Pinedale, WY, to Kremmling, CO

Greetings from another hotel room, this time located in northern Colorado. It's been another week or two full of highs, of challenges, of headwinds and tailwinds, of mountain passes (and more bloody passes), and of coyotes howling at our tent door.

You may recall we were bracing for one of the most remote sections of the trail, the Great Basin in southwest Wyoming. Essentially it's terrain not dissimilar to a desert, where water is scarce. Very scarce. We began from Pinedale, well rested and engaged in the task ahead. The first 25 miles or so had us on a fairly flat grade of pavement, always a treat to this cyclotourist. The Wind Ranges gradually faded the further east we travelled.

Our tires then touched the dirt; and it was dirt and sagebrush for much of the next 200 miles. Our goal that day was Little Sandy Creek, an informal campsite next to a fairly reliable stream. History was never far from our wheels. At one point, as our surroundings became increasingly spartan and remote, we crossed Buckskin Crossing, or more accurately the Big Sandy River. This was part of the trail many trappers, fur traders and emigrants used in the 1800s when crossing from the eastern US to the west. Throughout this part of Wyoming we criss-crossed many a trail of yesteryear, from the Mormon Trail through to the Oregon and California Trails. It's difficult to comprehend how tough it must have been travelling by horse and cart through this part of the country all those years ago; bikes are luxuries in this context.

After completing our 49 miles from Pinedale to Little Sandy Creek (pictured at sunset), we met a cowboy the next morning who looked after thousands of acres and the 2200 head of cattle that roamed them (forget fences, these are free range cattle). Amongst other topics, I mentioned how glad I was we were finally out of Grizzly bear territory (Pinedale is as far south as they range); he mentioned how cattle owners would budget for a 20 per cent loss of stock due to Grizzlies and, perhaps surprisingly to us, wolves (from the same batch inserted into Yellowstone, hundreds of miles away). He wasn't too complementary of the Grizzly population in particular, citing days where he would come across five Grizzlies on his travels. "We should just be allowed to shoot them, you know, just in the arse, not to kill them, but to ensure they know to associate pain with humans."

Our next day has us visiting South Pass City and Atlantic City, the last vestiges of civilisation before heading across the Great Basin. South Pass City (pictured) is now a preserved historic site, one based on its heyday when it was a gold-producing locale that attracted people from all over. We enjoyed an ice cream and Gatorade from the one and only General Store as we pondered our next legs, through the Great Basin.

The heat wasn't too bad at this stage, although some of the hills around South Pass and Atlantic City were tough, so much so we were often off our bikes and pushing uphill. The roads were of good quality though, hard-packed dirt and gravel that allowed for easy and reliable rolling. Nothing worse than having worked your butt off to get to the top of a mountain only to find the descent is marred by a road full of ruts and rocks, making for a slow and often dangerous ride.

From Atlantic City, a town a hundreds, we entered the long barren stretch towards Rawlins, WY. Our guide book suggested camping next to Sweetwater River, which was 10 miles from Atlantic. This would force us to travel 69 miles the next day, with just two water sources along the way - the first 11 miles from Sweetwater River (Diagnus Well) and the other located at the end of the day's ride (A&M Reservoir). I wasn't enamoured with this plan so, with the road quality good and the wind at our back, we decided to push onto Diagnus Well that evening.

We were glad we made this decision although, as we were to learn, it wasn't an easy ride. The next 11 miles were on roads more akin to rough tracks, and sand was a constant danger, as I learnt not once, but twice. Both times my bike hit heavy sand my front wheel basically stopped, and off I went...ironically, the very substance that instigated the fall made for a relatively soft landing. Alia had a similar experience but managed to stay upright. Just, she said. It took us over two hours to do the 11 miles, and after a search for the 'Well' - in this case just a lone pipe pumping out water from deep beneath the Basin (for animals and humans alike) - we made camp just before sunset after travelling a staggering 61 tough miles. We can be quite quick setting up camp (see picture - this was taken the next morning) and getting dinner prepared - around 30-40 minutes - but we couldn't be quick enough to beat the setting sun. It was quite the feeling, camping on an open plain with little more then sagebrush and sand as companions. Oh, and whatever that was that scratched around the edge of our tent that evening. The sky was clear, something I look forward to more and more as I get to know the constellations of the northern hemisphere.

I'm glad we pushed on that evening, as the next day was our toughest. After filling up with water (FYI, we purchased a three-litre Camel Back pack that sits on the rear of Alia's bike; it's insulated which is extremely helpful in hot weather. All up, we were carrying this plus another 4.5 or so litres in a combination of four bike bottles and a 1 litre pack. Just enough as it would turn out).

Up and down we went; the road remained heavily rutted and sandy for the first 10-15 miles of the day, and only then did it harden up and make for more 'pleasant' cycling. We pushed hard until lunch, at which point we had completed 30 miles. Out came the tarp, and we sat amongst the sagebrush looking east towards the uranium mine at Green Mountain, a name that must have been an easy choice considering the trees that covered most of it, a stark contrast to the brown sun-baked plains stretching from its base. A strong westerly was blowing us toward our destination; hard to imagine having to ride into a wind on a day like this.

So much of today's riding, for me at least, was mental. The actual riding was on relatively flat terrain, so that wasn't the issue. It's more the distance and the lack of water. On days like this one I often have to remind myself to look up and around at the scenery as I can tend to solely focus on the ground ahead. Keeping a rhythm is also critical, as is setting short-term goals. A snack mid-afternoon, for example, becomes something to look forward to. Again, perhaps I'm sounding negative. I honestly don't mean to when I share the pragmatics our ride. Alia is certainly more accepting of the challenges we face; I tend to spit the dummy at some point each and every day. Alia thinks I may have turret's syndrome. FXXXX. Really? No, I'm just another Parker, one who struggles with pressure and gets emotional rather quickly. OK, very quickly. FXXXX. Full credit to Alia though, she pedals along largely without complaint. Well, perhaps the odd complaint. About me and my short temper.

A&M Reservoir looked like an oasis when we finally pulled in there, 57 miles from Diagnus Well. Much of the water for this reservoir was being pumped up from below, creating a water source of perhaps 100 metres by 50 metres. Proghorns were sipping at its edges as we set up camp on its shoreline. I was in for a swim in no time at all, and after filtering the water we had a good drink and our usual dinner fare, mashed potatoes for starter followed by a pasta (or rice) dish. After settling into our tent for the night we were treated to our very first encounter with coyotes; it was late in the evening when Alia shot up in her sleeping bag. We had just listened to the howls and yip yipping of a pack of coyotes not too far from us. What got Alia's attention though was the moon shadow of one coyote immediately adjacent to our tent. Like, next to Alia's head. Silence. Some padded steps circle us. More silence. Howling from the distance. The silence lengthens. After some more time, an eternity perhaps, we semi-relax. The coyote is gone. Sleep comes fitfully.

Our final day on this remote stretch is relatively easy, with the majority of the 57 miles to Rawlins on pavement and highway. What hit us a bit harder than expected was the shifting winds as we crossed the Continental Divide just outside Rawlins. The winds shifted sharply and rapidly, with tailwinds becoming dangerous crosswinds in a flash. Crosswinds may not sound so bad except for the panniers we have on the rear of our bikes (but thankfully not on the front) - these give the winds some surface to play with. And don't they enjoy playing with us, hitting us from the east and west at irregular intervals. Not much fun when you're travelling on a 65-mile an hour highway (although one that thankfully had a generous shoulder for cyclists, something Wyoming excels in).

Rawlins was once the home of Calamity Jane, and she spent some time in the local jail there. We holed up in a cheap motel there for the night, catching up on some cleaning, eating and drinking. Our next stretch caught us a bit by surprise; I expected a relatively easy 48 mile ride to the next campground. Instead, we were hit by 25 mile-an-hour headwinds across another spartan (yet entrancing) landscape. We had been warned about the winds of Wyoming, and here they were in all their fury. Edging along at 5 miles an hour wasn't great fun. Neither was the sharp gradient up 7900ft Middlewood Hill. We managed to get to another open yet informal campsite at 40 miles (when I say informal, you can legal camp in many places along our route, unless posted otherwise. Our maps also indicate many informal campsites, many located near water sources as this one was), and yet again we settled into our sleeping bags against the backdrop of coyotes howling in the near vicinity. I had since learned they weren't considered a dangerous animal. But their howls can suggest otherwise, at least to this soft Aussie. A somewhat comforting thought was this would be our last day on the open plains of Wyoming - we would enter Colorado tomorrow. And whilst mountains and steep climbs beckoned, being surrounded by trees would at least (partly) shield us from winds.

And so it panned out. Entering Medicine Bow National Forest, we were immediately blanketed with thick forest, much of it the white aspen that would follow us through into Colorado later that day. Stands of aspen (see photo) give the otherwise green slopes dominated by conifers some depth and variety. Their leaves flutter in the wind, so much so you swear you're hearing a raging torrent of water. We hit highway 70, still in Wyoming, and it isn't long before we see the mountains of Colorado to the south (see picture below). I had forgotten how captivating distant mountain peaks can be. We head southwest along highway 70 before taking a sharp turn to the east along road 710 (which becomes road 129 in Colorado, four miles later). We wind along the Little Snake River, past increasingly lavish ranches, including Three Forks Ranch, which is owned (I later learn) by the owner of the Arizona Cardinals NFL team. Lavish is an understatement. I could have putted on their pastures, they were so well manicured. Alas, putting wasn't on the forefront of my mind - getting up and over the 8700 feet pass just before Columbine was. And that night, if possible.

We pushed and pushed. Quite literally in fact, getting off our bikes regularly to get up yet another wall of road. We didn't make it. Falling a few miles short wasn't the end of the world, or so we thought at least. We found a camping spot in Routt National Forest, out in an open field and near one single tree. A creek curved a 100 yards beneath us, and the impressive granite capped top of Hahn Peak sat to our south. Some hunters camped beneath some trees near us came over; we chatted about the lack of Bull Elk in the area (they can hunt them for two weeks each year). The sun had set, and we were ready for bed. Just as I was heading into the tent, I noticed an increasing amount of lightning to the west. Not a good sign, as most of the bad weather in this part of the world came from that direction. I rechecked our tent's lines, reset and tightened a few, and went to bed. Nothing much happened after that; the wind gusted a few times but nothing too serious.

It was later that evening though that all hell broke loose. The thunder woke me, but it was the sharp and intense flashes of lightning that grabbed my attention. Closer and closer is came. The wind intensified. Our tent was coping admirably. But with the lightning literally flashing all around us at this point, and the thunder (and storm) now above us, I wasn't coping so well. We lay prostrate on the ground, me praying for this storm to pass. The lightening was surrounding us; it lit up the tent a few times. I pulled the sleeping bag tighter around my neck, as if this would protect me. Go away, go away, was all I could think. That I'm writing this now tells you it did, but we have learned about where best to set up tent since that night - always under trees, and preferably nearest the smallest one of a large and tall bunch (the lightning will generally go for the largest tree). Thankfully we didn't camp next to the stream, as water is one of the best conductors of electricity there is. Anyway, lesson learned.

The next day saw us crawl our way up the pass and into the delightful confines of the Columbine Cabins general store, and a warm coffee. After yet more rain, which we waited out, we headed south through Hahn Village and Clark, rolling into Steamboat Springs, a skiing mecca, later that afternoon. We camped there for two days, spending our well-earned rest day hunting for new (rear) bike tires (which we fond - Michelin's), oil and groceries. Steamboat Springs wasn't as touristy as we expected; very laid back, bike friendly, and with a free shuttle bus that runs the length of town, starting literally metres from our campsite (about 1.5 miles west of town). We enjoyed our first sit down meal here, a great big steak that we cooked ourselves, and an all-you-eat salad buffet. Was it really rude to go back for thirds? Mmm, something to ponder as I loaded my plate up again.

From Steamboat we headed almost directly south, camping about 7 miles short of 8900 ft Lynx Pass. Again, we had planned to get to a camping site at the Pass but an unexpected detour which added four miles to our route undermined our efforts (a dam crossing was closed due to construction, meaning a circuit of Stagecoach Reservoir). This detour though did allow us to meet Chuck - what a great, great American name - and his wife, who only too readily restocked us with water for the final 15 miles of our ride that day. Chuck (I was tempted to ask him when Missing in Action 51 was due to come out - he did look a bit like Mr Norris) was synonymous with what people had told us about Coloradans. They are outdoors people, they are friendly, and they are only too happy to help. The trails are busier here, full of people doing active things. Are we really still in the US?

And, so, from just south of Lynx Pass, which we summit the next day (Sept 2), we eventually made our way to Kremmling, 34 miles away. We detoured off one part of the official Great Divide trail, one particularly onerous segment that would taken us down 2000ft in the space of a few miles towards Radium, only to then climb back at least half of that late in the same day. No thanks. We stood there for five minutes debating our decision - the road down was apparently OK but complete with sharp turns and some rocks. And some of the scenery was meant to be staggering. Yet mentally we weren't quite prepared for another dose of off-road mountaineering, which is what some of this ride often entails, so we instead ascended 9500ft Gore Pass (about two miles up from where we were), a relatively easy ascent considering it was on pavement. From there was coasted down another 11 miles of highway, hitting Highway 40 six miles north of where we are now.

Kremmling is a small town, one perfect for a lazy day doing our washing and catching up on things like blogs and watching movies. Yes, sounds shallow. But it's amazing how the body and mind just shuts down at times and fights against any sort of stimulus - whether mental or physical - or any kind. Or is that just me and my puny mind? Something to think about. But I can't, just not now, as Lara Croft and Tomb Raider is on....From here we'll head south to Salida, a town we hear many a good thing about. We plan to rest there for three days before heading on to the Great Sands National Park, and possibly Mesa Verde National Park (both of which are off our trail but very enticing). Some rather large mountain passes await to the south including a monster of 12000ft. Ouch.

But that's for later. Now, what's on after Lara Croft...?

Distance update - we've done 2249 miles todate, or 3600km, over 60 days of (actual) cycling. And who has the yellow jersey? Well, team Parker-McMullen isn't that competitive. But having a podium, champagne and some French models (male and female of course) at the end of each stage would be quite a motivator, wouldn't it?!?