WYBDR: Not A Great Plan, But At Least It’s A Plan

[Note: I’m using real map data so you can follow along on Google Maps or the WYBDR page, should you care to do so.]

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.”

The WYBDR is 8 sections and a little under a thousand miles; starting at the southern border of Wyoming (adjacent to Colorado) and ending at the northern (literally dead ending at the Montana line on a remote dirt road). A section a day is (presumably) a mellow conservative rate of travel; exceeded by many but probably valid for a solo geezer riding carefully on a slow bike. So that’s 8 days.

You can do it faster (and many do) but I didn’t want to lock myself into rosy assumptions. A mechanical malfunction, running out of fuel, a twisted ankle, a bout of food poisoning, heavy rain… virtually anything can cause a delay and undoubtedly something will. I started by counting on 8 days of plodding to include some cushion for “shit happens”.

Meanwhile, the big honkin’ limitation to a dual sport (unlike an ADV) had me completely baffled. I needed to trailer my bike to the trail-head and at the end of the WYBDR somehow get back from the trail’s end to where I left the truck & trailer. I don’t know about you, but I lack the ability to teleport.

It wouldn’t be a short distance either. Being conservative; the time needed to grind my little dual sport across the state is “I’m not fuckin’ doing it”. I’d need a vehicle suitable for not just pavement but interstate highways. Even if I “assume I can somehow pull a Toyota Camry out of my ass” it would take 1-2 days to get back to the truck. What I needed is a one way rental between wherever I end up (where there is no car rental service… because Wyoming) and where I parked my truck & trailer (which also lacks car rental service… because Wyoming). I contacted car rental places all over the state. I got quoted prices between “insane” and “what in God’s name are they thinking”.

I also contacted a few “outfitters”. There are people that rent bikes for the BDR! I had no idea. Then again renting a bike would cost as much as airfare to Paris. (I’m just spitballing here, the point it’s not cheap.) Even if it was free, using a rental would put me on a bike with which I’m not familiar. Yours truly, a solo geezer, did not want additional uncertainties in the equation. Also, my plucky little TW200 would surely hear about it and shiv me in my garage if I left it behind. (A note about the outfitter, he tried really hard to figure out a solution to my dilemma it’s just that there wasn’t one in my budget level. Also, he was very encouraging. “On a TW you’ll make it but you’ll earn it.” He was a really great guy!)

To make matters worse, my calendar had a great big steel anchor holding it back! I had to be in a place at a time and there was no escaping it. That place was not in Colorado, near the start, but Montana, near the end. Which made it doubly impossible because I’d need to ride the dual sport 8 days heading north, sacrifice a goat to spontaneously generate a street car rental, only to need at least a day to cross back to my abandoned truck way down south near Colorado, and then I’d have to turn back north again! (And it depended on making the rental magically disappear.) Nobody wants to drive across Wyoming four times (once on a dual sport). That last drive north with the empty trailer, hoping to find my bike locked to a fencepost or some shit, load up, and then somehow get to my hard deadline up north would probably kill me.

I was screwed!

I could wait until after the deadline. But summer is fleeting. At 9;000’ elevation snow could happen any time.

I made a compromise. I’d go before the deadline of doom but split the difference on the BDR. I planned to do only ½ the WYBDR. For that, I won’t apologize or mope. Life is short and it’s better to do something that’s half-awesome than do nothing at all. By the way, great herds of people fall into the trap of doing nothing because the ideal is impossible. Don’t be like that. “I’ll do that cool thing when I’ve got more money, or when I’m retired, or after I accomplish this or that career milestone.” Fuck that! Do what you can. Do it when you can.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”

I finally worked out a complex schedule. It was a dumb plan but it was the only thing I could come up with. The only thing going for it was that it was at least theoretically possible.

Here goes:

I’d park on the north end of section 7 (Burgess Junction, WY). Section 8 (which dead ends and basically loops back to Burgess Junction) could be (reluctantly) ignored.

From there I’d head south (“backwards on the map”) through three sections. I’d camp at Ten Sleep, then at Shoshoni, then at Atlantic City. That’s 3 of 8 sections.

The next section seems to have the reputation as the biggest, hardest, longest section. That would be (viewed backwards) Atlantic City to Alcova. There are several places where there’s “optional” parts of the trail. Atlantic City to Alcova has an “expert” option (which is printed on the map) and a “new” section (which was on my GPS units). I planned to avoid the expert portion, then somewhere in the middle of section 4 turn completely off the BDR entirely.

This is where my plan got fuzzy. I’d skip around Alcova and take a line I’d found on a map called Poision Spider Road. It’s a dirt road, which (on the map at least) led straight into Casper. There are no services anywhere out there. (And I’d heard that Atlantic City didn’t have much.)

I’d just have to find someplace and camp… I guess. I gave myself 2 days to get from Atlantic City to Casper… with no real idea how that 2 days would work. I figured I had gear and food and (hopefully?) enough gas. Somehow it would happen.

At Casper I’d rent a one way U-Haul. (And I made reservations well in advance.)

I’d drive it to Sheridan with the bike in the back. I might sleep one night in the U-Haul or avail myself of a hotel. (I’m only human.)

Dropping the U-Haul at Sheridan still put me and my dual sport well away from my truck still parked at Burgess Junction. The main paved pass from Sheridan at low elevation to the high elevation pass would leave my little bike gasping for air and crawling. I’d have a line of pissed off people with real modern cars behind me. I’d probably get flattened by a Freightliner.

The alternative were some Forest Service roads that cut cross county to Burgess Junction. It looked like one very fun adventure day’s ride to close the gap. Obviously I was geared up for it. Would I have the time?

After getting to Burgess Junction (assuming I didn’t melt the TW200 grinding up the pass), I’d load on a trailer, catch a night’s sleep, and then get back to “civilization” with my Dodge. I wanted to arrive for my “deadline of doom” appointment no later than the evening before. That way I could go to a hotel, get a real night’s sleep, and take a shower in the morning. My goal being to look less like a madman than I really am.

Well that’s what I had come up with. It was a plan. It was not a good plan. It was a bad plan. Maybe it was a “plan”. Life is like that.

With a lot of trepidation I turned south from I-90 at Billings (stopping at REI for last minute gear). I remember mumbling under my breath “me and my fuckin’ adventures”.

You know the plan is doomed. You’ll have to keep reading to see how…