The history of mining towns along my route is fascinating. Most are ghost towns now.
That had me thinking: we're all mining for something. I want to spend my life mining for things with intrinsic value, not subject to the volatile whims of global markets.
Speaking of challenging circumstances, today was tough. I did my first night cycling of the trip.
The wind, climbing, foul weather, and road construction proved to be formidable forces. And without my pedal assist, the conditions pushed me many miles of walking and cycling under the stars.
The antelope come alive at dusk. And they're fast. About 20 years ago I had a panicked, erratic deer jump so close to my bicycle that I felt it's breeze as it passed by. These road-side critters make me nervous with their unpredictable swift moves.
But the stars! They were beautiful!
Then the coyotes started howling. I don't know how far away they were. Far enough.
After an hour of night cycling, I hit road construction. Not just any construction, but milled pavement. Not just any milling, but milling almost the exact width of my tires, in a star pattern. That meant there were no longer markings on the road either.
I stopped every half mile to shake out my hands and give my brain a rest. My hands were numb from the gripping and vibration. My brain felt like it was hammering my skull.
When would it end? It didn't, until I arrived in town, 9.5 miles (15 km) and 2 hours later. Simultaneously lightning began to dance and the skies tipped their buckets. I drug my bicycle through the sand and reached the welcome sight of the door to the Jeffrey City Community Church.
No doubt I'll sleep well tonight.
Spectacular red rock formations jut up from the sage-dotted desert along this remote stretch of Wyoming road.
