I started day three with a spring in my step. (For those of you just tuning in I was solo riding the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route on my small cheap motorcycle.)
Most folks (among the lunatics who do this sort of thing) camp for the sole purpose of facilitating their motorcycle trail ride. I’m the opposite. Half the reason I was on the trail was as an excuse to camp. Unlike my usual morning self (which is grumpy bordering on insufferable) I hummed a happy little tune. I made coffee with my JetBoil and French press. (Note: My JetBoil is very old. It’s so old, I had to buy the two items separately. The Amazon link goes to the two items as a group. If you don’t drink coffee (which is inconceivable!) then you can save a few bucks and buy the JetBoil only.)
Then I rinsed out the grounds, made breakfast with water from the JetBoil, and, because it was a glorious sunny day, poured more grounds and made more coffee.
I was a happy camper!
Packing up is slower with complex specialized motocamping gear than for the simpler gear of truck camping. I used my cool little GigaPump to extract the air from my air mattress, which is pretty slick I think and rolled it tight. I stuffed my new sleeping bag (I’d fretted over the cost but it had turned out worth it’s weight in gold) into the waterproof compression sack (which had performed heroically well over several downpours). Even the tent, which has it’s own story, had ridden out last night’s wind and rain like boss. All those decisions about gear… I’d gotten them right!
It was sunny so I sprawled all my stuff on the picnic table. Rolling all that junk while on my knees might kick my ass. Breaking camp in rain might do me in!
Another learning curve is what I call “Gadget Management”. Various electric devices were inadequately charged and bitching at me. The GigaPump was almost out of juice. Usually it goes for several days without a hitch. I suppose filling the air mattress at high elevation takes more effort. (Note: There’s a newer version of GigaPump with more battery capacity. Also my Therm-a-Rest NeoAir Topo has a bag for manual inflation… and I always bring it with me.) My cell phone was on 10% which is irrelevant for calls but I occasionally use it for navigation. I’d charged my SpotX to 100% overnight; mission critical emergency gear comes first! This left my Noco battery pack about a third depleted. (No big deal in itself. It’s just that I was “wearing down” my “backup capacity”. Plan C is to push start the bike if needed.) My GoPro died on day one. My GPS was very low and buried in a saddlebag (for emergency use only).
Gadgets… they’re nice but I don’t trust ’em. If it has a battery and you’re taking it extended off grid, it wants constant attention. I’ve been thinking about getting a battery driven heated sweatshirt. Would that become a pain in the ass too?
I think most people keep their phones charged without much hassle because they’re well trained. They’re welded to the phone, carry it everywhere, and always think to charge it. I’m the rare sort who forgets to charge and otherwise neglects their telescreen.
After dishes were done I’d used most of my water. A gallon seems like it’ll last forever, but I’d been profligate and used most of it. Not that it mattered, I was only 8 miles from town.
The Toyota camped nearby, which was following the BDR in the opposite (correct) direction, rolled out. The two ADV motorcycles were long gone. They’d likely hit the road before I was out of my sleeping bag. I left a campground that was sunny, gorgeous, and deserted.
I plugged in my cell phone to charge as I rode and backtracked 8 miles to the town of Shoshoni. I arrived at the gas station where I’d been the night before and the fuckin’ phone went apeshit! The day before I’d logged onto the station’s Wi-Fi. When I approached the store, it recognized the Wi-Fi, automatically logged on, and hurled a barrage of texts at me. All sorts of shit had accumulated overnight. I hate how intrusive phones have become.
I don’t know why I couldn’t keep my shit charged. I deduced that my cigarette lighter was charging the cell (or SpotX) intermittently due to a worn out cable. (Note: That wasn’t it and I now have other theories.) I bought a new USB cable and lots of water. I dumped the tasty ice cold water into my grimy RotoPax water container and then bought two more liters. I was carrying lots and lots of water. (My RotoPax gas container was still full.)
If I’d been in a group, I’d have carried perhaps only 1/2 or 1/3 as much water and maybe less gas too; knowing I could bum a few pints off a fellow rider. Solo life means working without a net so you must use caution. I bought some snacks, inexplicably forgot to buy another deli sandwich, ignored everything my phone wanted me to address, and rolled out.
This was going to be the least interesting section; which didn’t bother me at all. I was about to cross a hundred odd miles of absolutely nothing to get to Lander.
All of the BDR materials said Lander would be the absolute only “town” on the trip. If you needed a motorcycle tire, or camping shit, or a handy ER… this was your only chance while staying on the trail. From there the section continues through some very pretty (and campsite friendly) National Forest to Atlantic City, WY. Rumor had it, Atlantic City had no services.
Rolling through the sagebrush I plotted my own course. I didn’t have enough time for the whole BDR. As much as I wanted to camp at or around Atlantic City, I was closing in on a key deadline. Atlantic City to Alcova would be my last section and it’s rumored to be both the hardest and prettiest section.
At Alcova I’d officially be out of time and I’d have to somehow divert to Casper. Also the Alcova to Casper paved route is unsuitable for my slow bike. I’d already decided to divert off the trail somewhere west of Alcova.
Lucky for me, it was the problem of “Tomorrow Curmudgeon” to figure it out. “Today Curmudgeon” had no such worries.
Hours later I stopped in the absolute middle of nowhere. It was an empty place just like any other. I liked them all. I savored them. Almost all of humanity has never experienced the complete and utter emptiness of that vast land (or any land like it).
What loss happens to the soul of a man who’s never stood alone under the endless sky? Humans are bred in cities, raised in institutions, and herded like mewling livestock. Is this why they go to exquisite pains conforming to the details of their chosen group? How many humans have never been in their own company? Witness how often they take an action based on its support within their social sphere. Witness how rarely humans act independently. As a whole, humans fear to stand alone.
There I was, days and hundreds of miles from my truck (abandoned at base camp). Days and hundreds of miles from a destination that I hadn’t exactly planned out in detail. Nobody knew where I was. Yet I had food, water, and equipment. I was fine. What more could I want? My phone had no service, there was nobody to talk to, and the last living being I’d seen was a jackrabbit a few miles back. My inner peace was palpable. Life is not a performance for the purpose of hits on Instagram.
It was bittersweet because it knew it was fleeting.
In due time I’d have to return to the chaotic blended puree of our modern overclocked society. I’d endure another serving of the same bullshit. There’s an election coming up; another ham handed, disappointing, sequel bent on hollowing out a glorious story which began with Enlightenment ideals. Pax-Romana is over and now we pick between an Orange goofball and a Spastic Unaccomplished DEI hire.
A better society would do better, but we are not better people. The national vote count is less trustworthy than referees at the Superbowl and we made that happen. The media brays angrily with endless constant lying and we want to consume their words. We have a deficit of trillions amassed by the controlling interests of humans but very few of us can understand “trillion”.
For a few moments as I stood in the sagebrush, none of that mattered.
Eventually, after a break of unknown time in a place I could never find again, I continued. Half a bag of beef jerky consumed to keep the body running and a soul completely replenished. The soul matters more than the body. The soul is why I was there.
As I rolled on, I thought that I’d paid absolutely no attention to my motorcycle. An inattention which suits the little brick shithouse just fine. More as a ritual than a necessity, decided to lube the chain.
I rode up and off the road and wandered a hundred yards off the path. I parked in a small clearing with less sagebrush than the overall vicinity and carefully smeared a wax based lube over the chain. It was starting to sag but didn’t quite need adjustment yet.
I looked the bike over carefully. The simpler the machine, the less attention it’s likely to need and this bike has not one single “luxury”. It was earning it’s pay. I fired it up and plunged across nothing back onto the road. That was the only mechanical thing I did the entire trip. A Yamaha TW200 bike loves being ridden hard.
It was a good morning…