It's all downhill from here...

Wyoming has been a rather challenging stretch, I must admit. The land and scenery has been unsurpassed by anything I've seen yet, but the towns really, well, suck. It seems like a constant struggle to do the things I need to get done while in town, there doesn't seem to be much information around to help people find what they need, and it always feels like swimming against the current for as long as I'm in city limits. I've said it before, though, and I'll gladly say it again: thank heaven for libraries and librarians, surely some of the most knowledgeable and helpful people on the planet.

It looks like I spoke too soon about the Tetons containing the tallest pass I'd go over; I crossed Granite Pass in the Bighorn Mountains yesterday, at 9033 feet. I think that's it, though - aside from some hilly residue, I'm through the Rockies, and it's smooth (read: boring) sailing from here. My body did pretty well with riding at high altitudes. For the most part, I never noticed any shortness of breath while pedaling, except when I tried to sing or play my harmonica at the same time; usually, that works fine, but I could scarcely manage to belt out three notes before I was sapped of all my air. Not terribly surprising, really, given that I'm only taking in about 75% as much oxygen as sea level with each breath (thanks, Boyle's Law!).

The Rockies at 9,000 feet

The stretch from Cody to Greybull was stunningly desolate, and I was a bit worried about a thunderstorm rolling in (like it has every other night), given that I was pretty much the tallest thing and the only piece of metal for miles, save for the occasional car. It never came, though, thankfully. As I was cooking dinner that night, I noticed a herd of wild horses watching me from a nearby hill, so I went for a walk and watched them as the sun set.

Ye olde wild horses...

...and the sunset.

There are throngs of flying grasshoppers literally covering the roads here, and it's a little unnerving to here the inevitable crunch crunch crunch as you cruise down the pavement. Not as unnerving, however, as the ones that like to fly up and get stuck between your eye and the lens of your sunglasses, or the fact that they are highly cannibalistic, and for every one that gets squished, five more pounce on it to chow down. A note to all you bug-eating reptiles out there, there's a serious niche to fill here.

I accidentally slept in the spot of a deer last night, and it showed up around midnight and coughed at me for a few hours. I felt bad, and even invited it to sleep next to me, but given that it was pouring rain, I wasn't inclined to move. It was still around come morning, though, and it looked happy enough, so I won't worry too much.

I went through and uploaded some more photos to my previous posts, and added some captions to already-posted ones, so if y'all have the patience to wade through the old stuff, you might glean a bit more context.

Bison, Evangelists and Teddy Bears

I'm in Cody, one of Wyoming's ten largest cities, at a stunning 8,000 people. Yellowstone was beautiful and great and all the adjectives you'd expect. I came within about fifteen feet of a truly massive specimen of bison, while it was crossing the road; I'll tell you that the empty space of air that exists between a 2,000 pound bison and a person sitting on a bicycle seems quite a bit smaller than said animal and a car. The few seconds of mutual consideration that we shared was enough time to play through just about every imaginable outcome in my mind, many all of which, at that moment, involved me getting trampled; fortunately, I think Mr. Bison was thinking about the grass on the other side of the road. Oh, how I love the ruminant mind.

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone fame

I met my first evangelist while camping in the park. Two other cyclists my age were camped there, doing pretty much the same trip as me (except backwards), and we spent the evening together. It was impressive how quickly the conversation turned to god, and kept on coming back to god no matter what we talked about, and how god is missing from my life, and everyone else who hasn't accepted Jesus into their hearts. I argued for a bit, but quickly realized that there was little point in doing so, because you can't reason with lack of reason. They wanted us all to spend some time hiking the next day (me and some other women camped nearby who were on a cross-country road trip), but I graciously made a hasty exit come morning. I'm happy for them that their beliefs inspire them so, but the minute that they start telling me what I'm doing wrong with my life, it just becomes insulting and offensive. Ugh. I hope I don't meet many more of those. Nice guys, though.

Geysers: more proof of the existence of God

The weather has been wildly unpredictable, with ten-minute storms with the ferocity of a hurricane blowing through without warning. Last night I shared a campsite in Shoshone Canyon (just east of Yellowstone) with a grisly, gun-toting motorcyclist from Utah named Chuck (who, by the way, slept in an adorable pair of jammies with a well-worn teddy bear). Just as I was getting ready for bed, I found myself in the most intense windstorm of my life. It scooted Chuck (who was inside his unstaked tent) across the ground. With my tarp almost acting like a sail, I'm shocked that it didn't get torn away, or at least torn up some, but it did an impressive job of keeping me dry. As I was falling asleep, I gladly realized that the wind was blowing in the direction I was headed. (Of course, come morning, it had turned into a headwind.)

I'm going to be making my way more or less across northern Wyoming, but I'm not really sure what I'll do when I get to the east side of the state; if I'm not careful, I'll end up in Sturgis just in time for the biggest motorcycle rally in the world, which, if possible, I would prefer to avoid like the plague. We'll see what happens...

Happy birthday to me

Number of miles: 906
Fastest speed: 42 mph
Estimated number of pedal revolutions: 292,147
Number of completed trips around the sun: 26

I'm kicking up my feet at the Snake River Brewery in Jackson, Wyoming, after a beautiful morning of riding. I climbed two passes this morning, Teton being the second and more difficult of the two, all 8,431 feet of it. I haven't crossed the continental divide yet, but it will likely be the most difficult pass I'll do on this trip. I saw a moose and her foal on my way up, mucking around in a stream. At the top of the pass there was a sort of hidden road that used to be the main road up the pass until the highway was completed in 1969. Now it's abandoned by cars and a bit overgrown, but is perfect for cyclists that know about it; I got a completely deserted and car-free trip down the mountain, passing through forests and by glacial ponds.

The ride down Teton Pass

I don't really like Jackson; it seems phony. Much in the way that Leavenworth is "Bavarian", Jackson is "Ol' West". I'm sure it has a rich and wild history, but it's hard to see it under all the kitsch. I think I'd rather camp somewhere in the Grand Teton Nat'l Park than stay here tonight, but I also really want to avoid arriving in Yellowstone on a weekend, so maybe I'll just take a ridiculously slow day tomorrow. But oh! The last day has been the most achingly beautiful part of by ride yet, and I'm sure it will only get better from here; I can't wait.

One of the many proud displays of Jackson's lack of shame

Sorry I haven't updated the map or posted pictures in a while, but I can't do that unless I fond myself an actual computer to use, which doesn't happen very often. Soon!

P.S. No wonder I don't like this town! This is where Dick Cheney is from!