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The TransAmerica Trail – Wyoming
Saratoga, WY – Lamont, WY
82 miles
July 20, 2006
“I’d like three pancakes please.”
“Uh… well, our pancakes are dinner plate size,” the waitress shapes her hands to show the size.
“Excellent.”
“Okay, I warned you!”
I couldn’t finish them, and was a little ashamed, even though I had quite a fill. Maybe I won’t be having pancakes again for a little while. Ugh.
I rode out of Saratoga around 10am, and soon came upon some road construction. There were some guys waiting in traffic, traveling around the country on their motorcycles. They were really interested in my trip – asking me the usual twenty questions. The construction zone was short and no big deal, as opposed to the one I went through yesterday near Riverside, which went on for miles, and had all these tiny stones on the shoulder. The construction crew told me, “Be careful, there’s a lot of rattlers around here.” Ha, I don’t exactly expect any snakes to leap off the side of the road and make a kamikaze dive for my ankles as I pedal by at 15mph, but I guess I ought to use some extra caution when wandering in the brush to take pictures and what not.
Soon I came to Walcott, where I met Curt outside a gas station. He’s riding from Colorado Springs up into British Colombia. There I had can of Sunkist, a bottle of Gatorade, and kept moving.
The route now turned westbound and actually put me on an interstate – I-80 for twelve miles. With a huge shoulder and sparse Wyoming traffic, this wasn’t an especially nerve-wracking ride – I’ve ridden on some worse roads. The rough factor was that I was now battling a brutal headwind. Faith No More – Epic, The Kinks – Lola, Def Leppard – Let’s Get Rocked, and U2 – Where the Streets Have No Name helped me blaze through the wind. I must have seen at least a dozen small furry mammals along this stretch – gophers or prairie dogs or something – they were about the size of a red squirrel, would stand on their hind legs, and scurry into these little holes as I’d get close.
Off of I-80, I rode through this small town called Sinclair, and past the oil refinery of the same name. After I took a picture of it, this man pulled out in a pickup truck and said “You wasn’t takin’ any pictures, was ya? …well please don’t take any more.” He wasn’t in security uniform or anything. Weird. Oil refineries aren’t exactly like nuclear power plants or anything, right?
Then it was a slow number of miles west to Rawlins, on the outskirts of which they had a McDonalds. I don’t think I’d seen a McDonalds since eastern Kansas, so I stopped in and had three double cheeseburgers. In town I found the bike shop, tended by a lone 15 year old kid. His mom or grandmother or whatever, who’s usually there, had gone to the UPS store. My riding shorts have developed a tear along the inseam (No doubt due to my rippling muscles 
), so I thought I oughtta get a new pair before I become flasher-biker. I got some decent ones for $25 – not bad considering the name brands were running $70 in Breckenridge, Colorado – for a pair of tight shorts.
By now it was 6pm, and I had it in mind to go on for 30 more miles. Leaving Rawlins now in a northerly direction, somehow the wind had shifted, and remained a headwind. Fortunately it wasn’t as strong as it was earlier this afternoon. I climbed again over the Continental Divide (And not for the last time), now at 7,200 feet – and descended into what is called the Great Divide Basin. I ride across this “basin” for some twenty miles, and then back over the divide again. Where does the rainwater go that falls in the basin? That’s beyond my knowledge – maybe the Bermuda Triangle.
The riding was scenic and beautiful, and I’m so glad I went on and rode until 9:15pm. This open range country was littered with mule deer, of which I must have seen a dozen. There were plenty of cattle too, and the rock formations and landscape looked wonderful during the “golden hour.” Then there was an amazing sunset, of course, and the subsequent ride into dusk. Perfection.
Tonight I have my tent set up in the middle of nowhere, behind this roadside restaurant called Grandma’s Cafe. There was nobody here when I arrived, but it says on the map that they let cyclists camp out back of the store. It’s still windy, so I had to be sure to stake my tent out well – no lazy setup tonight. There’s also probably a 30 percent chance or so for a storm, but I’m hoping I’ll be lucky as far as that goes. Life is good.
Curt
Interstate I-80 traffic jam
There’s a small furry mammal in here.
old Rawlins state prison
into The Great Divide Basin
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