Through the Wilderness: A 90-Mile Loop in the AMC 100-Mile Wilderness

By Kyle Rancourt

On July 23, 2024, four of us set out from AMC’s Medawisla Lodge to ride a 90-mile out-and-back through Maine’s 100-Mile Wilderness. The route took us from the lodge down to Brownville and back, a mix of logging roads, ATV tracks, and a rugged XC ski trail that cut through deep, remote forest. It was one big day in the saddle, bookended by two nights at Medawisla and shorter rides on the other days.

Our crew ranged in age from 18 to 64, but all of us had put in enough time on bikes—racing, adventuring, or both—that we knew what we were getting into. We rode gravel bikes, except for Kyle M., who had to borrow a cyclocross bike last minute. His 35mm tires made some of the looser and rockier sections a real test. But no one was new to tough rides, and that shared experience set the tone: steady pace, low ego, everyone looking out for each other.

We rolled out from Medawisla early, fueled by a big breakfast at the lodge, where everyone eats together. It’s one of the best parts of staying there—scratch-made food and a communal table that makes it feel like you’re setting out on something meaningful, even if the only plan is to ride.

The route started on wide gravel logging roads—generally well-maintained but rough in spots, with scattered rocks that kept you scanning your line. We passed through long stretches of dense forest—evergreen and mixed hardwood—where the canopy closed in and the sense of remoteness settled over us. Occasionally the woods opened up around a lake or stream crossing, and we rode over small bridges that looked like they hadn’t seen a truck in weeks. We saw moose more than once.

The ATV trails came next. Some were smooth and loose, others completely overgrown—grassy, bumpy, and barely wide enough to ride through. It was a reminder that these are not high-traffic routes. You can ride for hours out there without seeing another person or any sign of one. That kind of solitude is hard to find.

Somewhere in the middle of the route, we dropped into an old XC ski trail. It was lush, green, and deeply forested—fun to ride, but definitely the most rugged part of the day. The trail varied from mellow and fast to washed out and technical, especially on the long climb and descent through a remote section of woods. It was all rideable, but it demanded focus. Rain earlier in the week had left sections flooded, and the deer flies were out in force. At times, we were riding hard just to outrun the swarms.

Eventually, after hours of remote forest and primitive trails, we popped out suddenly into Brownville. One minute we were deep in the woods, and the next we were cruising past a school and into a small residential neighborhood. We stopped at a gas station for water and snacks—the only sign of civilization we’d seen all day.

On the return trip, the route was familiar but still engaging. Fatigue had set in, but so had a rhythm. We passed the same rivers and forests, crossed the same bridges, and stopped again at the Katahdin Iron Works gate—the historic stone blast furnace structure standing as a reminder of the area’s industrial past. It’s one of the few man-made features out there, and it stands in stark contrast to the rawness of the surrounding landscape.

We got back to Medawisla tired but content. Dinner that night was a highlight—especially for those of us eating vegetarian. The lodge put together thoughtful, hearty meals every day, and after 90 miles and 6,000 feet of climbing, we ate like we earned it.

I’ll be heading back again this summer. There’s still more to explore, and I’d like to dial in the route a bit more—make sure everyone’s bike is better matched to the terrain. But even as it was, it was a ride worth repeating. Not because it was easy or scenic in the traditional sense, but because it was remote, challenging, and real. That’s what sticks with you.