Today I passed a tiny roadside sign along a barren, two-lane road in a landscape devoid of vegetation and was informed that I had entered my sixth state, Wyoming. The feeling I have had since crossing the state line I can only describe as delicious loneliness.
Any perceived difference from Colorado may have been more psychological than actual: the countryside did not suddenly change contrary to what the guys from Long Island had promised would occur. Those who compared the scenery with a lunar landscape were not far wrong, but that had been more or less the case since yesterday, when I passed out of the ski area bounded by Silverthorne. But, for whatever reason, northern Colorado had simply felt empty and desolate, the last dregs of a state dedicated to tourism. Wyoming, on the other hand, felt like a new beginning, authentic, with a uniquely stark grandeur.
I crossed the Continental Divide again, this time at 9,000 feet, nominally putting me back in the “east.” Once over that hump, it was downhill for 8.5 miles, then rolling terrain, but with a fierce westerly wind that sometimes helped me along, but usually didn’t.
During the course of the day, I met three eastbound cyclists, two touring, and one training. Then, 15 miles from Walden, CO, I caught up with two cyclists out training who were going my way. I kept up with them into Walden, though I had some of the shortness of breath that seems to affect me at altitudes over 8,000 feet. In Walden, the two bought me a Coors (pronounced “Curs” by the one originally from Marblehead, MA), and sent me off with words of encouragement.
Walden was another one of those odd tourist-infected towns … essentially unsophisticated, but making random accommodations and adjustments to the passing rich … a “healthfood” store, sky-high prices, a rather jaded atmosphere. While there, I tried to place a call home. At first there was too much static to talk; then I couldn’t get through at all. How far outside civilization am I? I couldn’t help but think.
Then, happily, I met more cyclists: Paul, Sue, and Cheri. Originally from New York state, they had just hopped on the trail, headed west. They got a head start on me out of town. By the time I got started, the winds were truly amazing, literally blowing me off the road a couple of times …. very discouraging. I finally caught up to the trio while climbing steadily (according to the B.C. guidebook we were in the midst of a “gradual 18 mile downhill.” Uh-huh.