Saturday, August 01, 2009
47: I Saw the Signs
| Stoker's Log |
| Day Forty Seven |
 |
| 8/1/09 |
| From Larime, WY |
| To Rawlins, WY |
| 111.5 miles |
| 9.4 avg mph |
The Ramada had the most impressive breakfast we've encountered so far, so impressive that even people who weren't guests of the hotel came and paid to eat it. It didn't make a major difference in my day since I'm not a breakfast person, but Kyle was in heaven with all of the hot food options, including made-to-order omlettes. After stuffing ourselves, we packed up and rode down to the local bike shop to buy spare tires and tubes. They didn't have any in the right size, but we were at least able to purchase another patch kit. At the mini market down the street, I decided on a rather unconventional pair of snacks -- pumpkin seeds and pink wafer cookies -- and chatted with a young couple even more infected with wanderlust than we are: they've been touring the country in their RV for going on two years now.
We finally left town for another very open road. Based on our maps, we didn't expect to see much of anything before we reached the Sinclair station miles and miles away; unfortunately, we also didn't expect the Sinclair station to be closed down. Luckily for me, in the field next to it was a porta-potty beside some tents. They belonged to construction workers who lived far enough away from the worksite that sleeping over in a campsite made more sense than commuting or paying for a motel; this is what happens when wide open spaces meet a bad economy. The workers were about to climb into their trucks and drive off to get lunch -- where they had to go for food I can't imagine -- but they were kind enough to unlock the porta-potty for me and the van full of children that pulled up after us.
We then did a good deal of boring highway riding that you don't want to hear about. Along the way we were waved down by the delightful Officer Troy, who explained that due to a major bridge repair project, the state had closed down the highway and diverted traffic to a temporary road next to it. He said that we were welcome to ride on the closed highway, however, and gave us his business card so that construction workers and other officers would let us pass through. That's right, we suddenly had an entire highway to ourselves.
The empty road was incredibly liberating and cut our stress in half. It also had the benefit of all construction sites: regular porta-potties. In this case, they were extra portable:
Their wheels are really amusing -- almost as amusing as the name Honeywagon -- until you're using one during a wind gust and start to worry that it will head down the road. Which reminds me, I should add that we faced an awful head wind all day long. Sigh. It was so exhausting and infuriating, though we can't say they didn't warn us.
This sign is one of many like it along the highway; they say "Next 5 Miles" because that's about how often the signs occur. I would have changed "Possible" to "Inevitable," but that's just me. Some of the signs even had small wind socks to drive home the point.
Other interesting signage included an adjustable (and freaking fast) speed limit sign:
And strangely positioned mile markers. (Was it really that hard to move the sign a little ways down the road so that it could say 275.5 or an even 276? Am I the alone one who finds marking .37 strange?)
At this point you may be wondering why I'm showing you a series of road signs instead of more interesting pictures, but I promise there wasn't anything else to see. The area we rode through today was certainly beautiful...
...but it had even less variety than Kansas. The only significant outdoor sight of the day was the army of windmills stretching across the distant hills like Don Quixote's greatest nightmare.
Especially as a cyclist and an ultimate frisbee player, I will never understand how people living out here deal with the constant wind, but I was very glad to see that they put it to work. We got more information about the windmills and the lifestyle from the owners of a campground general store (that was blessedly OPEN) and their amusing FAQ answer board.
As I sat at their only table contentedly eating my pretzels and chocolate bars, I flipped through Hauler Magazine, a publication devoted entirely to tow vehicles and the drivers who use and love them. The best part was the (apparently long-running) American Towman comic. What will they think of next?
Then at the rest stop (which appeared after a long and blurry series of miles) I discovered a comic almost as amazing: The Zone Ranger. After a young man made the lethal mistake of driving in a truck's blindspot, he and his car came back as a sort of Transformer ghost superhero dedicated to teaching people about the "No Zone" around trucks. I couldn't make that story up if I tried:
The rest stop also included an informational sign about the Wyoming environment. Unfortunately, it ended with a boldfaced lie.
Even though it balances the ecosystem and produces power, I refuse to consider the Wyoming wind our friend right now. But at least by the late afternoon we started to hit downhills that lessened its effect. We also got to see a few families of antelopes, which was an exciting break in the monotony even though they always refused to stay still for a photograph. We made a quick stop at a Conoco station, and as we left the sun was setting and we weren't even close to finishing our 100+ mile day. Once again, we would be riding for hours in the dark. Great.
It turns out we would also be riding on a road that was in the midst of being resurfaced and therefore horribly uneven and unpleasant. It also passed by businesses that were all, you guessed it, closed. It's a sad day when you see more closed gas stations than open ones. I was seriously wondering whether anyone used gasoline in Wyoming when we finally saw the lights of the Sinclair refinery and an accompanying gas station and truck stop. After a few long minutes we reached it, and when it was my turn to guard the bike, I let the camera play with the beautifully eerie lights.
I desperately wanted to get food in Sinclair, but we were less than 10 miles from Rawlins, our destination for the night, so we carried on. Our only food option in Rawlins turned out to be McDonalds, and we were almost unable to eat there; only the drive-thru was still open, but fortunately they let me walk through it. It was a McDonalds like none I've ever seen: a machine grabbed and filled the soda cup all by itself while an employee made me a milkshake that was much too gourmet for a McDonald's.
Unfortunately, since I'm mildly allergic to strawberries, I couldn't drink all of it out of fear that they'd actually switched to natural ingredients, but I was impressed all the same.
We were much less impressed by the hotel. Checking in took FOREVER because the clerk had some sort of problem with the computer and no backup plan. I felt especially bad for the other family attempting to check in, because they didn't speak English very well and thought it was a problem with their card. We helped as best we could and finally got a room, which turned out to be decorated in the cinder block prison style. I suppose it was the perfect setting for us to listlessly eat our limp fries and decide that there was absolutely no way we could ride the next day.
| posted at: 03:31 |
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