by Some people like their weekends to be filled with bottomless mimosas, brunch, and the occasional Netflix binge. Then there are the rest of us, those who willingly sign up to run 100 miles through heat, mountains, and questionable life choices. The Bighorn 100 isn’t just a race; it’s an endurance sufferfest disguised as a scenic tour of Wyoming’s best landscapes. The views? Unbeatable. The terrain? A masterclass in suffering. The chafing? Let’s not talk about it. If you’ve ever thought, “I wonder what it would feel like to dehydrate while climbing a never-ending hill in 90-degree heat,” then this is the race for you.
Most runners flying to the Bighorn 100 opt for Montana, but we went a different route, flying into Rapid City, South Dakota, three days before race day. The perks? Cheaper flights, a more affordable rental car, and a route that took us past Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Monument, and Devils Tower National Park. With one day dedicated to sightseeing, another to resting and race check-in, and the final day dedicated to running, it was a solid plan leading up to the big event.
Day 1: Sightseeing and Arrival in Sheridan
Visiting Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Devils Tower was well worth the time. If you ever get the chance before a race in the area, take it. After wrapping up our tour, we arrived in Sheridan by early evening and grabbed some food before settling in at our hotel. The place was clean, comfortable, and even had a waffle maker—an unexpected but welcome addition to the pre-race breakfast.
Day 2: Check-in and Last-Minute Prep
With race check-in scheduled for the afternoon at the Best Western just a mile from the hotel, we had time to make a morning trip to the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. All three of us were surprised by how moving the experience was. It’s a hidden gem and a must-visit if you have time. We also made a stop at a local trading post to try Indian Tacos—delicious, and the leftover shell with honey was a game-changer.
Check-in itself was smooth, with an excellent crew and volunteers. I did wish they had more race merchandise available, but that’s always a hit-or-miss situation. A quick Walmart run was necessary after realizing I had forgotten a key piece of gear, typical race prep chaos.
One suggestion for all races: bring back live-streamed pre-race meetings. Many events did this during COVID, and having the ability to rewatch for key details would be incredibly helpful.
The Race: Mile by Mile Breakdown
Start to Dry Fork (Mile 13.5)
The first mile followed a fire road before turning into breathtaking singletrack, where the towering red rock walls and roaring river below set the tone for the race. The Lower Sheep Creek aid station at Mile 3.5 came quickly, but I made my first mistake—drinking too little. The morning shade gave a false sense of security. By Upper Sheep Creek (Mile 8.5), I hadn’t peed and wasn’t sweating. Not great.
The steep climb out of the canyon was fully exposed, and by the time I reached Dry Fork (Mile 13.5), the heat was relentless. The aid station was a lifesaver, but my stomach had already decided it hated me, making solid food a struggle. I downed some gels and broth and pushed forward.
Dry Fork to Sally’s Footbridge (Mile 30)
The next stretch was a brutal mix of exposed singletrack and rolling terrain. The Kern’s Cow Camp aid station at Mile 19.5 provided some much-needed relief, but I could already feel the heat sapping my energy. A potable water source at Mile 23 helped me reset, but my stomach continued to revolt.
By the time I descended into Sally’s Footbridge at Mile 30, I was running on fumes. The canyon walls were stunning, but I could barely appreciate them. Seeing my crew here was a game-changer. Kyle joined as my pacer, and we set off toward the climb to Jaws (Mile 48).
Sally’s Footbridge to Jaws (Mile 48) and Back
Climbing through the canyon as the sun set was unreal. The red rock glowed under fading light, and the trail wound its way higher toward 10,000 feet. The aid stations along this stretch were remote and minimalist, but the volunteers were incredible.
Jaws Aid Station was completely dark until the last moment. It was eerie and isolating. My only food option at this point was chicken broth, which I chugged before turning back down toward Sally’s in the dead of night.
The descent was long and quiet, the only sounds coming from the river below and the occasional hallucination whispering sweet nothings into my ear. By the time we reached Sally’s again, dawn was breaking. I took a longer stop to re-tape my feet and prepare for the final 35 miles.
Sally’s Footbridge to Dry Fork (Mile 82)
The climb out of Sally’s Footbridge was an absolute gut punch. The trail that had been a fun descent 20 hours earlier was now a never-ending slog. The terrain was rutted, muddy in some places, and baked hard like cement in others. By the time I reached Dry Fork, I was beyond exhausted.
I spotted a few leftover McDonald’s cheeseburgers at the aid station. I grabbed one and stuffed it into my pack. A lifesaver.
Dry Fork to the Finish
Leaving Dry Fork, the wind picked up, offering brief relief. The descent was brutal, with temps climbing back into the 90s. The exposed canyon radiated heat, and ambulances were called for multiple runners in distress.
The last five miles on the country road into town felt endless, but I pushed. Seeing my pacer waiting for me at the edge of town was the final boost I needed. Crossing the finish line felt like an out-of-body experience, equal parts suffering and triumph.
Conclusion: Worth Every Step… Sort Of
Crossing the finish line of the Bighorn 100 felt like achieving something between enlightenment and sheer madness. Was it the hardest thing I’ve ever done? Probably. Was it absolutely worth it? Also yes. Would I do it again? Ask me in a few months after the chafing heals.
For anyone considering this race, be warned, it’s rugged, remote, and ridiculously beautiful. It’s also a test of patience, hydration strategy, and how much suffering you’re willing to endure for the chance to run through some of the most breathtaking landscapes in the country. If that sounds like your kind of fun, then welcome to the madness.
