WYBDR: Unexpected Party

A comfort zone is the general area of skills, experience, and knowledge where you’ve got a pretty good handle on things. Leaving your comfort zone exposes you to uncertainty. That’s the whole point.

It’s common, perhaps too easy, to “pretend” at leaving that zone. A guided tour where everything is pre-arranged, a cruise where your floating hotel room is literally welded to the same hull as your floating restaurant, a guided hunt where someone scouted the whole valley on your behalf, a wine tasting where a sommelier carefully protects you from confusing white and red… these are all methods to reduce uncertainty. There’s a time and place where they make sense, but I tend to roam further afield. Why do I mention this? Because I’d already expanded my “comfort zone”!

It was day three and I’d “grown into” my little adventure. I knew what my bike could handle. I knew my gear was adequate. I’d ridden three days and goodness knows how many miles without a dumped bike, flat tire, twisted ankle, or mental meltdown. Good for me.

I was feeling like “an old hand”. We all know the universe won’t tolerate such hubris.

The one thing I knew was my ass hurt. The Yamaha TW200 seat isn’t terrible at first but after a hundred miles or so it’s a damn plank. The sheepskin helped but only so much. A “farm bike” just isn’t ergonomic like my street bikes. Coupled with the relentless heat, I was sore and cooked.

The bike had just gone on reserve when I popped out in “civilization”. I was at Hudson, WY. I was ready to stop! I looked about eagerly. I would zoom to the nearest restaurant and soak up air conditioning. I wasn’t overly hungry (given the desert heat I’d been drinking water constantly and that seems to fill your stomach) but I wanted a seat with a cushion and cold air. A hamburger on the side would go with that nicely.

There was nothing like that in town. Dammit!

I pulled into the only place serving the public. It was a butcher shop / liquor store / convenience store… but mostly a butcher shop. No AC. No chair to sit in. No gasoline. Specifically it was Frank’s butcher shop. As far as I can tell, Frank’s is a big deal. I’m sure their food is great. I wonder if the delicious hamburger I’d gotten at One Cow in Tensleep was sourced from Franks. (Later that day I ate a burrito from a place that said “meat provided by Frank’s”.)

In my current situation I’d have preferred almost anything with AC and chairs. McDonalds would have been fine.

I bought the coldest thing I could find; an ice cream sandwich. After that, I had to leave. I stood outside in the beating sun, grumpily eating my little bit of ice cream. People in the parking lot idled cars with their windows up. I could almost taste the AC in those cars!

The ten mile ride to Lander was brutal. I was exhausted, sweaty, dusty, and sore. I was proud of what I’d done, but I’d done enough.

I started having unholy thoughts about alternative transport. My tough little bike was perfect for the hard stuff but rough on the rider. An ADV would have better ergonomics but I worry I’d dump it. Perhaps there’s an alternative in the other direction? I’m scooter curious. Would a Honda ADV150 handle the roads I’d been on? Probably. The little peanut tires might flounder on the cobbles dumped on the private road through the Natural Gas plant… but then again it would be lighter and balanced lower to the ground. Fuel injection for high altitude would be a bonus. They’re said to have a nice soft seat. Speaking of which, waterproof storage under the seat is always a plus and part of why I own a Pacific Coast motorcycle. Would the “citified” fairing of a scooter shake itself to pieces where my crude farm bike so far hadn’t broken a sweat? Hard to say.

What I really need is a quantum superposition of my superlative small tourer (Honda PC800 made in 1989) and my unkillable little Honey Badger (Yamaha TW200 bought in 2020 but designed in 1987). If I could swap between them at will… I would be unstoppable.

I’d only been in the “desert” for three days but I’d practically forgot how much stuff a normal town (like Lander) has. I think this is a warning, you can get used to a lower level of civilization very quickly. Luckily it’s NOT the apocalypse and there were endless services just waiting for my charge card! Marvel at the glory of having several gas stations from which to choose. There were a zillion trendy hipster restaurants. There were several hotels.

I didn’t get off my bike yet. I was far past “normal” levels of tired. Once I got off that bike I might not be able to get back on it. I determined to resolve my “hotel/camp” situation before I lumbered into an air conditioned restaurant and became a zombie.

This is when the universe completely surprised me.

The nearest camping, at Sinks Canyon, was about 10 miles away. My ass vetoed that idea. There were hotels everywhere so I decided to “wimp out” and stay in one. As a last “hail Mary” toward camping I fired up my nearly dead cell phone and looked for a camp in town.

Gadzooks!

Lander City Park had camping. And it was free!

Free is my favorite price!

I rode there expecting to find junkies shooting up in an abandoned playground. To my delight it was well maintained, even gorgeous! Tall cottonwoods casting deep shade over thick luscious grass. I hadn’t seen grass like that on the whole ride!

The campsites were informal. Tents were scattered randomly on the soft inviting grass. RVs were parked up and down a pleasant little paved road. No site numbers, no reservations, no fee, no bullshit.

I dropped the kickstand and stepped off my bike. That was it. I might be physically able to get on that beast but psychologically I was done, done, done. I selected a picnic table and tossed my tent bag in a lovely spot shaded by huge cottonwoods. I could have ridden my bike to the picnic table and desperately wanted to do so but nobody else was so crass. I hauled my shit to the table and left the bike about 20 yards away.

I didn’t like that distance. There’s not much you can do to protect a bike. On the other hand I had been to hell and back on the trail and had the attitude to match. Should anyone mess with my steed, I’d curb stomp them without hesitation. Plus it just looked like a thing to leave unmolested. The bike, tough as nails and strapped with all sorts of survival shit exuded an air of “if you’re going to steal something, this isn’t it”.

As for my comfort zone, it was blown to smithereens. I’m perfectly happy on a sandstone rock in an empty canyon, so God threw me a curveball and parked me in the middle of a happy inquisitive crowd.

Everyone saw the dusty, dirty, lonely, desert rider with the little bike. They just had to see what that was about.

A very nice man came up and soon we were talking about his “desert bicycle race” tomorrow. He was going out there with pedals? Impressive!

Other folks were unpacking cooking gear from vans and RVs. I was moving slower, partly from many well meaning interruptions. Before I managed to get my tent setup, another dude came by to tell me all about the KLR he had in his youth. Then another. Misty stories of dirt bikes long gone. You can see the twinkle in people’s eye when they recall the times they had. Everyone wanted to know how I’d gotten there but nobody recognized the dirt roads I’d used. Finally I laid out my battered map.

“You came from… whoa… all the way up there?”

“Yep.”

“You’re riding alone? That seems dangerous.”

“I have a satellite communicator… but yeah it could bite me in the ass. I try to be careful.”

I shook out my food bag and dust cascaded onto the picnic table. I took a sip from my mangled water bottle. I wondered if there was potable water in the park. If not that would be OK, I had a gallon to spare. I tossed a freeze dried meal packet on the table and sat heavily… too worn to cook right away.

“Dude, you’re totally self supporting?” The bike guy was back, looking at the pile of junk I’d assembled; beef jerky, freeze dried food, a knife, a half-consumed and partially crushed water bottle, and my iso-butane cooking stove.

“Yeah.” I sighed heavily.

I was trying really hard to be human but I’m something of a loner. In my dusty, dehydrated, ass-sore condition I just couldn’t manage much more than trying to smile without looking like a serial killer. I gave short pleasant answers but wasn’t exactly loquacious.  This bothered nobody. I suppose desert rats coming in from the hinterland isn’t a rare thing in Lander.

“That’s impressive that you carry cooking gear. I just bought a burrito.”

“I’m pretty beat. I don’t feel like riding back into town.”

“I just went to the food truck.”

“THE WHAT?”

“Yeah, it’s next to the beer truck.”

“THE WHAT?!?”

I stampeded for the beer truck…

It took me a while to wrap my head around my situation. I’d ridden, dusty and exhausted, directly into a folk rock concert with free camping and full services. The beer truck had beer. The burrito truck had burritos. An ice cream truck had ice cream.

I was so grateful… almost in tears. God loves me and he wants me to succeed!

All that night, the music was wonderful. I crawled into my tent and snoozed, during the concert. If you can sleep during a concert, you’re tired!

Later, with the music still playing, I got up and ate and drank more. It was good music too! I fielded more happy people asking happy questions of the desert drifter with the odd little fat tired bike. Then, I crawled back into my tent. I fell asleep shortly after the last encore.

Food and beer delivered to a free campsite! Didn’t see that coming did ya?