Apparently, Brian was yelling for me to stop. But the wind rushing past my ears as I descended one of the trail's endless buttes must have been too loud. Either that or I was willfully ignoring my traveling companion and photographer, as the thrill of the bombing down a hundred-foot descent proved too exciting.
I had sped past our prescribed turnaround point, the one our guide had told us would offer a heck of a vista (that was, before she dropped us off in the middle of nowhere North Dakota), with little more than our bikes, a lot of water, and a few tips). She had also promised that if we missed our turnaround and descended that hill, it would be a serious climb back up-one that would bring our thighs to a boil with each push of our mountain bikes' pedals. She was right.
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That was just one of a series of mesas carved of painted rock and dirt that we climbed and descended that day, rolling bumps across the endless sea of grass in North Dakota's high desert plains.
We flew out a few days prior to ride a portion of the Maah Daah Hey trail which, at 144 miles, is the longest contiguous single-track trail in America. Standing atop any plateau and looking out over the ceaseless grasslands juxtaposed against the yawning blue sky, the topography hardly seems challenging. But up close, the trails on this route are technical, full of difficult switchbacks and rutted dirt, and often very steeply pitched. With an average of one-hundred feet of elevation per mile (sometimes more, almost never less), the Maah Daah Hey offers a brutal yet rewarding ride. It is also one of the most scenic bicycle rides in the American West-and certainly one of the most beautiful I've ridden in my cycling life.
Riding the Maah Daah Hey trail not only honors the ground beneath your feet (or wheels or hooves, depending on your style of adventure), but also the history that is contained in the dirt, the grass, and the jagged edges of the region's seemingly endless canyons. The name itself, "Maah Daah Hey," comes from the language of the Mandan tribe, one of several that lived here for centuries before the introduction of smallpox and forced removal to reservations. Bestowed by Gerard Baker, who is Mandan-Hidatsa and a former employee of the National Park Service, the name means "an area that will be around for a long time," or "grandfather." It's one of several reminders that this trail, which was once part of an intertribal trading and hunting route, sits on the ancestral lands of the Mandan, Hidatsa, Arikara, Assiniboine, Blackfoot, Chippewa, Crow, and Oglala and Lakota Sioux tribes. Meanwhile, on the posts that mark every passing mile of the trail, a traditional image of a turtle stands as a sigil for the Maah Daah Hey. The image was adopted from the Lakota Sioux tribe and, according to the Maah Daah Hey Trail Association, symbolizes "patience, loyalty, determination, steadfastness, long life, and fortitude"-all attributes the trail requires in full.
How to bike the Maah Daah Hey
With campgrounds popping up at regular intervals, multi-day hikes or rides along the Maah Daah Hey are a breeze, but it helps to have someone drive ahead and drop off your camping gear. Medora's Dakota Cyclery can lug your stuff from site to site, and even set up your camp-because few things are better after a challenging day on the trail than a ready-to-rest campsite (post-ride beers not included).
But while riding the Maah Daah Hey, as the pitch of the hills changes rapidly, so too does the scenery. One moment, you're at the bottom of a valley tilting your neck up toward a jagged wall, steeply jutting up above. A few moments later, you're peering down from the top of a craggy, bluff, towering several hundred feet over a painted canyon. Then, after a quick and often hair-raising descent, you're back along the canyon floor or cruising over a lowland savannah, pumping your bike over berm after berm, as the trail cuts through the Dakotas' famous grasslands. Rinse and repeat for mile after mile and you have most of the Maah Daah Hey Trail, a natural rollercoaster carved out of the earth over millions upon millions of years.
Many travelers base themselves in Medora, a tiny tourist destination that counts a year-round population of just 121 people. Originally the southern spur when the Maah Daah Hey was only 100 miles long, today Medora is closer to the trail's geographic midpoint, making it an ideal jumping off point for adventures along the trail. (It's also one of very few towns along the Maah Daah Hey.) Medora is also buttressed by the Theodore Roosevelt National Park's South Unit, one of the park's three main sections, all of which are connected by the trail-but be forewarned, riding in the park sections themselves is prohibited.
And so enters another bit of local history that characterizes a ride on the Maah Daah Hey: Long before he was president, Roosevelt traveled to the area to hunt bison and fell in love with the freedom the area offered. After the deaths of his wife and mother on the same day in 1884, Roosevelt returned to western North Dakota, this time opening a ranch near Medora. In 1978, huge swaths of the area were consecrated as the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, the only such park to be named for a single person.
Roosevelt's presence is felt all over Medora. Whether eating at Theodore's Dining Room, which is attached to the Rough Riders Hotel, mugging with a life-sized statue of the President on a downtown street corner, or buying a namesake Teddy Bear at any of the town's many gift shops, the small town pays homage to their most famous patron often.
And, of course, Roosevelt plays a huge part in the popular Medora Musical, a two-hour show that takes place in the 2,800-seat Burning Hills Amphitheater, overlooking the whole town, telling the history of the area through song and dance. Featuring ultra-patriotic song and dance, peacock-bright costumes, and a series of fourth-wall-breaking narrators, it's emphatically hokey. Yet the theater fills for two shows per day (and popping in is a good excuse when those biking legs need a rest).
While racing over the Badlands may be thrilling, I'd argue the Maah Daah Hey is best done slow.
Ultimately, though, the Maah Daah Hey is the crown jewel of this region. And while mountain biking makes up 70 percent of the trail's usage, the laced boots of hikers trod it daily, and the imprint of horseshoes give away the riders who traverse it on their own multi-day journeys. A few times a year, the Badlands Race Series even brings speed demons who bike, run, cross-country ski, and even snowshoe along the trail.
Yet while racing over the Badlands may be thrilling, I'd argue the Maah Daah Hey is best done slow, with enough time to pull off, enjoy every stunning vista, every heart-pounding descent, and every brutal climb back up to the top of the butte-even if it is the one your photographer is yelling for you to avoid.