49.62 miles (Total: 2674.85) Avg Speed: 11.4mph Max Speed: 23.5mph
When I woke at 6am the sun was shining through my tent and it seemed pretty nice outside but when I eventually emerged at 6:30 to Terry cooking breakfast a dense fog had covered the place, blotting out the sun. It was icey cold and I ended up sitting inside my sleeping bag at the bench waiting for an hour or so for the sun to finally burn through. My breakfasts with Terry have been great, I would have probably eaten very different on occasions if it wasn’t for him.
Standard breakfast from Terry, Bagel, Oats & Tea
The early riding was great, Wyoming has a fresh feel to it just like most states seem to manage. I was cruising happily with my iPod this morning and was glad to see clear skies after having to dodge storms more than I would have liked recently.
Today I will mostly be listening too the Monsters of Folk album.
We stopped at Walcott for a quick snack knowing today wasn’t going to be that long. A convoy of vans carrying a large family on a road trip turned up and asked where we were riding too. The usual shocked response was soon followed by an offer of food and water but we had just restocked. We then had to ride for the first time on the interstate, I’m not even sure if its legal but the maps tell us too! Traffic was medium-light and we had a nice wide shoulder, Wyoming is actually the least populated state which is maybe why we can ride it.
After passing through Sinclair, which is essentially an oil refinery with a housing estate in the back garden we arrived in Rawlins and headed for the bike shop, I wanted my spokes looked at and we needed some supplies. There were 3 young kids aged about 10 in the shop looking at the BMX bikes, they soon started asking me questions. The chubby one was the spokesman for the group and kept referring to my bike riding as driving. “Where have you driven from, where are you driving too.” They were drooling over one special edition bike for $350 but I told them it was a long way from Christmas. It seemed like they were considering pitching in to share the bike, either way it was funny watching and talking with them. I told them not to be so astonished at what I was doing because if they remained friends there is no reason they can’t do the same thing together when they grow up.
I want one.
Rawlins, Wyoming
We had split a cheap motel room which I went back to after grabbing food while Terry continued to shop. I sat and watched TV for a while which I haven’t done all trip really apart from the England games and then got an early nights sleep, double bed to myself is a rare treat.
Six a.m. brought sunshine straight through the tent fabric and the promise of a decent morning, but by the time I actually crawled out at half six to find Terry cooking breakfast, a dense fog had swallowed the sun whole. I sat wrapped inside my sleeping bag at the picnic bench for the better part of an hour, waiting for the sun to burn its way back through the murk. Terry’s breakfasts have been one of the quiet joys of this trip — left to my own devices I’d almost certainly have eaten far worse on occasion.
Standard breakfast from Terry, Bagel, Oats & Tea
Once the sun finally won, the early riding was some of the best Wyoming had offered yet — that fresh, wide-open feeling most states seem to manage at least once. I rode along happily with the iPod for company, glad of a stretch of clear sky after one too many recent run-ins with storms.
Today I will mostly be listening too the Monsters of Folk album.
We stopped in Walcott for a quick snack, the day’s mileage never intended to add up to much — under fifty in the end. A convoy of vans carrying one large family on a road trip pulled over to ask where we were headed, delivered the usual disbelief, then offered food and water we’d only just restocked and had to politely turn down. Then came a stretch of riding on the interstate itself — legal or not, the maps insisted we go that way — with a decent wide shoulder and traffic running only medium-light. Wyoming, it turns out, is the least populated state in the country, which is probably exactly why we’re allowed anywhere near its interstate on a bicycle.
Sinclair came and went — essentially an oil refinery with a housing estate tacked on behind it — before we rolled into Rawlins and made straight for the bike shop, me wanting my spokes checked and both of us needing supplies. Three kids, maybe ten years old, were loitering over the BMX bikes, and the chubbiest of the three appointed himself spokesman for the group, quizzing me relentlessly about where I’d “driven” from and where I was “driving” to. They’d fixed their hearts on one three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar special edition and seemed to be seriously weighing whether the three of them could pool their funds; I told them it was a long way off from Christmas. Watching them debate it was some of the best entertainment of the day, and I told them not to be too impressed by what I was doing — if the three of them stayed friends long enough, there was no reason they couldn’t do exactly the same thing themselves one day.
I want one.
Rawlins, Wyoming
We’d split a cheap motel room, and I headed back with food while Terry kept shopping, then spent an actual evening in front of the television — something I’d barely done all trip outside the odd England match — before an early night. A double bed all to myself again. Small luxuries, taken as they come.
3 comments from 2010
Monsters of Folk any good then randy? x
Hiya rye.i like the pic of the man with the determined look on his face.
loving the lawn mower bike. I think i want one. hope your still enjoying it. I am riding to work every day in honour of your big trip.