July 6, 2016
“YOU INSPIRE ME!”
Day Thirty-Six: Laramie, Wyoming to Chugwater, Wyoming
Last night we (OK, Joy) had somehow identified fifteen pounds of stuff that we no longer needed (or likely never needed in the first place.) This morning Joy went to the post office as soon as it opened, and mailed it all home. With our new arrangement, she wouldn’t have to carry the two panniers (also sent home), and I would have only two rear panniers, along with the tent, now strapped onto my back rack.
It was a nice ride out of town. We were following a low-traffic, partially dirt route that John Egan had suggested to me in 2013, when I was riding from Iowa to San Francisco. At the time, I’d unwisely listened to some local people, who talked me out of riding on the remote dirt portion of John’s route, and I’d taken a busy highway instead.
As soon as we got out of Laramie the traffic disappeared. A few local cyclists were out riding, including a septuagenarian on a carbon frame road bike who easily passed me. I grumbled to Joy about something or other, and she said “You’re just mad that a little old lady passed you.” Well, I wasn’t exactly happy about it.
We rode on the quiet paved road through some pretty scenery, climbing most of the way. As is usually the case when we’re doing long climbs, I got ahead of Joy, but I stopped when the pavement turned to dirt, at a “Road Closed” sign.
I waited there for a while, wondering if the road was REALLY closed, when a man on a recumbent bike pulled up. He told me that Joy was not far behind, and, when I asked about the “closed” road, told me that it was almost certainly not actually closed. Joy arrived, and the three of us talked for a while. The man provided what turned out to be an accurate assessment of the condition of the dirt road, and then he turned back to Laramie and Joy and I rode onto the dirt.
It was a great road. Except for a few rough sections, the surface was very rideable, and there was virtually no traffic — only a couple of vehicles. Except for one house, and a sheepherder’s hut, we didn’t seed any other signs of humans. We could ride side-by-side comfortably, and share our observations, most of which I usually forget by the end of the day, although I do remember that Joy pointed out a cloud “that looks like a brain.” It did, sort of.
We did a steep, steep ride down to a creek, and not longer after that we got on a paved road, which I don’t remember much about except that there was almost no traffic. Back on dirt again, we saw some antelope, took turns riding in front, startled a telephone repairman from the “Chugwater Telephone Company” who was working on the side of the road and almost certainly did not expect bicyclists to ride within a few feet of him, and discussed mundane things, including a shimmy that Joy had been experiencing. I was initially concerned to hear about the shimmy, until Joy informed me that it “only happens at 30 mph.” What?! My sympathy evaporated, because how often are we going that fast anyway?
We were hot and thirsty by the time we reached Chugwater (population 212.) I made the obvious joke about wanting to “chug some water”, but my riding companion was not amused. Chugwater is an exit on the interstate, and the exit features a rest area, so we stopped there first, sat in the shade at a picnic table, and drank the cold water from a spigot. It was so good.
I left Joy there to explore the town and find a place for us to stay. We were too hot and tired to ride any more today. I found the small town park, and not longer after that saw a man watering the flowers outside city hall, and asked him about camping in the park. He told me his wife was the mayor, then he called her on the phone, and she informed me that it was fine to camp in the park, although unfortunately the bathrooms were closed after some recent vandalism.
I rode back to the interstate rest area and told Joy the news, and we decided to go to a nearby bar for dinner before setting up camp. There we encountered two odd characters: “Woody”, and his female companion, whose name we somehow never learned during the hour-long conversation that enused.
The couple immediately (and loudly) expressed shock and disbelief about our little bike trip. Woody insisted on giving us multiple fist bumps, while his lady shouted “WAIT A MINUTE: YOU’RE RIDING YOUR *BICYCLES* TO CANADA!?!?” Woody’s companion, who had apparently been drinking more than Woody, would repeat this question several times. (Later, when Woody asked about our plans tomorrow, and we told him we planned to ride on a quiet paved road, route 313, his lady interjected “WAIT A MINUTE: YOU’RE RIDING YOUR *BICYCLES* ON 313!?!?”)
I tried to steer the conversation away from the bike trip, and asked Woody what he did in Chugwater. I learned that he was an arborist as well as a heavy metal drummer who had toured with many famous bands and was still drumming, despite nearly severing his arm with a chainsaw while working on a tree. For some reason, I had more doubts about his arborist story than I did about his drumming career, so, having met an actual tree expert, Floyd, back in Hartsel, Colorado several days ago, I asked Woody about a tree-measuring tool that Floyd had told me about. Woody seemed familiar with the tool, so I decided his story checked out.
After several rounds of fist bumps, which we engaged in with the couple, even though I am definitely not a natural born fist-bumper, and interjections of “YOU INSPIRE ME!” from Woody’s companion, our food arrived. We ate quickly, as Woody’s companion grew increasingly loud, and she insisted on telling us the confusing story of how Chugwater’s gas station (now closed) had been destroyed by a crazy man who crashed his car into the gas pumps: “HE WAS WEARING SHOE POLISH ON HIS FACE AND ARMS! HE SAID IT WAS FOR INSULATION! HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO BE IN LOS ANGELES AND WASHINGTON ON THE SAME DAY!”
(There was also an interlude in which Woody and his companion discussed something — Joy and me? — in German. I thought it might be a made-up language, but later Joy told me she was pretty sure it was actually German.)
We finished our meals, and Woody insisted on paying for it. I protested mildly, and even gave my credit card to the lady tending bar, but it was refused: “It’s been taken care of.” Well, that was nice of him.
We visited the other business in Chugwater, a soda fountain, where we had ice cream, then went to the interstate rest area to clean up. While I stood outside, a young couple approached me and asked about our tour. The guy had done the TransAmerica Trail, and they were both planning to do the Great Divide next year. Joy and I talked to them for a while about bike touring, then we went to the city park, spoke to some teenagers who were setting off the last of their July 4th fireworks, and finally set up the tent and went to bed.
Joy was able to get to sleep quickly, but I tossed and turned for hours. The small town was surprisingly noisy. I could hear dogs barking, a man yelling “Shut the f*k up!”, and, worst of all, some dude playing the same country music song over and over and over until 12:38 AM. I thought I would never forget that song, but the next morning I could remember neither the melody nor the lyrics. Probably for the best.
Today's ride: 71 miles (114 km)
Total: 1,317 miles (2,120 km)
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