anthony wandered away: Eastern Wyoming, Colorado

Dan and on top of Mt. Elbert. (click above for pic)

Well, it's been a long time since the last update, and I've covered a lot of ground since I left the Black Hills. Crossing the border from South Dakota to Wyoming found me in some very wide-open country (or desolate, depending on your viewpoint.) I left from Edgemont, SD, right on the Wyoming border, and rode south for about 80 miles without seeing so much as a village. Dry brown grasslands, cattle, and some rocky buttes and bluffs were all I saw that day. I ended up spending the night on top of a large hill that overlooked the road. The only light came from the stars and the glimmering headlights of approaching cars, which I judged to be visible from 15 miles distant.

The next day's riding found me in Wheatland, a city of around 4000 people. Being as it was saturday night, and I do enjoy a drink or two, I made my way to the Landmark Bar on Main Street. There was the usual crowd to be found in such a place on such a night: bikers, old timers leaning over their drinks, and a rowdy crowd shooting pool in the back. I assumed my usual role of the quiet traveller, keeping to myself as I wrote, and doing little to fit in with everyone else in the place. I had several short conversations with the people near me at the bar, but I mostly kept to myself. The evening continued in this manner until the jukebox was fired up, and Toby Keith's new-country anthem "I love this bar" pounded through the room. The guy who put the song on then proceeded to shake hands with every person in the bar. His music choice seemed to loosen everyone up, and a cowboy-hat-wearing guy at the bar began to buy drinks for the whole place. After I was good and lubricated off of the beer and whiskey, I began mingling, and someone shoved a couple dollars in my hand.
"put some songs on the jukebox, just make sure two of 'em are country," he said slowly and deliberately. I picked out a Conway Twitty tune and some Alan Jackson song, then the jukebox decided to play a horrible alterna-rock song before moving on to the country music.

After a few games of bad pool, I continued talking to Larry, the guy who funded my jukebox choices. I told him about my trip so far, and I learned a little about him too. As the night drew to a close, Larry offered to take me out to breakfast the next morning before I left town.

That night found me in the town park where I pitched my tent. In my compromised state, I neglected to notice the sprinklers that were watering the grass in another part of the park. Sometime during the night I awoke to what sounded like a hurricane-force downpour followed by a couple seconds of silence, then the deluge again. Through the haze of sleep and drink, I deduced that the sprinklers in my part of the park had started up. I briefly contemplated going back to sleep, but thought better of it. It was almost a shame that no one else was around to see me, bleary-eyed and clad only in boxer shorts, squinting and grumbling as I hustled to get my tent away from the sprinkler's path.

The next morning, Larry kept his word and we went to breakfast. When I mentioned I was heading south toward Cheyenne, he offered to take me there, as he and his wife were going that way to buy a dryer. I accepted his gracious offer, and two hours later was at the Flying J Truck Stop, thumbing for a ride. I felt like a bit of a fraud standing there with my perfectly operational bike, since there was a guy with only the clothes on his back and a cardboard sign that simply read "stranded."

Luckily he was headed the opposite way, so I didn't feel too guilty when I accepted a ride from a woman driving from Gillete Wyoming to Colorado Springs. She was picking up her two teenage sons who, with two other friends, had driven to Colorado Springs to see a concert. They had totalled their car, allegedly because of a van that crashed into them and took off. Since none of them had driver's licenses, they did what any out-of state, unlicensed, teenage driver would do: they ditched the car and ran away.

So naturally, they left it up to mom to rescue them.

She dropped me off outside of Boulder, where I was to visit Chelsea and Dan, friends of mine from Vermont who had recently gotten married. I visited with them a few days and checked out Boulder. It's been compared to Burlington, VT because of it's "progressive," outdoorsy, college-town feel, and I can see the similarities. There's the Pearl Street Mall, a street converted into a touristy open-air mall, which was designed by the same man who conceived of Burlington's Church Street Marketplace. However, there are some differences- Burlington is filled with rundown old houses that have been hacked into apartments for students, whereas in Boulder all of the single-family homes are renovated and sold for around a million dollars each. Boulder also has the veneer of widespread and rapid expensive development, which is somewhat less prevalent in Vermont.

Anyway, I hung out in Boulder with Chelsea and Dan for a few days, got offered a job at a sushi bar, and ate some good food. When I visit with friends it can be easy to want to just hang out and lose focus on riding further, but I dragged myself together and headed toward Gunnison, Colorado, to visit my brother.

On the way, I travelled through several 10,00-foot mountain passes, and got my first glimpse of a 14,000+ foot mountain, of which there are over fifty in Colorado.

That's Mt. Princeton, as seen from Trout Creek Pass.

I ended up not riding up Monarch Pass, the crazy long and scary pass over the continental divide- Dan ended up picking me up in his car. It's just as well, anyway, since it started pouring rain and I had already ridden close to 100 miles that day.
We ended up going out for dinner in Gunnison- The Gunnisack Restaurant's award-winning Chicken-Fried Steak. Thanks to mom and dad for treating us to dinner!

Since I've been here we've been fishing, hiked the tallest mountain in Colorado, and did some amazingly epic mountain biking in Crested Butte, which is just down the road. Yesterday we did about six hours of riding, easily my longest and best day of riding, bar none. the definite high point of the day was Trail 401, which climbs up a 10,000' mountain pass only to continue to climb up the side of a steep valley. The downhill was an amazing traverse and downhill on the side of an open alpine meadow, with some fast switchbacks through aspen groves. The scenery included huge mountains,
cliffs, an enormous valley, and a group of glowing blue alpine ponds. It was incredible. Unfortunately, I was having too much fun (and crashing too much) to bring my camera with me, so no pictures. It's just as well because even pictures couldn't do justice to the experience.