Day 21 Silverthorne to Hartsel Colorado

We wearily dragged ourselves out of our beds the morning of July 5^th with the realization that not only would we get a late start because of our mail drop, but that we also had the highest pass to climb over so far in the trip. At approximately 11,500 feet it looked rather daunting to say the least! With time to kill until the Post Office opened, we tucked into a large breakfast at a diner with our bikes that were still carrying a county’s worth of dust from Wyoming propped up so we could keep an eye on them. Refueling over, we pedaled over to the post office to grab our stuff. I finally realized that the end of our trip was soon coming as I re-taped the box for the last time. With our bike bags bulging with goodies we rolled out of town.

                As we pedaled out of Silverthorne toward Breckenridge we followed a well-used bike path. After a few minutes of riding we soon realized we were in a cycling mecca. Everyone from children to octogenarians was riding bikes. At times there were so many people collisions seemed possible if not imminent. I soon felt as if I was trapped in a teeming mass of humanity; after less than 24 hours in “civilization”, I was getting restless. Up to this point this was the longest we had stayed in a decent sized town and I was ready to get away from all these people.

                This was not the first time I had thought about the apparent contradictions on our trip. While I am on the trail often all I can think about is hot food and where I can find a shower to clean up. Hours after indulging my fantasies I am yet again craving fresh air and the crunch of knobby tires on gravel roads. Often, while climbing yet another rocky ridge in the Gila National Forest or fighting raging headwinds in southern Montana, I can’t believe I am subjecting myself to such suffering and calling it a vacation. Minutes later, as I down a half bottle of lukewarm water while bombing a fire road descent, I forget all about the pain and realize it is all worth it.        

                Almost nothing in life that is worth getting comes easily. It is often through pain and hardship that we achieve the things in life that can later define our existence or change our lives for the better. (We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: Romans 5:3-4) In modern America people do everything they can to avoid hardship. Yes it makes their lives easier, but does it make them better? I know it sounds melodramatic to compare two guys pedaling over hills on bicycles to the many difficulties each person faces, but I believe we can often find metaphors for life in many of the things we do. Really what are the things we do each day but a small part of our larger life on earth? Just as seconds make up minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years; everything we do is part of our larger goal. We just have to ask ourselves, what is that goal?

                We finally reach Breckenridge and turn off the main road. Leaving pavement behind we slowly climb away from the frenetic activity of an overfilled resort town. I was hoping for solitude but instead am rewarded by clouds of choking dust as giant SUVs struggle toward the top of the pass. We pass a water tank and realize that we are actually pedaling on the rail bed of a long-defunct narrow gauge railroad that connected Como and Leadville. As we climb, we can tell the air is thinning. Luckily the past week or so in Wyoming has acclimated our lungs to higher altitudes and we don’t struggle too much. I really can’t tell if it’s the altitude or the fact I’m hauling fifty pounds of bike and gear over a pass in the Rockies that’s causing me to be out of breath. After an hour or so of climbing we finally crest the pass. At the top there is a small building left from when the railroad was still there where tourists can look around. Joseph uses the bathroom and we head back down. Eight or so miles of descending later we ride through the tiny community of Como. With Hartsel, our overnight destination about 30 miles away, we put our heads into the rising wind and pushed hard.

Wide angle view of the pass (click on to enlarge picture)

Finally downhill!

                The terrain had changed quite a bit from the aspen-covered mountains of Silverthorne and Breckenridge. We were entering now entering the wide open terrain of South Park. Although the weather where we were at looked good, we could see that miles ahead there seemed to be a storm brewing. The wind grew stronger and stronger and soon it was all we could do to keep moving against it. As a few drops of rain started to fall I struggled to get into my rain jacket before the downpour hit us. Like a hammer a wall of wind hit us so hard I could barely stand upright. With no shelter anywhere in sight we knew that the only thing we could do was the move forward. The wind gusts were hitting us from the side and as a result I was often pushed across the road almost into the opposite ditch. Luckily, within minutes the gale force winds with bullet-like rain subsided. The storm hadn’t yet completely let up, but at least it was now possible to ride. As we were riding along, each of us suffering inside our respective silences, we heard something. It was not one those sounds that you’re not quite sure what it is, I knew what it was immediately! Some maniac in a pickup truck with huge tires decided it would be great fun to buzz two miserable cyclists riding in the rain. As I headed for the ditch the one thought that went through my mind was, “So this is how I’m going to die, run down by some crazed Coloradan!” Luckily he missed us by several feet, but it was at least ten minutes until the anger and adrenaline had cleared from my system.

                With hunger gnawing at my stomach once again we turned right onto a paved highway and rode as hard as we could to get into town for supper. We leaned our bikes against the one small restaurant in the town, and headed inside. After a hearty meal of burgers and burritos we rode the two hundred yards or so to a small picnic shelter. One side of it had three walls so we unpacked our bikes and set up our sleeping bags on the concrete floor. With the last few gasps of daylight my eyelids put an end to yet another eventful day on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

               

                 

Day 20 Kremmling to Silverthorne

Day 20

                After an amazing amount of sleep in soft beds we woke up and rode across the main street to a diner that served an early breakfast. After a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, along with copious amounts of chocolate milk, we rolled out of town. After crossing the Colorado River, we turned left onto a dirt road and followed the river for a few miles. 

Wide Colorado dirt road

  Eventually turning away from the river, we steadily climbed for the next 25 miles. During this time we passed a medium sized reservoir and enjoyed the flatter roads for a few miles until we rode into the mountains again. We left gravel for the first time since the Colorado River and started a real climb to the summit of Ute Pass. Thankfully it didn’t take us long to crest the pass which topped out at 9,524 feet, almost the same as Gore Pass the day before. 

View from the top of the pass

Joseph hammering up the climb

A catchment dam for a mining operation

  In a matter of less than six miles we lost almost all of the altitude we had gained over the last 20 miles. As we descended into the valley we were regaled with views of 10,000-12,000 foot peaks all around us. I had been feeling good and had been pushing hard on the climb and then the descent as well so I soon outdistanced Joseph. As I waited for him at the intersection with Highway 9, I talked with some of the cyclists that had just ridden up and then down from Ute Pass. . All of these cyclists were riding uber light carbon fiber racing bikes that probably cost more than my first car, were wearing matching cycling kits (clothes), and looked fresh as daisys. By contrast I had ridden around 500 miles in the past week, had climbed over a 9,500 foot pass, was riding a grimy mountain bike with 20-25 pounds of gear, and my clothes were stained white with evaporated sweat crystals and general filth. As often happens we ran into other cyclists that were keen to know what I was doing in such a state. While I was explaining about our trip, Joseph rolled up. After chatting for a while, we turned left onto Highway 9 and followed a middle-aged man on a shiny new bike toward Silverthorne. As we pedaled I talked with the rider we were following about things that only cyclists have any interest in. When we mentioned that we had a mail drop in Silverthorne that we had to pick up before we headed further on, we were informed that it being Independence Day the post office would not be open and we could not get our package. Nearing the city limits the prospect of a hot meal fueled our legs until the other rider could no longer keep up and was left gasping in our wake. (Little known fact; dusting a cyclist on a road bike while you are riding a fully-loaded mountain bike gives a huge boost to the ego.) 

Following a roadie

Food is nearby!!

We got into town not long after lunch and wasted no time in tucking into the largest meals our shrunken stomachs would allow. Since we really could do nothing until the post office opened at 9 am the next day, we found the cheapest motel we could and grabbed some groceries from the closest gas station. We twiddled our thumbs until almost dark when we walked up the road to a Ruby Tuesday where I devoured a rack of succulent ribs while watching the Tour de France on a TV mounted over the bar. Our appetites momentarily satiated, we sauntered back to the motel where we slept like dead men. Ah, the good life!

Day 19 Steamboat to Kremmling

            July 3^rd dawned damp and cool from the rain the previous night. We packed our gear onto our bikes and lazily pedaled the few miles into town. We dropped our bikes by the shop and decided that a large breakfast was in order. After walking a few blocks down the main street, we ate an amazing breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon at a small restaurant in the renovated downtown district. There was no rush to get on the road, since we knew our bikes would be in the shop till at least noon, so we took full advantage of this knowledge and had a very relaxing morning. We ambled down to the post office where I dropped a postcard I had written to my grandmother in the box. On the way back we stopped in at another bike shop, where we didn’t buy anything, as well as an outdoors shop, where I bought some more fuel for my camp stove. We checked in at the bike shop and they had yet to finish our bikes so we explored the town a little more. One thing that stuck out to me more than anything was the amount of cyclists I saw on the streets. Sure, people seemed to be riding bikes for enjoyment, but many people were using their bicycles for transportation on streets that had dedicated bicycle lanes. Having come from the Shenandoah Valley where almost the only people to use bicycles for transportation are the Old Order Mennonites, it really opened my eyes to the benefits of infrastructure that supports bicycle travel as well as automobiles. After virtually exhausting all of our time-killing options we headed back to the bike shop to check to see if our bikes were done. Unfortunately they weren’t but we were promised they would be done soon. While we waiting I bought a new pair of Assos cycling shorts to replace my ragged Ibex shorts as well as more chamois cream to lessen my ever-present saddle sore pain. The pair of Assos bib shorts I bought was easily the most expensive piece of cycling clothing I had ever bought; but after a few days of wearing them it seemed like “you get what you pay for” became a well­-known saying for a reason. After my suspension fork was serviced, my chain rings, cassette, and chain were replaced, and my wallet’s weight was drastically decreased, we pedaled through downtown Steamboat toward the Yampa River.

            After stopping at a pizza joint to refuel, we rode out of town at around 1 pm on lightly traveled roads, baking in the summer sun.  We left the pavement behind and starting climbing on a rocky dirt road. After winding around for a while we suddenly came upon a reservoir. We followed the route across the dam and soon hit the big climb of the day, a 15 mile grind up to Lynx Pass. The road alternated between wash boarded sections that almost loosened my teeth and choking dust that trailed after passing vehicles.  I failed to find where we were supposed to turn off for a long downhill down to the Colorado River ,  so we kept climbing up to the top of Gore Pass at 9,524 feet. We were then rewarded by mile after mile of glorious downhill, which was welcome after 15-20 miles of climbing.

            You have never lived until you ride a bike down a steep hill. The mixture of endorphins, the sound of wind in your ears, and unbelievable speed, combine until you feel invincible. Moments before you might have been struggling to just turn over the pedals; but now you hammer the pedals with careless abandon as if you don’t know you still have many miles to go before you sleep. Joseph and I chased each other down this seemingly unending descent for the better part of fifteen miles. Eventually, as all downhills do, it flattened out and we were brought back to reality. We had wandered off course because of the missed turn, and we had to orient ourselves once we reached a busy highway. We turned right and shortly after we saw a road sign telling us that Kremmling Colorado was a mere 12 miles to the south. With the euphoria of the descent still fresh and the promise of a meal less than an hour away, we pedaled like madmen against a gusting quartering headwind. We kept our heads down and our legs pumping for the most part, but just as we were getting into town the amber-colored setting sun lit up rock formations to the east. With the last few gasps of sunlight we rode into town and leaned our bikes against the front of a restaurant in the middle of the town of 1,500.

            While waiting for our dinners to come out, Joseph had ordered a steak while I had opted for the fish and chips, we talked about our day. Even with a late start we had been able to ride 65 miles in around 6 hours. With our stomachs full and with the weather starting to look a little less than ideal, we looked around for some lodging. Only a block away we found a motel that looked like it was straight out of the Old West. We talked to the elderly man inside and were able to get hostel rates at only $15 a night each! We had to sleep in the basement in a room with sparse furnishings but that was a small price to pay for such a deal. After taking showers we curled up in our soft beds and dropped off to sleep.

Day 18 Colorado!!

            I awoke to the sound of a gurgling mountain stream just outside the tent. After lying awake for ten minutes or so, waiting for Joseph to wake up, I crawled outside the tent and started to change out of my sleeping clothes. The air was chilly but not frigid, a good contrast to the heat of the previous afternoon. Just as the sun peeked over the top of the nearby ridge we set off. After less than two miles we rode through an area called “Aspen Alley.” It is so named because the tunnel of aspens that you ride through. A few miles later we hit a paved road and after some climbing were able to descend for miles through the Sierra Madre Mountains toward the Colorado border.

             About 250 miles before, in Pinedale Wyoming, we had called ahead to Orange Peel Bicycles in Steamboat Spring Colorado to get our bikes serviced. After over a thousand miles of wash boarded and dusty dirt roads we were due a drivetrain checkup as well as a suspension fork overhaul that I had needed since Butte Montana. It was July 2 and our appointments were for the next day so we needed to cover around 80 mountainous miles by nightfall. After a few miles of glorious downhill we made a left turn onto a road that quickly turned into gravel.

            We had had almost nothing to eat that morning because we saw there was some services about five miles after the turn off the main road, and we planned to eat breakfast there. Five miles came and went and still there was no place to eat. We found a shaded spot to rest, by now it was getting hot, and we weighed our options. After 25 miles of gradual climbing there was the small community of Columbine that the map said had limited grocery options. With no intention of turning back, Joseph and I choked down what little food we still had and set off. Although my stomach was empty by this time, I was feeling better than I had in days so I pushed the pace up the interminable climb. When we had turned off the main road the surroundings were arid and barren, but the further we climbed the more trees we saw. Eventually we climbed through a stand of aspens that even rivaled the famed “Aspen Alley.” Sometime during this climb we entered Colorado; unfortunately there was no state sign beside which we could take obligatory photos. After what seemed like hours of climbing, probably because it did take hours, we saw the sign telling us we were in Columbine. We rolled up to the store, leaned our bikes against a rock wall, and walked into the store. The map wasn’t kidding when it said limited groceries! All they had was a few candy bars, some sodas, Gatorades, and ice cream. After we bought one if not two of each item, we sat down on the same rock wall we had leaned our bikes on, and talked to some of the locals. 

            When you show up anywhere coated in a layer of dust, sunblock, and sweat, people tend to ask where you are from and where you are going. When we would tell them we are from Virginia, riding from Canada to Mexico we usually had one of two reactions. Many people would spout some version of, “You’re crazy!” then walk away shaking their heads. Everyone else, however, seemed to really identify with what we were doing. Most said they would never be able to do what we were, but their eyes seemed to light up when I told them about our adventure. It seems that in almost everyone there is an innate desire to not just see, but to do great things. It is the same desire that drove people throughout the ages to discover what was over the next mountain range, ocean, or jungle. While the desire to discover more about the physical world in which we live is certainly a large part of the longing to explore, there is also another side to exploration; we want to learn more about ourselves. In the “civilized” world in which we live we are able to hide our true character behind a façade of empty words and platitudes. People often never truly reveal who they are, even to themselves. However, when you are in extreme situations with no one to rely on or to blame except yourself, there is no longer any place to hide. You can no longer conceal who you truly are and this can be a very troubling as well as humbling experience. Just as the heat from a furnace refines metals and drives off impurities, adversity can drive away all of our external shows and leave our character exposed for examination. This desire for self-exploration is what drives so many people in this modern age, where there is so little hardship, to seek out experiences that many can’t understand.

            After our short break in picturesque Columbine we descended for a few miles, and then skirted the shore of Steamboat Lake. A few more miles of gravel roads and we were in another small community called Clark. We stopped at a store/restaurant/post office and while we waited for our food to be prepared I pulled out my cell phone and called home. After a good meal, some more snacks to get us the rest of the way to Steamboat, and a new pair of socks for me, we headed south. With a tailwind of nearly ten mph we were able to make great time into Steamboat. Except for our first flat of the trip, Joseph slashed the sidewall on his front tire on some glass; we were able to cover the 18 or so miles into town fairly quickly. We made it to town in late afternoon and we were able to find the bike shop, but they were not able to fit us in that evening unfortunately. We ate a sub-par burrito at a little shop downtown, grabbed some more groceries, and then rode the three miles to an RV park on the edge of town.

            During the first part of our trip I avoided RV parks. They were loud as well as being filled with swarms of people since it was the height of the tourist season. Quickly though, we realized that the ability to take showers and do laundry outweighed the downsides of camping within earshot of hundreds of people. We leaned our bikes against the office and checked in. Only a few minutes later it started pouring down rain. We got permission from the lady who seemed to be in charge to get our bikes inside to keep them dry until the rain slacked up a little. As Joseph and I strewed our gear across a worn-out pool table, people walked by with faces that seemed to say, “Who are these crazy, smelly people?” By this point I really didn’t care, all I wanted was a shower and some clean clothes to sleep in. The rain didn’t stop for another hour but that gave us plenty of time to get things cleaned up. We set up camp in the dark next to a river with mosquitoes whining around our ears the whole time. Within minutes of putting in my ear buds to listen to an audiobook on my IPod, I was asleep.

Day 17 Rawlins to just short of Colorado

Day 17

            Since we had been running on E pretty much ever since Lima Montana, we decided to get a little later start. We woke up at around 6:30 to 7:00, which actually is sleeping in for us so far on this trip, then stumbled around the corner to a sub-par continental breakfast in the motel lobby. We whiled away the morning till the Pizza Hut opened at 11:00. At around 10:55 we rolled into the parking lot, walked in seconds after an employee unlocked the door, then ensconced ourselves in our customary booth. We ordered a family size pasta dish, ate all of it with gusto, and then headed over to the grocery store. By now the thermometer was displaying 94 degrees and it was only noon. After buying enough groceries to hopefully get us to Steamboat Springs Colorado, we headed out of town. Looking at our map it looked like we had a steady climb for the next thirty or so miles. Not even two miles outside the town limits I saw a truck camper heading toward us. With only a hundred feet until it roared past, the driver suddenly slammed on his brakes and rolled down his window. Not really knowing what else to do Joseph and I stopped. Before we even had a chance to exchange a greeting the man in the truck launched into a several minute long diatribe about how that the road was closed. He seemed to be rather distraught, and it was hard to understand anything, but I picked up that because of the extreme drought, all traffic was being stopped so that no one would spark any forest fires. He seemed convinced that it was folly for anyone to continue on, but because he seemed a little unhinged and his information seemed somewhat suspect, Joseph and I decided to press on anyway.

Our route curved toward the west and almost like clockwork the infamous Wyoming wind kicked up. The wind wasn’t totally in our faces but the crosswind was still making progress harder than it should have been. After two hours of hard riding with not much forward progress, I was beginning to get a little discouraged. My water was lukewarm as well as running low, and there was not much in the way of surface water along our route. Soon I was in survival mode, staring a few feet ahead of my wheel and hoping the wind and heat would end. I was so absorbed in the waves of suffering washing up on my consciousness that I almost didn’t see the battered white Toyota Forerunner pull to the side of the road just ahead of me. I really didn’t know what the deal was, and at this point I really didn’t care so I just detoured to the middle of the road and pedaled on. After a few more moments I saw something in my peripheral vision that caused some concern. The white Toyota was back! I had heard stories about cyclists on the Great Divide Route being pestered by some of the natives so I was suddenly aware that we were extremely exposed. Except for the occasional antelope we hadn’t seen anything in hours so the chance we would have a rescuer was very remote indeed. Someone stuck their head out the passenger window and shouted, “Hey do you guys want some water?” I looked over at the car and inside was two men with long, greasy hair. I was still a little leery of them but by this time I would have given my right arm for one sip of cool water. I approached the open passenger window and replied that we would love some water. As Joseph and I answered their questions about what we were doing in the middle of a Wyoming wasteland on bicycles I noticed that they were both clutching Bud Lights in their hands and that they seemed rather “talkative.” Obviously these men were in their cups more than just a little! My first reaction was to be appalled that these men were driving drunk but then I thought, “What would they really run into, sagebrush or a slow pronghorn?” Thanking them profusely for the ice-cold waters, which were fished from the bottom of a cooler filled with beer, we pedaled on much refreshed, both physically and mentally.

A few miles later, after an extremely steep climb up to yet another Divide crossing, we saw a dot along the road far, far in the distance. As we got closer we realized it was a man walking along the road. A few more yards and it dawned on me that it must be a CDT thru-hiker. The Continental Divide Trail is a long distance hiking trail in the same strain as the Appalachian Trail that runs from Mexico to Canada following the Continental Divide as closely as possible. I don’t know much about the hiking world but I do know that if you have hiked the CDT you have done something. Around 400-500 people thru hike the AT each year, compared to only around 30 thru hikers on the CDT. The reason for this is that the CDT is just much harder. There are some sections of the trail where you might not see anyone for days, and resupply points are often spaced hundreds of miles apart. Because of this only the most ardent and hardened hikers dare to even attempt to hike this trail. I had been seeing signs for the CDT ever since Montana and I had been hoping to talk to at least one person who was thru hiking the trail. As we approached the man started dancing around and waving his hands to get our attention. I wasn’t sure if he needed help or he was just acting crazy so I braked to a stop right in front of him. I soon found out that the reason he had been waving his hands is because we were the first people he had seen since Steamboat Springs Colorado which was over 120 miles away. He was covered in dirt and looked like he had had a rough time of it. He sat down in the middle of the road, fired up his pipe, and started talking to us. As we were chatting I noticed he had several tattoos on his legs and arms. I suddenly had a strange thought, “This guy really seems familiar!” I hiked on the AT in the summer of 2010 and I remembered seeing a man who had lots of tattoos on his legs, “Could this be the same person?” I asked him, “Did you happen to hike the AT in 2010?” As it turns out, he had! How we could meet again two years and over two thousand miles away from Vermont, was simply amazing. If we had not talked to the rednecks or had started out later that day, we probably would not have met. The events that had to line up perfectly for something as improbable as this to happen simply boggles the mind. After talking to the hiker for about ten minutes about some of his experiences we decided it wasn’t getting any cooler so we wished him  well and pushed on.

Less than an hour later we saw a vehicle heading toward us trailing a massive cloud of dust. As it turns out it was our redneck friends to check on us. They had finished their errand or whatever they were driving around doing, and were now headed back to Rawlins. As they talked to us they offered Joseph and me some beers. Although we were appreciated the sentiment I informed them that alcohol was probably not the best thing to ingest in near 100 degree temperatures when you were already partially dehydrated. Since we refused to drink beer they offered us some more waters. Gratefully taking the water, we bade them farewell and once again set off.

Ever since Pinedale the trees had slowly become fewer until we hit the Basin, where they disappeared altogether. Ever since Silver City, close to 200 miles back, we had seen no trees to speak of. Both Joseph and I were getting weary of the monotony of sagebrush, jack rabbits, and the occasional antelope. By this point we were both not feeling very well. The unceasing wind, dehydration, and hunger, drastically slowed our pace. The elevation profile on the map showed little climbing but as we had already found out, maps could be deceptive. We really didn’t gain much elevation because as soon as we would climb to the top of a large hill, we would drop the same amount down to a dry creek bed, then climb back up again. After repeating this more times than I would like to remember, we finally saw just a little green in the distance. 

More Stunning Wyoming Skies

Trees Again!!

With renewed vigor we attacked the climbs until we were finally back amongst trees again. We were mentally refreshed but as you could imagine we were still physically exhausted. After another ten miles we found a small creek that could offer a good water source. As Joseph set up the tent I fixed supper. With our stomachs full we went to bed realizing that now with Wyoming almost behind us, we were just over half way done with our journey.


Till next time,

Wyoming Day 16 Middle of Great Divide Basin to Rawlins

The sound of a dog barking in the distance began to stir my senses to life. While attempting to unzip my sleeping bag to investigate it suddenly dawned on me that the noise must be Joseph’s alarm on his phone. For some reason he had his alarm set as the sound of a dog barking. I had heard it many times so far on this trip but every time it went off my sleep-addled brain was convinced that it was encircled by extremely vocal canines. Willing to do anything to make the racket stop I kicked an ear-plug-wearing Joseph softly but firmly in the shoulder. Measuring the width of my arm span against the cramped confines of our tent, I stretched and started with the morning routine.

The sun coming up over the reservoir full of nasty warter

A prairie chicken, I think.

            Since we knew that the wind would start up around mid-morning we had decided to hit the trail as early as possible this morning. The alarm went off at 5:30 and mere minutes later we were stuffing clothes and sleeping paraphernalia into our bike bags. We split a small serving of oatmeal, tossed back a granola bar each, and then tore into the last of our meager food supply. After the feeding frenzy had ended we were left with a few granola bars and a small bag of almonds and cashews between the two of us. It wasn’t much but we should be able to make it to Rawlins, fifty miles distant, on what remained. We had drained most of the water we had treated the evening before, so before we could leave we needed to get some more out of the reservoir. I filled up two water bottles, dumped in copious quantities of hopefully microbe-killing iodine, swung my aching leg over my bike, and pedaled away from our campsite. I felt bad leaving Joseph behind feverishly treating water with his Steripen (a device that kills bacteria using UV radiation), but I wanted to ride alone for a little while. It seems incongruous to search for this on one the most sparsely populated areas in America, but I really craved the feeling of being totally alone with my thoughts for at least a few miles. After around a thousand miles of having a riding partner always within sight, I wanted a few moments of solitude. 

On a whim I decided to get out my Ipod to listen to a little music. I hit shuffle, and let some digital hand of fate choose my music for me. I pedaled steadily south while the sun cast my tall shadow on the few plants that could survive in such harsh conditions. As I crested a small rise I heard a solemn hymn fill my ears. I don’t know what it was about this combination of desolate scenery and sparse minor chords but suddenly I was overcome with unaccountable emotion. I stopped at the side of the road and while the somber notes rose to praise a majestic God I could feel tears springing to the corners of my eyes. I was barely able to sort through the emotions that crowded upon me because I simultaneously felt like a tiny, inconsequential speck in a giant cosmos, as well as implausibly being the recipient of the greatest honor bestowed to man, the offer of eternal life through Jesus Christ.  I would have loved to stay there and soak in the desolate scenery around me but I was already getting hungry and food was still forty miles away.

Beautiful Desolation

            I wanted to let Joseph catch up with me eventually, so I slowed down enough that he caught me just before we turned left. For the next twenty-five miles we followed a badly paved road in what can only be described as the shortest distance between two points. I looked behind me as well as before me and all I could see was where the horizon met the road. The wind was picking up by this time so Joseph and I took turns drafting off of each other so we could make good time. We finally hit a slight turn toward the west, and a far-off highway. The vastness of our surroundings and the straightness of the road constantly made me underestimate distances. I saw a vehicle heading toward us and I was sure it would get to us in no more than 45-60 seconds. Two minutes later when the vehicle finally became recognizable, I realized that instead of being a mere mile away, we had actually sighted the truck three to four miles away! Although realizing the highway was twice as far away as I thought was rather disheartening, we had no choice but to keep turning over the pedals. We finally reached the highway and headed toward the city of Rawlins, only the second decent sized town we would pass through in all of Wyoming. We climbed steadily for miles until we crested a divide and then it was all downhill to Rawlins. With tractor trailers and cars buzzing by, mere feet from my left ear, we put all we had left into forward momentum. With my legs totally shot from pedaling 170 miles in just over 24 hours we pulled into the parking lot of a Pizza Hut in Rawlins. Carefully placing our bikes so we could see them from inside the restaurant, we straggled into a welcoming booth and ordered pasta and soft drinks. Forty-five minutes and well over a thousand calories later, we searched around for a post office. We did find the post office with the magic of Google Maps and an IPhone  but only to find it had closed less than an hour before. Since our drop box had our maps for the next section of the route we were in a bit of a pickle. I decided we would just pick the maps up tomorrow when it opened, but closer inspection of the hours posted on the door showed that it was closed on Sundays, and tomorrow just happened to be a Sunday. We were both very tired, as well as low on calories and sleep, so we decided the best plan was to find a motel room and do what we could to revitalize our parched bodies. We picked up some groceries at a store and then checked into a room. After a shower and a short nap, we ordered Dominoes and watched some TV to pass the time. With my mind still fixated on the problem of the maps I was having a hard time relaxing. Finally, out of desperation, I called the post office in Rawlins. Expecting no one to pick up, I was surprised to hear a voice on the other end of the line. After recovering from my amazement I asked if we could have our box forwarded to Silverthorne Colorado, about 300-350 miles away. From my previous experience with government employees I was not expecting much help. Thankfully this person was much more helpful than your average DMV teller. After only a few sentences describing my predicament he said, “Yeah that shouldn't be a problem.” With my fears quelled, I was now able to go to sleep knowing that, at least for now, all was well with my world.

Til next time,

Wyoming Day: 15

Ever since the torturous two days from Polaris MT to Island Park ID I had not felt very good. A mixture of general fatigue and a calorie deficit made every afternoon a struggle to keep moving forward. While we sat in our motel room in Pinedale I looked at what we would have to cover over the next couple days. It was about 70-80 miles to Atlantic City and then we had another 130 windswept and barren miles to Rawlins. Between Atlantic City and Rawlins we had to cross the infamous Great Divide Basin. The Great Divide Basin is so named because all the rain, of which there is very little, does not run into either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans, but drains into small streams and reservoirs then evaporates. This is also one of the flattest portions of the whole route with no major climbs over all of its 130 miles. Almost every book or article I read portrayed the Great Divide Basin as soul-crushing in its monotony as well as downright dangerous if entered into without adequate preparation. I was tired as well as intimidated by the Basin so I decided it would be best if we entered it rested up and ready to “sprint” across it in one day. With this in mind we decided to camp just outside of Atlantic City and to then get up early and try to cover as much ground as possible before the legendary winds brought us to a standstill.

                On the morning of day 15 we slept in since we didn’t need to cover but 40 miles to get to our campsite for the night on the Sweetwater River. We leisurely packed up and hit the road by around 8:30. As we slowly climbed toward our first Continental Divide crossing of the day even the sagebrush disappeared till almost all we saw was blue sky bordered by smoky haze and a brown ribbon of dirt stretching to the horizon. 

Eventually we reached the historic South Pass and turned left on pavement toward South Pass City pop. about 5. South Pass will sound familiar to anyone who has played the Oregon Trail video game. South Pass was one of the most important passes through the Rocky Mountains and has been traversed by Indians, miners, the Pony Express as well as the Oregon Trail. It was amazing to be at an area that has been so important to the settlement of the West. Maybe I was imagining things but I could almost hear the bawling of cattle and the squeak of ungreased wheels as a long line of Conestoga wagons struggled to reach the promised land of Oregon. 

Shaking myself out of my daydreaming we then dropped steeply down to South Pass City. Over a hundred years ago South Pass City was a booming gold mining town with around 3,000 residents. As it often happens in these communities the gold vein dried up and everyone moved away to find work. Now, here in 2012, there are around 5 permanent residents. We stopped at a small store filled with tourist nick-knacks but most importantly cold Gatorade! We down one each then rode the 5 miles to Atlantic City. Once again this place was a city only in name although more like 50 people live there. By this time we were getting very hungry so we stopped at a bar/restaurant. We got some of the best burgers on the entire trip then bid the last trees we would see for days goodbye as we climbed steeply out of Atlantic City. The landscape very abruptly changed from gullies, valleys, and scrubby trees to desolate vastness and ankle high brush; we had just entered the dreaded Basin.

                We were planning on riding about 20 miles out of Atlantic City then camping for the night. By doing this we would put in a short day so we would be fresh the next day plus we would already have ridden a few miles into the Basin so we would not have as far to ride the next day. When we reached the Sweetwater River at around 2 pm we had a short conference and then decided to push on. Joseph and I both felt pretty good and we really didn’t want to sit around for hours with nothing to do. There was a small reservoir about halfway through the Basin were we could get water and could even camp at if we could not make it all the way across. If things went well we would be able to make it to Rawlins at around midnight. We stopped at a place called Diagnus Wells which was just a little pipe sticking out of the ground with water spilling out where we filled up our water bottles. This was the last place to get water until the A&M Reservoir almost 80 miles away.  Knowing we had many miles to go before we could sleep we didn’t spend much time there. The first thing that strikes you about the Basin is how vast it is. I would never say it was flat since you were either climbing up a short rise or coasting down the other side but when you looked around all you could see was sagebrush stretching toward the horizon like waves in the ocean. In fact the only other place I have been where you could see the actual curvature of the earth was at the beach. After an hour or so of riding we stopped to take a short break. The most infamous feature of the Basin is its wind and it was quickly apparent why. Luckily we had the wind to our backs for the time being but if we would have had to fight against it all day it would have been completely psychologically crippling. No wonder the wives of settlers would often go mad from the incessant wind and overwhelming vastness of the western plains. By around 6 pm the fact we had ridden around 90 miles so far that day was readily becoming apparent. Because of the heat I was finding it hard to eat anything but even so I tried to cram something down my throat every hour. Before this trip I didn’t know you could simultaneously feel like you were on the edge of starvation while at the same time having no appetite. To say I felt bad is a serious understatement. I felt weak from lack of food, my water was now past lukewarm to almost hot, I was just generally exhausted, and by now my recurring saddle sores were making themselves known. Looking back I think when I was riding into Lima MT I felt worse but if these two days had been competing to see which was worse it would have been a photo finish. We were finally nearing the reservoir and I told Joseph we should really stop for the night. Even if we were able to make it all the way into Rawlins that night we would be lucky to make it earlier than 1 am and we had already ridden about 120 miles. Joseph wasn’t feeling much better than I was so we decided to stop while we were still able to remain upright. We went a mile or so off route to the reservoir and we set up camp while Joseph struggled to set up the tent in the wind I purified some water and fixed our meal of honey buns and dehydrated noodles. As we were scarfing down what little food we had left Joseph observed that there seemed to be squiggly things in our water. I looked into my water bottle, and sure enough, I could see something that looked like threads but they seemed to be moving. I looked at the water questioningly, dumped in some more iodine solution, and then drank it anyway. A few minutes after we had finished eating I finally had enough energy to plod to the top of a small rise. The setting sun shone through the few clouds left in the sky and bathed my aching body in warmth and light. As I set there with the wind blowing through my hair and an incredible vista spread out like a vast artist’s canvas before me, it was suddenly all worth it.