canada to Patagonia, focusing on off-road trails and camping. He chronicles the journey on the duo’s blog and cycling adventure podcast.
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