Preface: I enter into this with some trepidation. I really enjoyed the film, and for a variety of reasons find it difficult to dwell on those virtues. I am also hesitant, especially in light of the shit show that is the bikepacking Tour Divide thread, to throw more arm-chair criticism out into the world. But the synthetic work that is publicly presenting thoughts is important, however annoying it might be.
The amount of attention paid to divide racing and the degree to which it’s been sustained tell us a lot about American culture. While bicycle racing as an coherent sport was invented in Europe, and is still practiced in its highest form as modern road cycling, mountain biking and mountain bike racing is a distinctly American innovation. Culturally, if not athletically, divide racing is probably the highest form of mountain bike racing we’ve yet seen.
As my first piece of evidence, I’d submit the title hype of Ride the Divide: “The world’s toughest mountain bike race.” This appelation is as meaningful as it is unquantifiable. Rather than delving into the murky water of subjective experience, which would be the most illuminating way to categorize difficulty, divide racing earns the monikor of world’s toughest simply by virute of its length. If its the biggest, it must be the hardest, and therefore the best: a classicly American line of reasoning. And riders, from America and elsewhere, are drawn to the notion of trying the hardest in a unique fashion. Over the whole history of divide racing, and especially in the three years of the Tour Divide, the number of racers who are divide racers before they are mountain bikers has been quite striking. Without exception contendors in the second tier of multi-day self-supported dirt races are serious mountain bikers, and not only because courses like the Grand Loop and AZT 300 demand it. Divide racing is possessed of a cultural cachet that is unique amongst dirt cycling events. For the American mind, I would argue that divide racing supercedes all other cycling events in this respect. That’s why a film got made about it.
The more interesting aspect is what the current practice of divide racing, and especially how Ride the Divide portrays it, tells us about the American mind and the imprints American culture has left upon it. Specifically, the ambivalent and contradictory way in which individualism plays out. The film, unwhittingly I think, enacts this in both its execution and presentation. Some commentators (with more authority than me) have noted the prominence of the film crew in their own documentary. This was fundamental to how the project was conceived. Executive Producer Mike Dion conceived of the project in tandem with training for and attempting the Tour Divide in 2008. After Dion withdraws from the race in NW Wyoming, his continued presence in the film is significant.
It all begs the question: what impact did the film crew have, driving around in their jeep hunting racers down during the most difficult moments, on the race and its self-supported ethic? I’m not here to say that any such psychological support be eliminated. That would be impossible. Merely that the edge provided by psychological support is of far greater consequence than the physical support which is so often the focus of debate. Experience has born out repeatedly that psychological prep is the most salient factor in predicting success in divide racing, and that such preparation and training extends beyond the individual to their life situation. There is ample evidence that a strong social network predicts a good race.
The flip side of this is the popularity of the blue dots. Spot tracking has allowed, however vicariously, for friends and strangers alike to share in, however, proximally, the self-reinvention that is a crucial aspect of divide racing. As one racer has written, “I entered that race as one person and left as another.” The desire to witness and then experience such forced and distilled introspection is why sport exists in modern society, and divide racing should be no different.
The difficulty lies on the far edge of this, when being a spectator edges over into voyeurism and fetishization. The practice of spectation is valuable insofar as it is inspirational, and inspiration without action is a turbid place at best. At worst, it is little better than passive screen watching.
Mike Dion, as racer and film maker, flits back and forth between the two in a way that seems frought with ambivalence. Would he have dropped out when he did absent his colleagues in the crew? Would Mary have had her ambivalence about racing placed so plainly in front of her absent the crew (including Mike)? It all begs the question of the role being a spectator serves, both in the lives of the spectator(s) and in the lives of the racers. I don’t think looking for answers there is especially useful, but I do know from personal experience that having an accesible exit demands more fortitude in the moment.
In summary, the movie has its moments, and those moments are sublime. Matthew Lee’s unflappable approach recalls an American ideal of rugged individualism and is John Wayne-esque. At the same time, Matt talks with amazing fluency and self-awareness about the motivation and ambivalence the impending birth of his son gives him, and how both emotions color his race. He well embodies the paradox at the heart of American individualism, that it cannot function or exist absent a social matrix of family, friends, and strangers. Similar insights into other racers are equally as moving and profound. However, so much of the film is given over to local color and the struggles of the film crew (they missed the start, really?!), that the material ceases to be merely enriching background and takes over the film. Is this a movie about bike racers, or is it a movie about people that like to follow bike racing? The film and its makers never made their mind up about that, and in the process do far more than reveal themselves. The film gives we Americans an unflattering picture of ourselves, as arm chair experts and monday morning quarterbacks who are apt to value the achievement to the exclusion of the process. And I, of course, count myself among that group upon occasion, which is why I both enjoyed the film and found it disconcerting.
Bedrock & Paradox 
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