Welcome to Kansas sign. Flat. Corn field. Corn field. Flat. Soy bean field. Flat. Town grain silo. Flat. Sunflower field. Flat. Corn field. Flat. Corn field. Flat. Anti-abortion billboard. Flat. Soy bean field. Mennonite family waves to us on the way to church as we pass a rotting cow on the side of the road. Flat. Corn field. Soy bean field. Flat. Feedlot of cows ready for ‘processing’. Flat. Anti-abortion billboard. Corn field. Flat. 20 miles of abandoned freight carriages ‘Union Pacific – Building America’. Lutheran church. Flat. Corn field. Wind. Flat. Wind. Soy field. Corn field. Freedom fries – $2.95. Sunflower field. Flat. Mennonite church. Flat. Wind. Wind. Corn field. Flat. Anti-abortion billboard. Corn field. Wind. Wind. Flat. Flat. Flat. Gentle hills, a curve in the road. Welcome to Missouri sign. Relief.
Monthly Archive for September, 2010
Keith had warned the wind in Wyoming was just like someone flicked a switch at 11am and he was not wrong. It was fierce.
Wyoming is home to the Wind River, the Little Wind River, the Wind River Range, the Wind River Canyon, the Wind River Indian Reservation, the Wind River Casino, Little Wind Casino and a few wind farms. I think it’s fair to say it was quite windy.
Wyoming is part of ‘big sky country’. The clouds roll across the sky like waves and the blue-green sage bushes move like coral against the pounding wind. When we were told these wide plains were once part of a sea bed, it wasn’t much a stretch of the imagination.
In big sky country, storms could appear on the horizon and travel to meet us in the blink of an eye. We would start out saying, ‘hmm..I don’t think we’ll get that rain’ and end up with lightening, thunder and hail an hour or two later. Nevermind the bears, being caught right in the middle of an electric storm was possibly the scariest moment of our lives. We have to admit, too, pretty freakin’ exhilarating. For days when we were asked where we were going, all we could answer was “We nearly got struck by lightning”
In the near deserted Jeffrey City, a former uranium mining town, we met up with Neil and Adi, avid cyclists from New Zealand. How nice it was to hear a familiar accent. We spent the next few days trying to out run them. But they always seemed to catch us around 3 o’clock in the afternoon. ‘Here they come’ became a familiar catchphrase. It was a great to have such good company. Happy cycling Neil and Adi!
Crossing the border into Colorado was a joy. It seemed like the wind dropped instantly, the road improved, the wildflowers and the mountains reappeared and the famous Hoosier Pass, beckoned.
Colorado was the icing on the cake. After weeks of climbing hill after hill, the majesty of the top of the Rockies was awesome. The landscape, literally and in our experience, had reached a new level. With every elevation marker we were reminded there was no where in Australia, or Ireland, as high as this.
Before Hoosier, the last and biggest of our climbs at 11542 feet, we thought we’d have a night of luxury and stay in hard roofed accommodation. On the lovely Bruce Moore’s recommendation ( a chap who’d stopped to give us some tips while we mended a tyre) we stayed at the Fireside Inn in Breckenridge. Run by Brits, Niki and Andy Harris, the Fireside Inn was so marvelous we ended up staying three nights!
Breckenridge (Breck to the locals) is a ski town with a soul, high in the mountains. We fell in love with it instantly. This might have had something to do with the 10 miles of delightful rolling bike path leading up to it;) but mostly because the Fireside Inn felt like it was home.
A home decked out with memorabilia from Andy’s Army service and that of his family’s (two Victoria Crosses were mentioned). A home complete with Gaspode the Wonder Dog (and Antigua).
After finally deciding that staying in the ‘sweethearts room’ for another night was going to blow our budget, we reluctantly left Breckenridge on a chilly morning to make the slow climb up Hoosier. The last four miles were tough, one hairpin bend after another, cars snaking past us. And then the top!
Higher than we ever cycled or been before! Hooray! We made it! We’re alive! Joy! It was an emotional moment, we can fully understand Marie’s one footed attack on her bicycle when she reached the summit.
Coming down took on a new meaning. 130 kilometers of downhill in one day seemed to discredit the previous 2 weeks of climbing. In many was it was like getting to the end of a really good book.
Although we were sad to be leaving behind the beautiful Rocky mountains, we were looking forward to a bit of Kansas flatness too!
But we didn’t quite realise just how flat it could get…
Twin Bridges, Montana, only has one bridge, but it is possibly the most bicycle friendly little town we have yet visited. With a population of 400, the town has managed to build a cyclist only campground, complete with showers, toilets, a sink and indoor area. All this for free and just for cyclists. A rare treat.
Bill White, the founder, came by to welcome us. He gave us a few tips, “watch out for the local Madison County deputy Sheriff, who likes to pull over cyclists and tell them off for riding on the road”, he said.
He also told us the bear story. The one we didn’t want to hear. A north Yellowstone bear and her cubs had attacked three tents in the park a few days earlier and killing a man. A survivor played dead and got away with only a broken arm. We suddenly felt like all the tourists who come to Australia and fear the native spiders, sharks and snakes. A few days later, we rolled into the world’s first national park, and were greeted at a campsite by one of the rangers.
“Store all your food in your car”, he warned. “This is BEAR country”
“uh.. what if you don’t have a car?”, we asked.
Unlike the other four million annual visitors to Yellowstone, who all have cars, we were petrified of being eaten alive by bears, particularly given the recent events. We even went to bed dreaming of throwing tomato sauce over someone else’s tent so they’d be eaten instead. Preferably one of the 120 boy scouts we were camped next to.
Thankfully we didn’t see the campsite’s resident bear, but Yellowstone was overflowing with bison, elk, deer and the most numerous beast of all, the RV.
We followed the RV caravan as it snaked out of Yellowstone into Grand Teton National Park. In sharp contrast, Grand Teton’s jagged mountains rise out of the ground so ferociously that it actually does take your breath away.
We knew we would have to go up at least one of peaks. We ended up crossing three that day and the continental divide with them! That makes at least five continental divides now. It was cool the first time.
Climbing out of the Tetons over Togwotee Pass at 9,658 feet would be the second highest climb of our trip. We decided to do half the 18 mile climb and stop at a campground on the way up so we could do the rest, fresh the next morning. The campground turned out to be non existent. Oh joy. So, with nowhere to stay, we pushed on and up, trying desperately to beat the sunset ( and the evil horse flies and mosquitoes) and find a bed for the night.
We reached the top at 9 o’clock, thoroughly exhausted and hardly able to take in the enormity of the mountains behind us. We were ready to coast down the other side. Murphy’s law prevailed and there were massive road works. We ended up being put in the pilot van, bicycles and all and were driven down the mountain 5 miles dodging the construction trucks. So, I guess we can’t say we’ve completed the entire journey by bike now, although a few wrong turns have certainly made up for the distance.
We made it to our destination well past bedtime, exhausted and elated. Ahead lay windy Wyoming.
