[Editor's Note (from John not Vance): John evidently would rather type than bike ride today. If you don't want to read a magnum opus, just look at the headings and know that you've more or less gleaned the essence of the past 4 days.]
... it was a mix of disaster and blessing that I'm at this terminal at the Sublette County Library (42.86639 , -109.85915), writing this update to you. But for some very kind souls, I'd still be walking in The Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming.
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Travelogue: The Great Divide Basin ... Sand, Sun and Wind
When we last left our intrepid traveler, he was heading north out of Rawlings, that bustlin' ... oil town? The first 20-ish miles were on unbelievably busy US-287, with massive freight trucks blasting by every minute or so: the ones going my way gave me a push, the ones going into Rawlins sprayed me with a wave of wind to slow me down. Most seemed to be carrying ... tires???? Why all the tires heading north?
It was a long slog out of Rawlins then I crossed the continental divide and it was a glorious downhill, no need to pedal plunge to Mineral Exploration Road. In the middle of all of this emptiness of scrub and grasses, there is a two lane, paved road that someone put there at great expense and few people use: I encountered maybe 3 vehicles during the 2-3 hours I was on that road, including the omnipresent UPS truck. Man, those guys go everywhere!
Prelude to disaster occurred on this road, 30 miles out of Rawlins: my rear tire mysteriously blew a pound's worth of sealant unto the pavement. Major blowout! I pulled everything off the bike, flipped it over, removed the tire and inspected the damage. I couldn't find any lethal object in the tire, but there seemed to be a cut across the width of the tire. I "patched" that with some money lining the outside of the inner casing (hoping to add some strength to the tire), installed the spare tire and very carefully pumped up the tire: if the bead isn't seated properly, it's possible for the tube to squeeze out between the rim and the tire, resulting in explosion.
I know, I've done it ...
With the tire repaired, I put in another 25 miles across the vast expanse of rolling nothingness. After the paved road, I was riding on a dirt road for maybe 15 miles. That wasn't the problem; the problem was the wind, the wind, the wind, the wind. I estimated that the wind stole about 3-5 MPH from me. Not a big deal? If you're in the saddle for 8 hours, that's a loss of 24-40 miles you could have ridden that day if it had been calm.
That's a lot ...
My goal that day was the A&M reservoir where I could stock up on precious, life giving water for the next day's 55 mile, water less ride across The Great Divide Basin. The reservoir was 1 mile "off route" and I almost missed it because the sign for the turn off to the reservoir was laying face down in the sand (I turned it up for my fellow travelers, but I'm not sure how long it will stand up to the wind). I had to ride up a little hill (another hill???) but, man, was the ride worth it: a 600 X 50 yard body of beautifully clear water. Why the hell was it here in the middle of so much dry desolation?
I struggled to set up the tent thanks to, you guessed it, the wind, but finally got everything staked down. I was eating dinner (1/2 a hoagie sandwich) when a car drove onto the dam, 100 kids got out and they started fishing! They even caught a couple fish. How the hell did the fish get to this lake and why do people drive their cars on dams?
The evening skies were clear and I slept quite well, the only camper in a 50 mile radius? I had set my alarm for 5:30 AM so the next day I could get out to get a few hours of windless riding. For the first time on the trip I used my 2 oz., Sawyer mini-water filter. It's a pain ... fill a 22 oz. Mountain Dew bottle with water, screw it to the filter, squeeze the Mountain Dew bottle to force water through the filter, unscrew to release pressure, "un-scrunch" the crushed bottle to make it look more or less like a Mountain Dew bottle, repeat as necessary.
I think I got about 6 oz. per cycle. To fill the gallon I wanted to carry (128 oz.), I had to do 20 cycles. No one said ultra light was easy ...
With about 7 liters of water (3L on my back, 3L in water bottles on the bike frame, 1L of SmartWater I had lugged up from Rawlins against the wind), I set out around 6:30 AM, before the earth rotated to reveal our home star.
Crossing the Great Divide Basin on bike against the wind is inspirational ... for about a half hour. One can't help but be impressed by scrub land spooling out from far distant horizon to even farther distant horizon. Pronghorns , in herds or as individuals, stared at me (what? You haven't seen a bicyclist about to have a disaster?) then bolted if I got closer than 1/4 - 1/2 mile. And they really bolted, speeding off as if chased by a cheetah. I guess they didn't realize that A) I can only go 3 MPH against the wind and B) I need a decent road to even do that.
I saw grouse and small birds, a snake, cows and cows and cows. At night I heard coyotes baying at the moon, but I never saw one. Locals claim there are elk in the basin, but I didn't see any. And I saw hundreds of two lane tracks through the scrub brush, rambling away from the "main road" to who knows where. When I was planning the trip, I was worried about these roads confusing me, but these tracks were just two ruts jouncing across the scrub, very different from the relatively wide dirt road I was on.
After that half hour of inspiration, though, I had to work to appreciate any difference in the landscape. The only pick up truck driver I encountered all day (that story is coming soon) said it was the most beautiful place in the world. I can only wonder where this person hasn't been ...
I had to cross 55 miles to get to the next water source and as the day grew longer, the wind grew stronger, the scenery grew more homogeneous, I was ready to throw in the towel.
Thing is: you can't.
No one is going to come to rescue you. No ... one.
On that day I saw ONE car (more on that in a sec, really) and ONE southbound Great Divide bicyclist. So, if I was going to get to Diagnus Well (so obscure, The Google doesn't know what it is ...) to restock on my water, it was all me.
So, bike I did in spite of complaints from my legs and head ...
The map that is issued by the Adventure Cycling Association said that you could see a stile from the road which crossed a fence to get to the well. That was a lie ...
I have the GPS coordinates of some of the features of the ride, but, even as I scanned for the stile where the GPS said it would be, I pedaled by the faint road that led to the well. I knew it had to be nearby, so I zoomed the map on the GPS and, sure enough, where the GPS said there should be a road, I finally recognized the faint road that led to the well. Phew! I'll have water for the next day.
The well was ... amazing. There is a 1 1/2" pipe coming out of the ground in the driest place I have ever been and it is just streaming pure water, 24/7. Where is this water coming from???? Who decided to put a pipe in there?
When I first set up the tent outside the fenced in well, it blew away. That's how hard the wind was blowing. I had to reorient the tent to provide the smallest profile to the wind to keep the tent from flying.
I had completed the first part of that 150 mile trek across The Great Divide Basin. On that second day, 55 miles across that arid zone, I used 4 liters of water: I had 2 liters of reserve that I lugged up and down those massive basins.
Only 2 more days until Pinedale, only 1 more day until disaster ...
About that one driver I encountered: incredible, he was a falconer, out to hunt grouse for a few weeks. He and his wife had parked their 5th wheel on one of the rutted roads that splayed off the main road and were going to hunt for several months. He showed me his bird of prey, a white osprey (?) with a hood over its head that calmly remained in his box.
Can you believe that in the middle of a vast nothingness I run into a proud falconer????
For the record, they hadn't caught any grouse that morning ... I spotted a couple birds about 5 miles down the road, but since I have TMO, I couldn't call him because, apparently, there is no cell service for TMO in Wyoming.
Day 2 was a continuation of Day 1. Just gotta say, though, that a 5:30 AM it is so still and quiet that it almost hurts the ears. I actually crossed or followed the Oregon Trail and the California Trail. I can't imagine what it must have been like for them. For me, I figure a car will go by and maybe take me to civilization. For them, they were a long, long way from any town that could help them out. Biking along those routes in the middle of the Great Divide Basin gave me a real appreciation for their travail.
When I reached Atlantic City (yep ... no presence of Trump, though), I thought I was done with the scrub: I saw my first tree since leaving Rawlins! But, it was a feint, and soon I was back to the same old scrub land with the wind's invisible hand, constantly pushing me in the chest.
At one point on this segment, I followed the continental divide along a 1.5 mile butte. Spectacular scenery from that vantage point: buttes and mesas to the left, rugged mountains off in the distance to the right. I had taken all day to climb to that vantage point and it was a wonderful payoff to see this vista AND realize that I had done it all with just legs and lungs.
Then my chain blew up ...
... and that wasn't even the disaster ...
... a link was totally bent outward and I could not bend it back. I lopped off another couple links and carefully reassembled the chain: if I broke the chain tool I would be in serious trouble! Just as I got it all reassembled, a truck pulled up (going the wrong way) and the driver asked if I needed help. I told him if I turned the pedals of the upturned bike and the wheel spun I was good.
I was good.
But it was an hour until sunset and I still hadn't reached the campsite I was hoping to get to. I never did find it.
Rather, I found a group of Divide bicyclists in a camp near the Little Sandy Creek. I had found Nirvana!
Then, THE disaster ...
... just as I was rolling up, my rear tire started spewing air and sealant onto the pavement. Oh, sh*t, I don't have a spare! I rolled the wheel back and forth until the hole was touching the road and the sealant was clogging in the leak. Apparently I had stopped the leak.
Really?
I ate dinner with riders from Oregon, the Netherlands and Belgium. The wind had finally died down and I set up the tent without difficulty. I left the rain fly off and slept under the sweeping panorama of the Milky Way.
I got up a bit after 5 AM, broke camp and, on the road, away from the snoozing bicyclists, pumped air into the rear tire and ...
... it wouldn't hold the pressure.
Remember that thing about no one is going to rescue you? I didn't want to rouse the sleeping campers to see if they had a spare they could spare so I turned the bike west and started walking. Pinedale was only 50+ miles away. I'd get there in maybe 16 hours, but I had enough water and food to do it.
I walked for more than 2 miles when the miracle arrived: Wes in his pickup truck, the very first vehicle going me way that morning. Guess where he was going? Pinedale. It was a good thing I got an early start or I would have missed him.
Things like this just happen to me: disaster leads to a long, comfortable ride into town (recall my similar rescue south of Steamboat Springs). Wes and I talked for the entire 48 mile drive into town. I thanked him profusely as he dropped me off at the hardware store.
Miracle 1!
But the hardware store didn't have any bike parts I could use ...
I walked to the other hardware store which is allegedly also a bike repair place, but, incredibly, they didn't have any inner tubes that would fit my bike! Really??? I bought a chain (just in case ... hate to haul all that weight to Canada, but if I lose another couple links from my chain I may not be able to get to some gears), a tire and a patch kit. I repaired TWO holes in the tube, assembled the tire outside the hardware store and, while I'm doing this, who should walk up? Jason, another miracle worker. I told him that there were no inner tubes that would fit my bike and asked him if he had a spare. Nope, but he'd go home and check. Not 10 minutes later, Jason shows up with an inner tube that will fit my bike!!!
What are the odds??????
So now, thanks to Jason, I have a spare tube.
Miracle 2!
I'm spending the day here (evidently typing for hours in the library and helping out fellow patrons), recharging my batteries. People seem very friendly here and I'm glad that I got here on Thursday before the big, final Labor Day weekend rush which might have resulted in all rooms booked.
In the last 3 days I rode nearly 180 miles, nearly all of it against the incessant westerly Wyoming winds. I had two flats, a broken chain and was saved by two strangers.
Disasters and miracles ...
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The Machine
It's only taken me 10 days to get this sorted out, but I think this is the way long distance bicycling works:
First off, there is "the engine": legs and lungs. This thing, given the right amount of food and water, can run 24/7 putting out a continuous, if minuscule, amount of horsepower. The goal is to get those legs churning at a constant 80-ish RPM and "the engine" will be just fine.
Second, there is "the pilot": the brain, arms and fingers. These guys are in charge of navigation, i.e. steering to the line of least resistance in the gravel roads, and shifting the gears to keep "the engine" churning at 80-ish RPM: shift down if the load is too high, shift up if the load is too easy.
Couldn't be easier, really.
Except ...
... there are a couple of vestigial parts that get in the way of The Machine. First off, my back and rear end. One can only sit hunched over on a narrow seat for a limited amount of time before everything in that general area starts to ache. I've found some relief by doing "rolling breaks": standing up in the pedals, letting the bike coast down, doing a couple of strokes while standing, then reseating. This seems to alleviate the pain for a few minutes. Repeat as necessary.
Of course, there is the "standard" static break: stop riding. Often I just have to stop in the middle of a hill, but more often than not, I push The Machine to a crest then take a breather. The reward is often water or a small piece of jerky or 1/4 hoagie sandwich. Lucky me!
The other thing that gets in the way is ... me. I'll look at yet another steep hill and just feel defeated. The Machine doesn't feel defeated. It can churn 24/7. It doesn't know an uphill from a downhill, just wants to do its 80-ish RPM. It doesn't know how many hills it's climbed already that day.
Thing is, The Machine does climb that hill and the next and the next and the next. Recall that we have no choice but to proceed, to move forward. So I just wish I could put the machine into auto-pilot and let "me" ride along as a passenger, reading the paper, sipping coffee, etc.
One other thing with respect to riding that is dawning on me: it's all about seat time. I have NO control about anything else but how long I pedal each day. The Machine is just churning out its constant horsepower and the terrain and weather conditions are affecting distance. Yesterday I set a new record of over 10 hours of seat time (previous record was 8 1/2 hours). Because of the terrain and weather, that came out to just 5.8 MPH average speed, perhaps the lowest daily total of the trip. What can I do about that?
Buy some better legs and lungs?
I have about 20 more days to get The Machine and me to reach some sort of blissful, long distance bicycling harmony.
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Aphorisms
Nothing that is going to change the fate of mankind, just some internal phrases that have been developing over the course of the ride:
Nothing that is going to change the fate of mankind, just some internal phrases that have been developing over the course of the ride:
It Is What It Is
I hate the wording of this mantra (I have a lot of time on my hands ... maybe I could come up with something more poetic?), but it does help reset my troubled mind. For instance, after maybe 20 minutes of grinding against the wind to reach the top of a hill, what is before me? A small drop then yetanother, larger hill. Holy sh*t! Is this uphill thing ever going to end. But then I remind myself that it is what it is. No matter what I think at that moment in time, I am NOT going to change this road one iota. That hill and the next and the next are there and I have no choice but to climb them.
Take a deep breath, let that sigh of resignation go and let The Engine do its work!
You have no choice ...
I'll Get There When I Get There
I have destinations planned out that can be important (for instance, I had to get from one water source to the next). With the GPS I know exactly how far I have to go but what is very uncertain is the "seat time": how long will I have to sit on that bike saddle before I get there? Wind, topology, bike failures, visits with falconers, all contribute to arrival time. I get especially anxious as sunset draws near (7:51 last night), but, hey, I'll get there when I get there.
If You're Thirsty, Drink
Perhaps the silliest of my mantras, it is, none the less, pretty important. I'll find myself feeling parched and the next thing that pops into my head is, "If you're thirsty, drink". I have no idea why I don't reach for the water without this first popping into my head ...
I warned you that these aphorisms would not change the fate of mankind.
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Inner Songs
I decided when I started this trip that I would not ride with headphones. I just feel like it takes one sense away from the whole experience.
That doesn't stop me from listening to tunes, though. As I ride, my subconscious picks a song from the vast collection of tunes stored in my mental jukebox and I've got a theme song that may last for hours at a time. The interesting thing is at first I'm not aware of why that song is playing but eventually I figure out that some phrase in the song is relevant to what is going on. Here are some songs that have been playing recently on the Sirius Biking Uphill Against the Wind Channel:
Joni Mitchell's Car on a Hill
Further on up the Road (traditional blues number)
Led Zeppelin's Good Times, Bad Times
Joni Mitchell's You Turn Me on I'm a Radio
I'm open to other suggestions. Call me at the station, the lines are open.
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Plans
Beats me. I will look at the maps later this evening and send you a much shorter update. I'm off to get some grub to keep The Machine happy ...
I hope all is going well for you and your loved ones.
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