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DAY
16
My body clock wakes me at 5.30 am. I get up use the laundry
- I am the only person awake in the park as I sit down and catch
up with my diary. At 7.30 when the RV population are stirring, I
walk downtown and buy a bagel and coffee and watch the news and
weather on TV - serious head winds today 30 mph gusting to 40 mph
- I have another coffee to celebrate the good news, pack up my bike
and head into the park. The first 14 miles is a road that connects
to the loop route around Yellowstone, it’s about 6,500 ft
above sea level. The vehicles move slowly - no large interstate
trucks zooming by.  After
a few miles on the southern loop I see an elk appear out of the
shadows on the other side of the river. I sit quietly and watch
as the animal wades through the water. A car pulls up behind me,
then an RV, within minutes there are a dozen vehicles, people talking
loudly, cameras clicking ... I move on. The headwind is now very
strong, I amble along at a very slow pace enjoying the scenery at
this time of the year the alpine meadows are covered in wild flowers
and the Lodgepole Pine forests provide shade on the road. At lunchtime
I find seclusion way off the road; a rock in the river provides
a place to eat and dangle my feet in the cold water. I lie down
on the rock and close my eyes realising that this is a moment that
will be with me forever. Half an hour later I’m battling wind
gusts that almost drive me backwards! I catch up with a touring
cyclist on a mountain bike, as I pass him we try and have a conversation
but the wind is howling so I indicate that I’ll see him further
up the road. We meet at the geysers - his hame is Tomo, a Japanese
chemist and karate instructor who, at the age of 26, has quit his
job so that he can tour around the US for 3 months. “Ah! An
Alex Moulton bicycle - very famous in Japan” he says, studying
the suspension. We walk around the geysers, smelling sulphur and
taking photographs. A few people tell us we’re crazy cycling
in this wind, it’s hard enough to walk against it.
We are both camping at Grant Village on
the edge of Lake Thumb. So we struggle along stopping at geysers,
waterfalls and cascades along the way. On the long climb up Craig
Pass we catch up with a guy on a recumbent - he’s struggling
to get up the steep slope and he says he’ll meet us at the
campsite. At Grants Village there’s a long queue to register
for a site. While we are waiting some tourists are videoing my bike
- they are Russians who speak little English. We have a 3 way conversation
about bicycles. They ask lots of questions about touring and Tomo
and I do our best to reply. Our turn to register - we get a lecture
about bears - “A bear has been on the site 3 or 4 times this
week so please put your food and water in the boxes and not in your
tent.” Tomo becomes excited. He wears a karate bandana and
his eyes light up “Bears, that’s cool!” I imagine
Tomo leaping out of his tent at night and challenging a bear - I’m
not sure which is more frightening, Tomo or the bear! We cook up
some pasta and tea, put our food in the box and I spend the night
half asleep waiting for the bear!
DAY 17
In the morning we are still alive and our site hasn’t been
ransacked! We are eating breakfast when the camp warden, Phil, ambles
over. He was in Okinawa during the war and tests some of his Japanese
words on Tomo. He gives us some fresh trout he caught in the lake
yesterday - I wrap it in a damp towel and plastic bag for tonight’s
dinner. We set off together, I aim to get to Cody - 104 miles away
- but Tomo is not sure. His days are usually 50 miles and 100 miles
would be a record for him. After half an hour we see a buffalo grazing
nearby. “That’s not real” Tomo declares. I told
him to go and jump on it, knowing that many people have been gored
by these creatures - they can run 30 mph. “No, not today”
smiles Tomo. He’s met his match! We have two passes to climb,
the second one, Sylvan Pass takes a long time to climb but from
the top we descend all the way to the East Entrance at great speed.
Leaving Yellowstone Park we stop to get food, we have done 54 miles
and I convince Tomo to come to Cody with me, another 53 miles. It’s
slightly downhill most of the way and we charge along through gorges
over bridges, huge rocky escarpments towering over us. Eventually
we end up at Buffalo Bill Dam just outside Cody and decide to camp
alongside the lake. We cook Phil’s trout and some pasta and
watch the sunset over the misty blue hills surrounding the lake
- this is five star camping.
DAY 18
Waking up to a Wyoming sunrise we pack up and ride into Cody - the
big event of the year is on - rodeo. Tomo and I say goodbye - he
is going to use the Internet in the library. He has never ridden
100 miles in a day before and wants to get back to his leisurely
pace. From Cody I battle against a strong headwind towards Greybull.
The road rollercoasters up and down in a straight line through the
hills covered in dry grass and sagebrush. Again I have to pedal
downhill to make any progress. Now and again I see deer feeding
on the roadside grass. They ignore traffic but when two bicycles
approach they stand upright for a few minutes and then make a dash
in the opposite direction.
I am carrying three litres of water -
one bottle I wrap in my damp camping towel and it stays cool for
a few hours. I always have some candy bars for a sugar hit, some
butterscotch to keep my mouth moist in the hot dry weather some
potato chips, and fruit such as bananas and apples. I have a chapstick
and sun cream handy, the dry hot Wyoming sun is fierce in the middle
of the day.
 In
these conditions I’m hypnotised by the road a few metres in
front of my wheel, my mind taking me to other locations and time
zones until a steep hill or wind gust gives me a reality check.
I arrive in Greybull, a small town of 3,600 people (64 miles from
the campsite) and buy some lunch at the local store. From here the
Big Horn River runs down beside the road to Worland 32 miles away.
I look up at the Big Horn Mountains and think about tomorrow, a
94 mile ride over Powder River Pass, 9,666 ft - a big day!
Late in the afternoon I arrive in Worland,
find a campground, shower, eat and fall asleep at 10 pm listening
to music. I wake at 2 am, realise my batteries are flat in the MP3
player, so I stick them into the recharger, walk over the restroom
for a power socket and return to bed.
DAY 19
Early in the morning I’m heading east towards the village
of Tensleep 26 miles away. This community is located exactly 10
sleeps (nights) between the Sioux camps of Platte River to the south
and Bridger, Montana, to the north. This is the area of the historic
battle site - here Dull Knife and Wild Hog were defeated leaving
the Big Horn Mountains under the control of the ’white man’.
As I leave the village the road gets steeper, following Tensleep
canyon, rocky escarpments, a mountain river and pine trees. As I
climb slowly the road gets steeper, a series of hairpin bends and
I look up seeing the road continue a long way up the steep mountainside.
This is a rugged and beautiful landscape. The river is a silver
thread below and eagles sour around the rocky escarpments above.
Vehicles groan as they climb, a hoot of the horn and a wave as they
pass. In amongst the trees there’s a carpet of blue lupins
their scent drifting across the road in the mountain breeze. It’s
a 25 mile climb from Tensleep to Powder River Pass with a, mostly
downhill, run into the town of Buffalo. Along the way I see deer,
an elk in the distance and a Coyote scampering across the road.
When I reach the campsite it is dark, my legs have stopped working
and I stand under a hot shower for 20 minutes until my body comes
back to life. I find a tin of sardines in my bag, some bread and
orange juice. That will have to do for dinner tonight.
DAY 20
I ask the campsite storekeeper if there are any services between
here and Gillette, 70 miles away. “Yes, there’s a restroom
about halfway.” I stock up with supplies, four litres of water
and food. Someone up there is testing my patience as a strong headwind
is turned on just for my benefit. Another day of pedalling downhill.
Long climbs of a mile or more; dozens of them. The landscape is
pastel shades of ochre with paint daubs of sage, bushes and rocks.
The sky is an enormous blue dome above with criss-crosses of white
lines as jets fly high above the Wyoming wilderness.
Apart from the friendly Harley bikers,
who always smile and wave, there are the bikers who cruise the highways
on big quiet motorcycles, Honda Goldwings and BMWs. A lot of them
have surround sound music and instead of hearing a vehicle approaching
behind it’s the Rolling Stones or a Blue Grass band getting
louder and louder until, with a toot and a wave, the music slowly
disappears over the horizon.
Now and again I see oil wells with huge
machines rotating large cams and pumping slowly. They are like aliens
from “War of the Worlds” - fitting sculptures for this
moonscape. I am curious, leaning my bike against the fence, I walk
up a hill and stand next to this huge machine. I now have a sense
of scale - some of the boltheads are bigger than my wheels. I look
out over the landscape and see half a dozen more working with slow
cadence.
I reach the restrooms halfway and am overjoyed
at finding a water cooler. I refill my bottles and sit for while
having conversations with travellers about the bike and where I’ve
come from, where I’m going, etc. Having four tyres hanging
on the bike is a sure sign that I’m not just going to the
corner shop!
It is at least 100 degrees F today and
as the afternoon drags on the sky darkens on the horizon. I look
up and say “Nice one guys ... first the headwind and the hills
and I am in a gully between two hills when I see an old 2-seater
lounge chair abandoned amongst the sage brush. I park my bike, dust
off the old chair and sit down “why thank you” I sigh
(I tend to talk to myself a lot in these remote locations!). I made
a sandwich, gulped down some warm water and closed my eyes. I was
in a relaxed semi-slumber mode. I could sense traffic slowing down
and people doing a double take at this guy in a lounge chair in
the middle of nowhere. I was considering moving on when a pick-up
towing a jet stream caravan (they look like a giant silver bullet)
stopped on the side of the road. A man in his seventies ambled slowly
across the road. “Well if that ain’t the darnest thing”
he chuckled as he dusted of the seat next to me and sat down. We
talked about the weather, politics and how far kangaroos could jump.
Just when I was thinking how bizarre this encounter was, the door
of the van opened and a lady, who appeared to be wearing a dressing
gown and slippers crossed the road with a cup in each hand. She
smiled and gave us coffee (I’ve forgotten their names) and
a yapping dog made her turn around and head back.
Miles down the road I was still smiling
at my encounter with a chair and two very friendly people. Unfortunately,
my mood changed as the storm winds increased, I was pushing hard
on the pedals just to keep a forward momentum. With 10 miles to
go, gusts were almost blowing me to a standstill. It started to
rain and as I pulled out the cover for my rear bag a gust took it
out of my hands and I saw it fly down the highway. Putting the bike
down I sprinted across the road, jumped a barbed wire fence and
rugby-tackled the cover as it got caught in the brush. By the time
I got back to the bike, I struggled to get my wet weather gear on
and made sure everything was watertight, the rain stopped. I looked
up at the sky “Nice one guys!” it took me an hour to
ride the last nine miles and I was very happy to see the sign ‘Welcome
to Gilletee, Wyoming.’
The cost of using a private campsite varies
a lot. I am disappointed when owners charge US$25.00 to pitch a
tent and take a shower - I think half that is reasonable - in some
of the government-owned park campgrounds the fee has been as low
a US$5.00. Needless to say, just to keep me happy, today’s
site is $25.00!
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