WYBDR: Wobbly Launch Into A Herd Of Cattle

[When I left this story I was in my Dodge blasting down the highway with a motorcycle on a trailer and some camping gear in the back seat. I was heading south out of Montana; muttering under my breath “me and my fuckin’ adventures”.

The Cliffs Notes recap is that I intended to ride the very remote thousand mile long Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (WYBDR) on a diminutive little Yamaha TW200. I didn’t have enough time to do the whole thing so I had a half-assed plan to do half the trip and then bail out to a U-Haul to get back to my truck. I would be doing my “half BDR” solo and “backwards”. Because of course I was.]

I needed (chose) to start at Burgess Junction WY. That’s waaaaaaay up in the Bighorn Mountains. (You might think Wyoming has only one mountain range and that’s the Rockies but such notions are oversimplifying. The Bighorns aren’t exactly small.) I could come to Burgess Junction from the east on a mountain pass that showed up as a squiggly mess on the map (route 14). Or I could come from the west following a slightly less squiggly line (route 14A).

I chose the western access, last fueling up at Lovell WY. You don’t know what you don’t know and the less squiggly road was far more um… interesting. The climb from Lovell to Burgess Junction was long, steep, and impressive. I’d just serviced my truck and I was damn glad I’d done so! Route 14A is closed in winters and I know why!

Wikipedia tells me that my truck and I climbed over a pass at 9,430′. I personally estimate it at 50,000′ but I’m biased. Once I got “over the hump” things leveled out (sorta) at a great beautiful high mountain prairie. With great relief I let the truck’s engine cool down and practically idled into Burgess Junction.

I didn’t expect many services but thought Burgess Junction WY might be a small village. It’s not. There is damn near nothing up there except the Bear Lodge Resort. (There might be other resorts a few miles away hidden in the National Forest. I didn’t explore the area.)

Luckily I’d planned to launch from Bear Lodge Resort anyway. I’d made arrangements to leave my truck there during my ride. (This was more like “yah’ whatever, park it where you want” than a formal secure lot.) I had reservations (which were unnecessary this late in the season) and camped in their expansive though shabby campground. I ate at the completely adequate restaurant and found myself reluctant to let go of the Lodge’s Wifi. There’s no cell service up there and it felt like I had a million loose ends to tie up… which was more stress than reality.

It was my first night in my new tent and the first real test of my camping gear on site. I’d bought a Lone Rider ADV tent and will forever fret that I spent oodles of money on it. (The acquisition of the tent is a story in itself.) Anyway, I’d set it up once to make sure I had all the parts and this was only my second use of it. The same is true of my Big Agnes Diamond Park 15 Degree bag. I’d originally intended to carry lighter cheaper gear but now I was in the end of the season and weather conditions could get crazy fast. So, I’d bought “the best”. My air mattress (which is NOT optional for these kinds of sleeping bags) is a Therm-a-Rest NeoAir Topo (which I inflated with a Giga Pump 2.0). I even had a pillow: the Nemo Fillo.

I spent years honing my “truck camping system” to deploy fast, fast, fast. This smaller, lighter, more complex gear takes longer to deploy. This frustrates me but I wanted the right level of comfort (in part as a safety thing) and had sacrificed the simplicity of “I tossed a tarp on the ground and slept there like a dog”. Choices must be made.

Nearby free range cows were making a racket. Other than that it was dark and quiet. At first I thought my fancy sleeping bag was a stupid affectation. Later, as the air cooled I zipped up and snuggled in. By dawn I’d decided every penny spent was worth it!

I’d slept OK but the high elevation wore on me. Bear Lodge is at about 8,300′.

Back at the Bear Lodge’s restaurant I practically crawled into my cup of coffee trying to wake up. I clung to wifi like a urban wimp. I decided to treat myself to the last shower I’d have in a while. This cost $3. Then I had to “rent” a towel for an additional $3. I didn’t like the idea of “renting” a towel and further the towel was literally threadbare. But, hygiene is good.

Plus, I was procrastinating.

I had all my motorcycle gear carefully planned out but it still took a while to strap up my Nelson Riggs Hurricane Dual Sport Saddlebags. They work great but there’s a spiderweb of straps that must be managed. I had wanted soft bags rather than heavier (and expensive) hard bags but I cursed under my breath over the hassle. It took a while to take down my tent and roll up my sleeping pad and stuff sack my sleeping bag. More frustration came when I tried to put it all on my bike. I obviously had too much shit.

I’d carefully planned everything I’d take. But I’d been too optimistic. In a fit of realism I chucked about a third of my stuff. My nicely programmed Baeofeng HAM handheld? Gone! Extra snacks… reduced! Etc…

Finally, in the most manly “equipment lightening” manner I took my clothes sack and reduced my count of clean underwear by half. That was brutal! But you gotta’ do what you gotta’ do.

It was not the early morning start I’d hoped for, but I’m only human.

I rolled out on my heavily laden little motorcycle late, nervous, and wondering if I was totally out of my league.

This is the whole point. I have a comfort zone, and it’s a pretty damn expansive one, but I was well and truly out of it now.

The first part of my trip was on pavement, which was disappointing. Immediately, I rode smack dab into the middle of a cattle drive! How cool is that?

I worried my lame little bike with it’s lawnmower engine whine might spook the cows more than their usual audio environment of Ford F150s. So I idled by with maximum caution. Now I knew why the cows had been uneasy last night. They, like me, were “in transit”.

I estimated 200 cows and counted 7 cowboys. These were real cowboys. Men on horseback with non-ironic chaps and giant hats that somehow held tight enough to not blow away in the mountain wind. They had grim faces and were working hard. They were accompanied by working dogs, equally busy with the task at hand.

I idled quietly on the opposite side of the pavement. A meek tourist watching a trainload of steak shuffle past; skillfully escorted by horse mounted testosterone and some smart dogs.

I took no pictures. I was there. I saw it. That’s all I need.

I was only 5 miles past where I’d setup my tent. What an excellent greeting to the trail!

Of course there’s more! Stay tuned!