Monday, July 11th
I’ve written a few postcards in the last few days and each time it’s been a challenge to select and craft a set of words which makes sense for this non-digital format. The idea of a postcard as a medium for delivering news or updates no longer makes sense, perhaps it never did. But I suppose there’s still something magical about receiving a battered, cheaply printed piece of card through your letterbox from the other side of the world via a combination of trains and planes. A lot of the time I just want to write nothing but the address, the card speaks for itself, and, usually, I end up regretting what I write.
It had not been the most comfortable night. Cooking dinner in a dimly lit car park, putting up a tent on hard ground overlooked by the highway and scattered streetlight. There hadn’t been a moment to relax and appreciate the days ride, the priorities were more aligned with survival than comfort. But at least it was a safe, free night of sleep, and waking up next to a fire station was a unique experience at least.
We were all a bit slow to get going. Or rather reluctant. The whole day was going to be spent on the I90 interstate, possibly through strong wind, and none of us were looking forward to it or expecting it to be a good ride, but as it turned out we were pleasantly surprised.
As I made coffee and the others prepared their breakfast out of nowhere the Polish couple we’d seen hitchhiking from Devil’s Tower yesterday suddenly appeared. They had a problem with their stove which Dakota helped them fix. It amazed me how of all the places they could have ended up in this country, or even this state, it was right here. I still don’t know how they got there or how they found us, and the vanished almost as quickly as they arrived. Their English, I think, was actually very good, though they lacked a little confidence to speak it.
I cycled to the Post Office and sent off what was probably my fourth or fifth package – a pair of jeans and a jacket which had been sat at the bottom of my pannier without being touched for far too long. The bulk and the weight they occupied could no longer be justified. They would be nice to have when I got to Vancouver, but it was looking like I wouldn’t get a lot of time there anyway, so I sent them all the way to Jack in Amsterdam where I should arrive in August. I send a postcard too, and buy some stamps for me, optimistic I can master the art of the postcard.
We head out. stopping at a gas station at the beginning of the interstate for water and a few supplies for the day. Again we are reluctant to get back on our bikes. If I was travelling on my own I probably wouldn’t have lingered, but I was enjoying the company, and happy to take it slow. Outside a woman takes an interest in our bikes and gives us some tips for Buffalo and the Big Horn Mountains, where i’m still unsure if i’ll cross. I’ve found in these two days that four people cycle touring draws a lot more attention than just one, but it’s all entirely positive.
On the interstate finally, and leaving town, an electronic display ominously warns us of 35+ mph gusts. We just have to laugh it off. It is windy, but bearable, we take it slow and steadily. Most of us are listening to podcasts and the group spreads out as the town fades away.
We make a couple of stops in the first 40 miles. Despite the I90 being the longest interstate in the USA (3,020.54 miles), connecting Boston with Seattle, it’s surprisingly quiet in certain stretches, and picturesque too. When we break we lean our bikes up against the barrier and sit on the other side and it’s easy to forget about the trucks and cars flying past just metres away. It’s funny the think that we could just stay on this road the entire way to the West Coast. I’m still not sure on the exact rules and regulations, but I know it’s legal to ride on an interstate as a cyclist when there is no suitable alternative, and in this case it’s definitely true. We’re heading to Buffalo – 70 miles away on the interstate, but 120 by any other convoluted route.
On the second of these roadside stops for snacks and bathroom (the facilitrees) I check the map for a proper rest stop – an area with toilets, benches etc. There’s one 20 miles away so we power on through to this.
The highway quietens, and a large stretch is closed to cars as it’s being resurfaced, allowing us to have the road to our selves for a while. I spend a lot of time speaking to Gio during this time and it strikes me how quickly time and miles can pass when you have company.
The rest stop comes up at around 2 or 3 pm and we pull in for lunch. A series of angular brick shelters house concrete picnic tables. I just make coffee and eat some bread and cheese where as the guys make some soup. The whole area has a distinct grey/green tinge, a combination of the trees, the hills, and the subdued materials used for building this rest area. As rest areas go is on the more scenic end of the spectrum. It’s down by the Power River, in a small valley down from the rush of the interstate. They’re interesting places to people watch too. A truck driver smoking a cigarette. A family gathered around a picnic table. Everyone has places to go.
We stock up on water again. The water from the fountain has a sweet, almost fizzy taste, and I seem to be the only person who likes it. A guy approaches us. “Big country to cross”, “But it’s getting smaller”, replies Dakota as if scripted.
Back on the interstate and with phone reception again Jesse and Gio makes some calls to Buffalo. Jesse has a small notebook with numbers and names. A church will let us stay, but a campground would be ideal. A call to a KOA (the highest quality, most expensive chain of these) pays off. Having heard about the cause they’ll let us stay for free. I feel slightly guilty to be taking advantage of this too, but for now i’m enjoying the novelty of not paying upwards of $20 to camp each night.
With a guaranteed place to stay we can relax into the final 30 miles are are rewarded with stunning scenery. The Big Horn mountains arrive on the horizon, i’d first mistaken them for clouds, but now their jagged dark shapes which stretch across the sky are unmistakably for anything but solid rock.
The wind drops significantly and a series of beautiful, golden downhills wind us into Buffalo an hour before sunset. It seems smaller, and more scenic than Gillette, set against the backdrop of the mountains and far enough away from the hum of the interstate.
We stop at the first gas station on the edge of town for beer and an ice cream sandwich before continuing to the campsite. Gio and I go inside whilst the other two guys head off to buy groceries before the store shuts. The woman at the desk seems passionate about the cause. I just nod and smile and let Gio do the talking so i don’t get found out.
We’re given a choice of camp spots close to a small river on the edge of the campsite. There is wifi, showers, a swimming pool, a dog park, someone even has a hot tub here. It’s a nice change from the previous night, even if we’re arrived a little later again and have to cook food in the dark.
Three guys from New York are camping next to us. They’ve driven in 3 days what we’ve covered in almost 60. It takes me a moment to process that. They pour us a red plastic tumblr of whiskey then go back to their tent to ‘smoke a load of weed’. The muffled sound of coughing soon follows and the air takes on a distinct summery fragrance.
We drink our beers and the whiskey in the dark and enjoy the end of a good day. Low expectations often result in great experiences.
I decide i’ll stay with the guys for one more day and cross the big horn mountains on the route 14 from tomorrow nights stay in Ranchester. We talk about meeting up again at Missolou. The guys are taking a few days break at Billings as Jesse has to fly back for a wedding, but once i’ve cleared Yellowstone and they start up again, we’ll probably be on roughly the same track.
Yesterday had been a bit of an adjustment. Not just to cycling with other people, but to merely spending time with people again. I’d been more or less on my own for over 50 days. Today I settled into things and felt a little more relaxed. Enjoying the feeling of sharing the ride with others, even if a lot of the time we’re each enjoying the ride on our own personal terms.
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