WYBDR: Burning Fuel

After many fits and starts and also reacting emotionally to some wingnut in a mask, I roll out of Lander on what is sure to be a Quixotic day. The first part is unavoidably on pavement and it’s not fun. For some reason there seems to be an endless fleet of cement mixer trucks and my slow pipsqueak bike is not meant to be playing tag with behemoths like that!

At first they’re blasting by me like I’m standing still, which makes sense. Then, the road turns uphill and the massive mixers (which seem to be full) start slowing down. This makes sense too. I catch up and pass them. Then, the road gets steeper and I start slowing down. It’s one thing to be in front of these monsters when you’re faster than them and another entirely when they start catching up. The innocent truck drivers are trying to wring every bit of momentum out of their heavily loaded machines and there’s no way in hell they’re going to let off the steam for me. Meanwhile, I’ve got the bike’s throttle wrung out like I’m trying to strangle the handlebars and I can only downshift so many times.

Eventually, on a long slow climb physics sorts things out. From memory, I can’t remember if they outran me or I outran them but engines and tonnage spilt us apart; much to my relief.

I kept the bike wrung out and it climbed admirably… though I started to have unholy thoughts about “real” motorcycles. My PC800 would float up this hill like a dream. My Shadow 1100 would thunder up it like an invading force. I’m stuck in Pee Wee Herman mode limping uphill.

Eventually I get to a lookout and stop to rest. The bike isn’t running hot but I could use a stretch. Then I realize I’m on the wrong road!

Dammit! I should be conserving fuel and instead I ran something like eight miles up a steep climb, burning God knows how much fuel, just to get to a place I’m not supposed to be. What a dumbass!

I pace to and fro angrily but then get a grip on myself. I pause to take in the view. It’s spectacular!

I’ve never been here before, I may never be back… damn good thing I got that gorgeous view. I could have missed it. Wouldn’t that be a shame?

I’m pretty sure I used not one molecule of fuel going back down. The bike idled while rolling as fast as she’s likely to go. Then, wondering if I could blame this on cement trucks, I made the correct turn.

I briefly considered returning to town to top off on fuel again but was too stubborn. I’d wasted far too much time already. I was still traveling pavement but with a lot less traffic. I climbed another pass, burning more fuel, but at this point I was in for the duration. I stopped thinking about fuel and trusted to fate (and my spare gallon in the RotoPax).

It took a while but I finally found the cross trail. This is where the WYBDR, as it was originally mapped on paper, crosses en route to the ridge. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.

I should mention that nothing is better than a nice clean obvious sign with the road name and road number. Thank you BLM for sparing me some uncertainty!

I’m heading into a mix of private and public land. Technically speaking you can dispersed camp on BLM land but almost nobody does. At least in places that look like this. I wonder what the fire situation is?

Like they can read my mind, someone has stapled BLM fire regs to the signpost. How very handy.

No open fires. Fair ’nuff. This is not a place I’d want to toss sparks. My JetBoil is allowed and that’s all I’ll need.

I pass a lot of land that looks like this:

I’m truly in the middle of absolute nowhere. Then, for no reason at all, I enter a place with cell phone reception. I have no idea why.

My phone goes apeshit! A zillion texts have been piling up and they all ping onto my screen at once. It’s overwhelming. There’s a bill I needed to pay a week ago. There’s a doctor’s appointment reminder for next week. There’s a bunch of well wishers who’ve been sending me texts without really “grokking” the idea that I was no-bullshit off-grid. (I think there are people in 2024 who have never been out of cell service and don’t really understand the concept.)

I’m all pissed off sorting through this mess but it’s my fault for using my cell phone for navigation. One text catches my attention. It’s my good friend Dr. Mingo. He says he’s been “inspired” by my trip. Well that’s pretty cool. I’m glad about that.

I’m halfway through sending him a text back when the phone rings… a voice call. Half of us have forgotten phones do voice calls.

Right there, in the middle of the goddamn desert, our vet has called me to arrange a grooming appointment for our fucking dog! That’s it! I’ve had enough of human interaction.

Barely containing my desire to hurl the phone into the sagebrush, I politely nudge the vet to call Mrs. Curmudgeon. The vet has no idea where I am. They’ve got no idea how much mellow they’ve harshed.

Angrily, I stuff the phone in my pocket. I hit “check in” on my SpotX. Now everyone knows where I am and that I’m currently not dead. I send a quick SpotX to Dr. Mingo, happy that I’ve offered inspiration and providing my map coordinates. He’ll possibly click the link on the SpotX message and see that I’m a billion miles from nowhere. That ought to inspire anyone!

Later I see some little flags.

These are associated with a bicycle “event” (I don’t know if it’s a race or what). I remember one of the people with whom I talked yesterday at the campground/concert was doing a “bike race”. If he’s pedaling his ass all the way out here, he’s got balls of steel.

Now I’m inspired!

Anxious to get the hell out of there in case a zillion bicycles will show up, I take the next turn.

The turn changes the whole day. It’s the last time I’m worried about “being crowded”.

I haven’t seen anyone in forever, there are no bicycles and I’m off their route now, the phone shuts up for good, and life gets interesting. Stay tuned.