The roads in Wyoming were a bit rougher than those in Nebraska, but I was cranking along at a respectable clip. The land sloped away to the north (my right), giving me a grand view across the prairie to a long ridge of hills in the distance. Something moving out there caught my eye. It took me a moment to recognize what I was seeing, but when the penny finally dropped I realized I was looking at a train heading east. I stopped my bike and watched it crawl along with a childish smile on my face. This was the first time I’d ever seen an entire train from beginning. This one was at least 30 or 40 cars long, and I’m used to seeing a train only a couple cars at a time as they chug by while I’m at a railroad crossing. I’ve never been in a place where I could see the whole thing all at once from engine to caboose. When you’ve been out in the middle of nowhere for days on end it doesn’t take much to amuse you!
In Lusk, there’s a gas station-store at a crossroad. I was expecting the usual small town affair with a few locals and me being the weird outlander, but this place was different – I’d stumbled into the Grand Central Station of eastern Wyoming! The place was abuzz with RVers and Bikers (the vroom-vroom type, not the pedal-pedal kind) coming in from every direction (except the way I had come). I battled my way inside and was jostled around while I collected an iced tea and a mini-pizza. As I waited to pay, I was entertained by a generously proportioned woman explaining to her husband why she was ordering a 12-piece bucket of fried chicken to “snack on in the car” after having just finished eating lunch. Ah, America the bountiful!
I was 5 miles out of Lusk when my front tire went floop. I dropped the bags and had the bike upside down in a flash – I was getting pit-crew quick at this flat changing game! I searched for the intruding object but found that a sharp rock had perfectly matched up with a thoroughly worn through spot on the tire and punched a tiny hole there. While I was swapping in one of my new tubes, an older lady in a spiffy Honda pulled over and asked if I needed a ride. I told her it was just a flat and that I’d be back on the road in no time. “Besides,” I explained, “my bike is too big to fit in your car anyway.” She excitedly told me that she had a pickup truck at home, but I assured her I was all good, thanked her for the offer, and off she went.
I got the new tube installed, and remounted the wheel in short order. As long as I already had everything out I decided that I should just go ahead and patch the punctured tube on the spot in case I needed it later. Once that was done and I was packing up to go, a little brown pickup truck pulled over and beeped. It was the lady who had stopped earlier – she had gone home and returned with her truck after all. She insisted that it was no trouble and that she didn’t have anything else to do all day. I didn’t have the heart to turn her down after all the trouble she’d gone through, plus it wouldn’t hurt to make up for some of the time I’d lost changing the flat. I loaded my stuff in the back and hopped in. Kay introduced herself and away we went. I was just hoping this wasn’t going to be another Harry type of encounter.
Thankfully, Kay was nothing but lovely. Her truck didn’t have any AC, but she kept me distracted with a rundown of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We soon arrived at Manville. I expected her to drop me off at the truck stop there on the main road, but she went right past it and straight to her house. Her place was only a quarter mile from the highway, so it was no big deal travel-wise. I unloaded my gear as she hurried inside to get me some ice water. Once again I was lured onto a shady porch and regaled with stories. At least this time they were pleasant stories about things like birds, bunnies, and jauntily painted scrap-iron sunflowers.
I attempted to “be on my way” a few times, but I failed to escape Kay’s conversational pull. She went to the senior center in Lusk for lunch just about every day, she was related to Amelia Earhart in some fashion, she had ridden a motorcycle to Sturgis with her late husband 12 times, and she had a fellow coming by the next day to cut her grass. It began getting late enough that I really did have to go. I was doubtful I’d be able to make my goal of reaching the city of Douglas – which was important because I already had a hotel room reserved in Casper, so I couldn’t fall behind schedule.
Kay assured me that I didn’t need to worry. She’d give me a ride to Douglas, after all she had nothing else to do all day. I wasn’t left with much of a choice at that point, especially as I looked out at the wavy lines of heat rising off the pavement unperturbed by the increasing wind blowing from the west. I sat back, took a long sip of my ice water and listened to Kay’s stories for a second (and sometimes third) time. Eventually, I was able to convince her that I should load my bike back into the truck if we were going to get her back home in time for dinner.
Kay was not too skilled with the stick shift, but she somehow managed to move us forward. The truck was hotter than before and I worried that it would be too much for her to handle. Kay insisted that she was used to that kind of heat as we barreled along at 10 MPH below the speed limit. I was leery of having her go on the interstate, so I had her drop me off at the Sinclair gas station in a place called Orin Junction (a total ride of about 30 miles). I insisted that she let me put some gas in her truck – the last thing I wanted was for her to run out of gas on the way home from this little adventure of hers. I also offered to get her a cold drink for the road.
We went inside and Kay pointed out that the “cafe” there had ice cream. I took the hint and ordered us a couple dishes of vanilla, but they were all out. I ducked over to the store and found half-pints of chocolate and Oreo ice cream. She went for the Oreo straight off, claiming she wouldn’t be able to finish it all and worried that it would melt on the ride home. Good thing she was able to polish off the whole container like a champ!
We said our farewells and I promised to send her a postcard from San Francisco. As I was loading my bags on my bike, the cook from the cafe came out for a cigarette and we got to talking. Despite being an ex-con, he was a nice guy and quick with a good-natured smile. He told me there was a service road that ran along the interstate up to Douglas, which was a welcomed alternative to the highway at rush hour. It was a hot, sweaty, hilly 10 miles, but I made my destination before sunset, so it was a generally successful day in most respects.
What I Learned: Sometimes you’ve simply got to let go of your well-laid plans and just go with the flow.
Distance Today: 51 miles
Total Distance: 2,320 miles
Now that your quest is completed, I can share with you my relief you didn't pass through Philadelphia (see below).
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