A number of people on road bikes kept riding by. I was thinking about writing a post on the difference between cyclists in the east and cyclists in the west--the ones we were passing were saying things like "good luck," "Enjoy your ride," God bless you," and "You deserve a medal!" Out east we were lucky if we got much of a nod a lot of the time. I was thinking about the socio-economic status that usually comes with being a cyclist and wondering what other factors, besides location, might have contributed to the difference in attitude. A few miles down the road we came across it: Cycle America.
Cycle America is an organization that people can pay roughly $6,200 to in order to organize a cycling trip across the United States from them. The trip is complete with route, bike repairs/spare bikes, food, water/Gatorade, snacks, set-up pit stops, laundry, sleeping and basically anything else you could think of/want on a bike trip.
There were 90 other people going over the mountain that day, 45 of them going across the country. (the other 45 were stopping in SD). Most of them were middle-aged to 81 years old. It was a vacation for them. They were pleased to spare some water, Gatorade powder; we were pleased to take a few granola bars and banana's off their hands; they gave, we took. It was a balanced relationship.
But really, it was good talking to a few of them. They were very nice, most of them quite interested in what we were doing, and we were likewise interested and willing to give advice about the rest of the mountain.
On our way up we also re-met our friend Mike and pedaled our way to the top together. His company made things easier as he was somewhat new and other all sorts of interesting information about the experiences he had been through thus far in his life.
After pedaling six and a half hours we reached the top. In honor of our good health Andy climbed a steep rock summit so he could say he was 10,000 feet above sea level. The rest enjoyed some treats our sponsors probably don't want us to mention.
Now after six and a half hours of riding uphill, there's nothing like not pedaling at all for 22 miles. We stopped several times down the side of the mountain, not because we were tired, but to look at the beauty that was the Big Horn Mountains. A vast glacier is said to have carved out a canyon and different rock formations just east of Ten Sleep, WY that ranks among the top landscapes we've seen across the country.
Mike mentioned: "It almost makes me want to believe in God again." I think just about every skeptic agreed with him. We heard their voices in the wind coming through the canyon.
Mike was supposed to meet his dad in Ten Sleep at 6 p.m. but as mountains always take more time to climb than you think and rarely offer cell-phone reception; and many people move slower than one, his dad came up the mountain to make sure all was well. It was, and when we got to Ten Sleep we ate (a lot) dinner at a lovely (the only) restaurant in town. We sat outside. We sat next to a lovely young man who kept saying (or was he yelling, we weren't sure) things like "I like my women like I like my whiskey: 12 years old and all mixed up in coke," "Ya, get out the stripper pole," and "give 'er the gas sonny" (referring to the man who just got in his hot rod along the sidewalk). He also kept mentioning things about heroin that made it quite hard to concentrate on what anyone at our table was saying.
I might also point out that when a young man came out of the bar with a six-pack of beer, a bottle of wine, and a young lady I had seen him trying very hard to talk to at the bar an older man in a big truck driving by yelled "Hey nice work" and winked at him. Everybody knows everybody. I wondered if he had been after that girl for quite some time. Some towns publicly congratulate people for personal achievements, some towns personally congratulate people for private achievements soon to be public problems. Yeehaw!
And before I go on I'll mention that the dinner was lovely and meeting Mike's dad was a real treat. Probably two of the nicest people we'll meet on the trip.
Back to the point about everyone knowing each other:
They do all each other, and they all seem to have a lot of money. It was probably the nicest town without a grocery store we had seen yet. In fact, it might have been the nicest town we'd seen--because it was so small. It's easy to have bad sections of big towns. But anyway, the combination didn't bode well for camping there. An old man stopped in the middle of the street, obnoxiously turned around and told us that we weren't allowed to camp in the park. We were just standing around on the Ten Sleep Park's very green, very well watered, very well maintained grass.
That comment prompted us to sleep on the church's grass across the street. It was well watered too.
And so the journey continues, inches of (precious) grass at a time.
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