At the start of The Dark Divide 300 2025 presented by Evergreen Gravel Racing, there was free coffee provided by Little Truck Espresso, Tater Boost for all, and everyone pretending they’re not about to suffer for the next 30+ hours. Race director Ben gave us the usual “this land is heavily colonized… you might die out there.. .. don't eat too many berries” pep talk, but we were all too high on espresso to care.

*Race organizer Ben speaking to the riders*

We rolled out mellow. Zach (spoiler alert: the winner and FKTer) and I were pretty much glued together for the first 75 miles. Chatted, rode chill, soaked up the early miles, ate some berries. Then came a little church with water spigots at mile 75- pit stop and spiritual recharge. After that, it was mostly me solo on the front, cooking at my own pace.

I hit the base of Juniper Ridge right before the sun dipped. Perfect timing… or so I thought. The sufferfest began right about halfway up, straight-up hike-a-bike hell. We’re talking about a trail that barely fits one hiking boot, let alone a bike. My tires were skidding sideways, my shoes were arguing with gravity, and I honestly don’t know how those folks carrying full tents and sleeping gear did it without crying.

Then came the descent. Moto trail madness. I went OTB (over the bars) not once, but twice, somewhere around the Mt goat path of doom. Garmin’s battery pack ejected mid-crash and flew into the bushes. RIP lil buddy. Collected myself, asked myself what day my name was, knew the answers and no head injury was found. Who needs a CT scan, amiright?

Ben says this trail does not really need a Mt bike. I'd say bring a good mountain bike and better bike handling skills. Just know your wrists are going to hate you. I have to say you’d be more aero and light with a gravel bike, so back to square one of what bike is best for DD!

Rolling into Trout Lake should’ve been a win, but the sleep monster hit me hard. Normally I caffeinate the crap out of myself during the night shift. This time I skipped it and decided not to take caffeine with me. Regret. Major regret. Eyes felt so heavy on these long downhills. Laid down on the side of the road next to my bike like it was my emotional support pet. Ten minutes in the fetal position brought me back to life. Felt like slipping into another dimension. The soft whisper of wind traveling through the tall, shadowy trees, the creaking of thick wood, and a sky filled with stars, it all hit me like I was in a lucid dream. For a moment, I wasn’t racing. Picked myself up from my fancy gravel bed, and the night blurred by. Water filters, peeing on the side of the road, the occasional “wait, am I still racing?” moment, and preparing the rest of my Tater Boosts.

Around mile 255, my legs finally filed a formal complaint. All the base miles in the world couldn’t fake the kind of late-race depth you only get from 20+ hour riding per week in the last six months. I started going backward. Sure enough, Zach pops outta nowhere on the climb around mile 265. Dude looked like he just had his one pouch of Tater Boost given to him at the start. He passed me and honestly… it felt like sweet relief. No more FKT dreams, no more mental bargaining. I shifted gears, literally and mentally into “second place is awesome for how little I trained” mode. And it was.

Then Garmin flatlined. Solar charging my ass. Had to use my iPhone for the last 60 miles, and let me tell you, touchscreen nav in your jersey pocket on no sleep is not the move. I got lost, backtracked, cursed my choices.

Eventually, I dragged myself to the finish line in the late afternoon, dehydrated, slightly sunburned, and proud. Second place. Full heart. Zero Tater Boosts left in my pack. Mission accomplished.

How many Tater Boost pouches you ask?! Eight, and lots of encouraging texts from family and friends.

2nd place, first class suffering: the dark divide report

Trail Taters: Triumphs, Challenges, and the Power of Community