
Sinclair, WY...aka the devil's domain. Frightening spires shot flames high into the sky at this oil refinery.

A bearded woman attacked us. She wanted money and booze.

Split Rock, a national historic site, was one of the checkpoints of the Pony Express. The Express was a horseback mail service providing "speedy" delivery from east to west and vv. Though popular when around (1860-1861), the telegraph quickly put the cowboys out of business.

An uncomfortable Kevin George after riding through the storm on the plateau above. Making our way to the rim of the Wyoming basin we faced the most severe headwinds and stinging rain of the trip. But, once in the basin, we were clear of all stormy weather and riding under clear blue skies.

Kevin riding the remaining picturesque miles into Lander, WY, where we stayed at the city park and showered at the local swimming pool. A pool supervisor enlightened us of the pronunciation of "Dubois" and "Popo Agie," respectively and phonetically, Doo-boyz and Perposia. Thenceforth locals, we took to the park and tried out our new slang on...no one. Lander was a great little town.

Our next destination and the latest edition National Geographic; an in depth look at the facts and conspiracies of Yellowstone's supervolcano and what would become of our Northwest territory if submerged in liquid hot MAGMA. The magazine was a coincidental find in Fort Washakie Grocery...two nights prior we stayed with the most colorful character we've encountered to date (Byron the 40-year-old hippie potter living in an abandoned gas station in Jeffrey City, WY he purchased for $5,000) who's often rambling monologues touched on dead mosquito art while inebriated, Nostrodamus' prediction of the end of the world and volcanic winter after Yellowstone blows. "We'll be killed instantly, thank god," he plainly stated of the northwest populace. "And all of you on the east coast will either die of hunger or revert to cannibalism..." Pleasant!
The next morning we awoke to what Kevin still attests to have been a nightmare...a Jeffrey City woman-on-the-brink. Bearing a striking resemblence to Evillene, the Wicked Witch of the West, she appeared as if in a plume of smoke and without missing a crooked stride threatened Max that she had an "Apache in my truck and I'll blow you off the road." She then turned to Kevin, who stood shirtless and stunned, and said, "You too, b*%&h!" If I recall it accurately she proceeded to fly away on her broomstick.

The road at times was filled with crickets which would jump in and off the bicycles. Sadly not all of them made the trip alive. Years ago locusts had plagued areas in Kansas, with swarms so thick the railroad couldn't run. The bodies of the crushed insects lubricated the tracks so much the engine couldn't pull the train out.

We came upon this sign in the Wind River Indian Reservation. The mountain in the back is Crowheart Butte named for when Chief Washakie danced around a victory fire with quess which part of a rival Crow Indian on his spear. The battle between the tribes was for hunting rights in the surrounding lands. Chief Washakie went on to become a great friend of the white settlers and trappers that later inhabited the area. He and Sacajawea of the Lewis and Clark expedition are buried in Fort Washakie up the road.

We'll be taking suggestions for the caption of this photo...the best will be posted in the next edition of Cycle Vikings.

Descending into this canyon we noticed the very flat mount in the center of this picture. Also seen is the beginning of the cloud cover that would become a storm that evening.

Kevin riding through a canyon of red clay. We had recently become targets of a drive-by bottle throwing. Thankfully it was plastic! We must haven been mistaken for a roving recycling bin.

Similar to the sand cups made in elementary school, the stratification of colored sediment persisted throughout the mountains. Amazingly the erosion that forms the peaks still preserves the patterns.

Riding along the Wind River we encountered another fierce headwind, almost forcing us to a stationary position. We pulled into an RV park and were quickly joined by a motorcycle club of about 20 people. Engines grumbling and leather squeaking their party was from all over the country. Their mission was the conversion of bad boy riders from the likes of Hells Angels to born again Christians. I suppose Kevin and I didn't look mean enough.
We ended up staying in the RV park which turned out to be there first summer in operation. It had shower rooms that rivaled those found in a hotel. Our neighbors were very friendly in their larger RVs, giving us wood, allowing us to use their cookware and even a tomato imported from their home garden in Iowa.

Holed up in "el tento de smello" Kevin and Max's knee ponder their situation. Waking up to very cold weather and rain, the duo had been informed by a local guide that there was snow expected on the pass they were to climb. With no intention of cryogenically preserving any member of their bodies, they decided to wait out the storm in lovely Dubois, WY.
It was hard to compare with the junior high school pool in Lander, but there was plenty of avocado chicken pizza and comfortable wooden chairs in the Library.
Clearly, the two strange monoliths are rare jumbo alien male and female prairie oyster seedlings.
ReplyDeleteOh those beards!! I can't get past them!
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