Couchsurfing - Day 36: Jeffery City, WY to Rawlins, WY

As has been the pattern when around interesting people, none of us left early besides Rob, who seemed to prefer his bike to people anyway. Jersey John played the church piano beautifully and impressed everyone while I tried to figure out how to turn on their classic Hammond B3 organ, a standard of the funk and gospel worlds for a while. Eventually, I figured it out. No one wanted to play it. I stepped all over John’s playing where I thought I could pick out a melody line, and then decided to turn it off. He was very gracious about complementing my ear for music. I liked him.

On the ride to Rawlins, I planned to eat at a diner that I discovered had closed long ago. I poured myself some granola before realizing that I had broken my spoon in the church. So, I explored the diner (it was only kind of locked, and clearly long abandoned) until I found the one spoon among hundreds of forks, washed it with the dregs of some dish soap, and enjoyed my granola. I washed the spoon again and returned it - it was clear no one cared about the place, but it felt like the right thing to do. There was only one, after all.

Climbing Willow Hill into Rawlins, I started having issues with my right Achilles' tendon. Thankfully, a prairie storm hit about the same time the tendonitis got bad, which provided a nice cooling rain and some tailwinds that carried me over the continental divide (again) and into town. I wandered around until I found cheap food and WiFi at Penny’s Diner, at which point Nicole texted me to say she was in town. I directed her to Penny’s and her group showed up one by one. They had arranged a Couchsurfing host who was kind enough to let me tag along, so after some false starts in every cardinal direction, we made our way to Hans’ house. They mentioned that having a dude along with them made them feel more comfortable couchsurfing. I'm not sure what help I would have been if things went poorly, but I was happy to be a placebo bodyguard anyway.

Hans already had one couchsurfer and was very excited to have a total of 5 guests at once. He was honest about why he was excited - his girlfriend had left, and, frankly, he was lonely. I appreciated that he was open about that, given that he is a self-identified "country boy" which, I thought, meant that emotional expression would be considered weakness. Maybe it was easier around 4 women. Hans liked Rawlins, and appreciated that one could live their life there without the government getting in the way. From the many different types of ammunition lying around, I assumed he was referring mainly to gun control. I should note that all the guns themselves were safely locked away in a safe, and he did use them. He said he hadn't bought meat for about 4 months now.

The other couchsurfer, Calen, was pretty much the opposite of Hans: a vegan yoga teacher who was visibly uncomfortable about all the taxidermied animals in the house, though she didn't mention that discomfort until asked. She is riding westbound without any money to her name, instead stopping at restaurants when she's hungry and asking to wash dishes for a couple hours. Apparently it's worked well for her so far.

Hans was very generous, allowing us essentially free access to his liquor cabinet. Emily assembled some ginger beer, lime, and whiskey cocktails, and we all hung out by Hans' fire pit with his two silver labs. Discussion topics included whiskey, pseudoscience, and all the typical questions one gets as a touring cyclist. The group of three went to sleep in a gigantic bed in Hans's basement, while Calen and I took couches outside their room.

The abandoned cafe:



The hill and storm into Rawlins, which has to be something like the 8th time I've crossed the continental divide:

Ghost town - Day 35: Rawlins to Jeffery City

Just like in video games, I woke up in the same place after failing to achieve my goal the previous day. Instead of a deer, though, I was woken by two very excited and very wet dogs that were very enthusiastic about sharing both qualities with me.

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:

Mulligan - Day 34: Lander to Lander

I think most animals evaluate new objects by asking two questions: ”Can it eat me?” and immediately afterward “Can I eat it?” I woke up to a deer evaluating my stuff on the second point. Once I moved, I was elevated to a “maybe” on the first point, so it ran away. I packed up, did what I could about the pile I stepped in last night, and claimed a table at the bakery shortly after it opened. As mentioned, I ended up staying there for six hours. I *think* I didn't smell like dog poo.

I got a new chain at the local bike shop (which real cyclists apparently abbreviate as LBS), and then did nothing worth mentioning for the rest of the day. What I definitely did not do was this: stop at a McDonald's to use the WiFi (again); cycle 8 miles in the wrong direction; cycle 8 miles back to Lander; finish watching Avatar: The Last Airbender; listen to some dude describe, without a hint of irony, what types of racists make up each Native American tribe; and then head back to the city park. At least the city park is really nice.