Three other cyclists, all women, were eating nearby. I briefly said hi and went toward a table farther away, thinking that they probably get enough unwanted attention from guys who’ve been on the trail too long. They invited me over, though, so I ate with them and discovered that we were all headed to Jeffery City – not a surprise, really, as it’s the only reasonable place to stay in the 127 mile stretch between Lander and Rawlins. Trail rumors held that there was a church there that takes in cyclists for free, and the fact that these women had heard that same rumor confirmed that it must be true. I ended up leaving ahead of them, mainly because I have no tent to pack.
The ride to Jeffery City was fast and uneventful, save for a distant thunderstorm and surprising Troy, the "Green Machine", who thought I was way ahead of him already having passed him on Togwotee Pass. Jeffery City itself, previously a thriving uranium mining town, is mostly abandoned now with a population of 56, lots of empty buildings, and no paved roads. A white spire stood out in the distance, set apart from the town, so I headed for that. From a distance, I saw two people smoking on the front porch. They saw me and went inside. Strange, I thought, but maybe they were just preparing something for me. My bike got bogged down in sand halfway there, so I got off and walked. This was apparently an invitation to every biting insect in the area, as a swarm of mosquitoes and at least three kinds of biting flies showed up to get literal pieces of me. This motivated me to get to the church as quickly as possible. I noted that the smokers had left their cigarettes on the porch, which I assumed meant that they would return soon.
I didn’t want to just barge in and make myself at home, but I also didn’t want to deal with the bugs, so I went inside after them. I sat in a pew at the back of the church to wait for the smokers, who would hopefully give me permission to be there. Nothing happened for a long time. I dozed off, woke up, and checked the front porch again. The cigarettes were gone. I took a more proactive approach and checked around back, where I found the smokers. I don’t know why they hid when I showed up, but they turned out to be nice guys, both westbound cyclists. I only remember John from Jersey, who could be convinced to talk, and his friend from Kansas City, who hardly would. They showed me the secret hostel entrance and gave me a tour of the facilities, which included hot showers, a kitchen, four rooms, a basketball hoop, and a ping-pong table. I never met anyone who was actually from the church.
There was one more cyclist inside, Rob, an ex-Google employee who was diverting from the Great Divide mountain bike route to avoid miles and miles of deep, loose sand. The four of us went to the only bar with the only bartender. While there, the women I had met before rode into town, and I hurried to meet them. I told them about the sand, the bugs, and the secret door. They left to establish themselves. I should probably describe them since I've mentioned them twice now: first there’s Cali from California and Erika from America (actually LA and Ohai, respectively) who started the route together. Cali is enthusiastic about playing cards, which I was excited about, but apparently no one else had the patience for a game. Erika is a pre-med student studying to be a naturopathic doctor, which apparently means a traditional MD with some extra training. I know a lot of woo-woo gets put under the heading of naturopathic medicine, but if she can find common herbs or simple lifestyle changes that can take the place of prescription drugs in certain cases, I’m all for it. Nicole is a tagalong they picked up, like me, which means she started solo. She’s also much younger at 17, which means she’s got a 10-year headstart when it comes to doing cool things. Apparently, in Missoula they told her that the youngest to ever ride the Trans-Am was a 9 year old girl, which means I’m even farther behind.
The wall of the kitchen was covered with signatures from passing cyclists, and I found that Ethan, Ohio Mike, Martin the Flying Scott, and Bart or "El Barto" had all stayed there. The church was full that night, with the three women in one room, John and quiet friend in the second, Rob in the third, and a picture of Jesus holding a lamb staying with me in the fourth room. I tucked the Jesus portrait into one of the girl’s sleeping bags, his head on the pillow, so that he looked quite comfy cuddling his lamb.
Here's a poodle that didn't want me (or at least my bike) to leave Lander:
A view between Lander and Jefferey City, I believe from Beaver Rim:
The church that I hoped would take me in:
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