Wednesday, July 20th
I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the canvas of the teepee with a dull thud which was noticeably different from rain hitting my tent. The sticks which held the structure together met at the top but left a small hole open to the sky through which a small number of fat raindrops fell and landed on my sleeping bag.
It soon passed and I began the usual routine of packing my things away, minus my tent which was still attached to my bike.
It quickly developed into a warm, bright day and I left around 9 hoping to catch breakfast at the bakery in Nevada city. It was only a mile or two, all down hill, and I arrived to find a closed sign hanging outside. The town felt like a true ghost town. Relics of the gold rush days lay at the side of the road and the whole place felt part of a Western film set.
I hung around for a while outside the shop, hoping it would magically spring to life. A group of bikers turned up and looked similarly disappointed, they checked with the hotel next door and were told that the bakery was shut on Wednesdays. After chatting with one of the bikers for a bit they headed back up to Virginia city, I decided to carry on and get some food at Sheriden, 18 miles away.
I have a slight tail wind and the miles pass quickly past walls of rock dotted with shrubs and windswept clumps of grass. I pass one guy cycling the Transamerica route and we chat for a while. He’d been made redundant and seems to have set out to prove the world wrong. Everyone has there reasons for doing this ride. He proudly tells me of the 94 mile day he completed yesterday, and how he’s managed to have a shower everyday. It’s going to get a lot harder for him.
It strikes me how easy it would have been to meet people on the Transamerica route. Just in a few days on it since leaving Yellowstone I’ve either seen or spoken to more cyclists than I did in my first month on my own. It would have been a very different trip if I’d taken this route, but I don’t regret making my own route up. If I did it all over again I’d either do it exactly the same or completely differently in every way. I’ve enjoyed the challenges I’ve faced on my own, and to made me appreciate the company of the last week or so more, since it was initially so hard to find.
I reach Sheriden and at the second cafe I stop at (the first had ran out of coffee) I order two breakfasts – pancakes with bacon, and toast with eggs. I sit outside on the pavement and meet another older cyclist passing though. He’s a little less angst ridden than the other guy and shares with me the details of a family who’d hosted him in Dillon, a town about 40 miles away. I take a photo of his brown paper notebook with the phone numbers and names neatly written down.
I find it amazing that there exists this flow of information along the trail – numbers, names and places which exchange from cyclist to cyclist across the country. Some tapped into Notes on an iPhone, others in notebooks, some almost just on the breeze.
The amount of food I consume should take me all the way to Bannack state park, another 50 miles or so.
It’s fairly easy riding for an hour or two, then a series of rolling hills begin on the approach the Dillon. I take a break at a scenic lookout over a large rock which used to be a meeting point during the time of Lewis and Clark.
I continue onward and on the peak of one hill I’m over taken by Henrik. He’s ridden the Transamerica ride for 50 days or so and has 11 days left to reach the coast. We chat and cycle and the last 10 miles to Dillon pass without me noticing.
We pull into the gas station and grab some snacks. We’re both heading to Missoula over the next few days and I decide to cut my ride short today so we can camp together in Dillon.
At the KOA campground we’re paired with Jeff, another cyclist on his way East and we split the cost of the site with him. None of us can work out who owes who what but I think we saved money.
The campsite is right in the center of town but us a peaceful spot away from the road. I dip in the pool and make some food. It’s a nice surprise to have a few hours spare at the end of the day, and someone to share them with.
On a picnic bench wedged between two trees Me and Henrik drink some beer and make plans to climb some mountains tomorrow.
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