Wednesday, July 13th
Off on my own again today, leaving behind Jesse, Dakota, and Gio, the three guys I’ve cycled the last few days with, and the interstate, as I head up and over the Bighorn Mountains and begin the approach to Yellowstone.
The time I spent cycling with companionship came at just the right time. I was feeling burnt out after crossing South Dakota, and had had too much time on my own to question what I was doing and why I was doing it. It will be an adjustment again, riding solo without the comfort of three other people sharing the ups and downs of the days ride, knowing that If something goes wrong I’m alone in trying to fix it, or just having people to discuss the objects we notice lying in the hard shoulder. At the same time I’m excited about crossing mountains on my own and riding in the wild with a refreshed mind.
I began the day early. Not as early as I’d hoped but I was on the bike by 9 after eating a breakfast of bacon and egg rolls, and oatmeal. I have a climb of over 6000ft ahead of me. I say bye to the guys and we make loose plans to reconnect in Missolua. Timings wise, very roughly, it should work, depending on how long I take to explore Yellowstone.
I join the 14, the road which will lead me up into the mountains. There’s one small town beeeen Ranchester and the climb – Dayton. The first 5 miles warm me up and I stop for a coffee before commencing what will turn out to be 5-6 hours of climbing.
The first couple of hours are relatively gentle – at least compared with what I expected. The switchbacks are fairly long and a gentle tailwind on the turns which point me east help the climb.
The view below quickly opens up and it becomes clear just how sparse Wyoming is. Our warm showers host, Jason, described the whole state as one small town. the population is around 600,000, a lot of the land seems undeveloped, even untouched.
I pause a few times for photos but try and keep my legs turning, deliberately avoiding using the highest gear to try and improve my strength. I’m viewing this climb as training for Bear Tooth Pass which, if the road is open, I’ll climb in a couple of days time. It’s frequently described as ‘the most scenic road in america’, and is definitely the most picturesque way to enter Yellowstone, but also, I’m imagining, the hardest.
As I come round one mountain corner a deer slowly steps out from the rocky roadside until the middle of the road, looking directly at me the entire time. Eventually it hops the barrier and bounces downhill. Fallen rocks scatter on the shoulder at times, and the higher I climb the more untamed the nature and scenery become.
I continue up steadily to around 8000ft, around 4500ft higher than where I slept last night, but I know there’s more to come. But first there’s a series of downhills. These past by a lake and a number of scenic national forest camp spots which would be harder to pass up if I wasn’t in a little bit of a hurry now. I stop at one and refill my water bottles by cranking an ancient blue water pump which fills from the lake, judging by how cold and fresh it feels. A few drops of rainfall hit me but the clouds pass with on before I even have time to locate my rain jacket.
I ascend back up another 1000ft or so and finally reach burgess junction – a split in the route 14, one road going to Greybull, the 14A to Lovell. I take the road for Lovell, where I plan to camp, and continue on briefly before stopping at Bear Lodge Resort, one of only about two developments along the entire pass. I go inside and find a bar, gift shop, and diner style restaurant. I take one slice of pie and three cups of coffee, probably one too many, before leaving.
Before I ate I asked a guy outside what the next few miles were like. He made out that I was at the top now, and though the road goes up and down a little, the hard work is over. This turned out to be not entirely correct.
Though the road began to mellow out initially it soon narrowed and began to ascend up to observation point at 9430ft – the highest drivable point on the crossing. The trees began to thin out, rough grassland replaced the thick forest of slightly lower down. As I rounded the last bend before the lookout two clumps of snow came into view on the mountain side, just 100ft or so up from road level. I lean my bike against the barrier at the viewpoint and try and up to touch the snow, just to make sure it’s real. But I give up almost immediately. Cycle touring makes it very hard to justify any use of energy off the bike, and anyway, I still have almost half the day to go, 40 miles, despite already pedalling for 6 and a half hours.
I wear my windbreaker and begin the descent. There’s still some up and down for the next 5 miles. On the hills livestock roam freely and a farmer waves at me from in front of his flock which have taken over the entire length of this particular hillside.
I pass by medicine mountain and start, but then stop, cycling up to the medicine wheel – an ancient circular formation of rocks which sounded intriguing, but my energy is in short supply. I’m running on coffee, pie and chocolate raisins today.
From here the true descent begins. Signs are everywhere warning about the steep grade (10%) and the length it continues for (10 miles). The roads are quiet thankfully and I carefully begin going down.
Almost immediately I’m met with one of the most incredible views I’ve ever seen. I later find out it’s the Big Horn Basin. A plateau of land once roomed by people such as Buffalo Bill. But to me it looks like the moon. One ridge of mountains is in the near distance, presumably the edge of the basin, further on are what I think are the Rockies. Inbetween is crater-like land which screams desolation. The road snakes down to the side and heads west.
I think the only other time I’ve experienced such an ‘overall’ view of the land like this is from the small oval window of an plane. This of course feels more special, framed by the road, and earned through 7 hours of hard cycling.
It’s hard to take my eyes from it, but the road surface isn’t great and the way it descends makes you feel like you’re just one slip away from heading off the side of a cliff and into the empty basin floor below.
I edge myself down. I wanted to enjoy this part more but I remember a story about someone’s brake pads overheating their rim on a long descent like this, then exploding the tyre. The rest doesn’t bear repeating. I periodically stop and press my thumb against the metal rim. I have to remove it after a few seconds as it’s so hot. I continue down steadily.
The sloop changes from 10% to 8% and I’m able to relax a bit more and take my hands off the brakes as I ride out the mountain. There are brilliant views in all directions as good as any in the past 57 days. Ahead, a road seemingly going nowhere. On my right is a single cow on a ranch behind a fence which runs along as I cycle when it sees me. There aren’t many other signs of life here.
As the road starts to flatten out wind hits me from ahead slowing me. It’s hard to believe that an hour or so ago I was at the top of the mountain behind me. It’s not even clear how the road gets up there now. I cross the bighorn river on a bridge and the landscape starts to diversify slightly, more signs of life. Birds in the revise, some people walking their dog. These sights are comforting.
The areas around the river are a nature reserve, a sign points to areas to camp, but close to the road is fairly inhospitable, thorny bushes and hard ground. I investigate a gravel road but unsure of its length I turn back and decide to continue to Lovell, 10 miles away.
It’s a very rural area, horses are ranches up to the town before lights and houses appear. As I arrive I regret not trying harder to find a place to camp by the river, with a view of the mountains and the stars. But it’s too late now. Tomorrow will be a shorter day at least and on the upside the town has what seems to be an entirely free campsite with showers. Maybe I’m getting soft but I prefer the comfort and security, in this country at least.
It’s been one of those days which feels like a week. So much has changed, from starting off cooking breakfast in a kitchen with four other people in, to cycling though a lunar landscape on my own. From forest to dirt. Some things are the same – I’m more or less exactly the same elevation I was when I started off – ascending, then descending the 6000ft difference at today’s highest point. But everything else is different now and I’m still trying to process and catalogue it all.
Map