(above: our most exhilarating morning view, consisting of cow pies and a little green tent damp with dew)
After breakfast we quickly begin climbing; only 5 miles from the Wyoming border we climb from 7,000 feet to 7,800 . A few miles south of the border we find a rest station to fill our bottles, trim the mustaches, chat with elderly folk, and play with prairie dogs.
(below: Luke feeds an adventurous prairie dog
I would argue more refined than his way with women.)
(below: Wyoming wildflowers fill the foreground in front of the high peaks of the rockies. Our elevation 8,100 ft)
(this certainly is a welcome sign, even with the bullet holes)
Shortly after the picture above we descend the 1,000 feet gain over 20 miles as we approach Laramie. The only thing we knew about Laramie was from the massive press coverage of the brutal murder of Matthew Shepphard in the late 90's. He was a homosexual man who went to the University of Wyoming and was killed because he was gay. Of course we didn't assume that Laramie was a town full of bigots, but it is interesting how powerful an event like that shapes people's assumptions and fears about a place, especially for small towns that would otherwise quietly stay out of the news.
We ate lunch in Laramie at a local restaurant and brewery by campus called the Library. How annoying; must every college town have a bar called the library? "Don't lie to mom, tell her you are at the library." Annoying names aside, the food and beers were delicious. After the sustenance, we headed to the public library to cool down and creepily browse facebook: our x-girlfriend's friends' friends' friends pictures from last winter break, you know how it goes.
The [public] library closes at 5:00 on Fridays. We hit the road shortly after and head 40 miles into mostly flat and windy Wyoming. The traffic has thinned noticeably since Laramie and we start to feel the low population density as we press on to the next town, Rock River.
(Wyomings more flat side. The Laramie Mtn. Range on the eastern horizon)
(below: breaking for snacks by the railroad running parallel with the highway)
We reach Rock River (population 200) by dusk with empty water bottles. Upon arrival we stop at the post office to try and milk their spicket; unfortunately they have removed the handle, undoubtedly to stave off the western water poachers. My needle nose pliers won't turn the spicket, so we press on to the bar down the road.
At the bar, we are greeted with many inquisitive but benign looks. We order a couple of Budweisers and a pizza. We didn't even have the chance to ask folks where to camp before we are approached by a friendly fellow name Forest. Forest tells us that he lives a block away and we are welcome, and highly encouraged to come down and stay at his place. He offers us his 5th wheel camper for the evening. We gladly accept, and although we all are pretty tired and eager to curl up with some literature and get a good nights rest, we get reeled into the bar scene for another night as the karaoke machine insistently hummed. We are on the floor singing for 80% of the remaining 4 hours of bar light, doing everything from Thoroughgood to Yes to AC-DC.
Eventually the evening ended and we had to settle up at the bar. Forest quickly told the bartendress to put it on his tab. Free booze, pizza, and entertainment. I guess the entertainment was our reciprocical input and we had a glad time entertaining the laid-back country folk of Rock River. After the bar we retired back to the fifth wheel, but not before Forest and company filled our bellies with an early breakfast-- breakfast burritoes at 2:00 am.
Thanks Rock River. Thank you Forest, Susan, Mary-Anne, Ken, Rick, Alexandria, and Victoria (even though your lazy ass didn't show up until noon), Freckles, and the ominous Midnight.
You guys treated us as family or at least close companions. Thanks for the food, spirits, and tour de France.
miles: 70
morale: so high we wobble a little when trying to stand up and converse at 2:00 am
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