[Recap so far: It wasn’t even noon before I’d lived a full day. I started out politely extracting myself from concertgoers. They were nice but crowded around as soon as I got up. They’d been waiting all morning to talk to the dusty desert guy on the little bike. They reminisced about the adventures they’d had in their youth. Wistful and neglected shadows of long discarded motorcycles played in their eyes. It was beautiful and sad. I’d be a better man if I’d found the time to indulge them, but alas I was “peopled out”. Then I argued with U-Haul’s impenetrable wall of unawareness and bought gas (and my precious orange) in the presence of tragic mental illness. I got on the road only to play tag with cement trucks, take the wrong turn, and flog my slow little bike over some very long (but smoothly paved) climbs. When I finally rode straight into the desert I was attacked by my phone. It was like a day held a week!]
Once phone connectivity was severed (as it should be!), I happily settled into the proper mindset. I wound through the middle of nowhere for approximately a zillion miles without a care in the world. The trail was a road… well mostly a road (nothing too hard for the plucky dualsport). I was where I wanted to be. In fact, Cedar Rim Road might be the best road ever!
The least challenging water crossing ever.
I came across a windmill with a water cistern flanked by a couple of antelope. The trail exploded; going something like six ways… it was almost a star formation. I followed the main road/trail (which is where the antelope were headed) but something didn’t feel right. I stopped a few hundred yards down the road and checked on my GPS. I was following the wrong path.
I retreated to the water cistern, pondered the map, chose a different trail and a few hundred yards later checked on GPS again… still wrong. Lather rinse repeat. Some trails were small, really just a cow path. Others were two tracks (two tire tracks from farm trucks). A few had actual “surface” indicating someone had dumped a load of gravel at least once in the previous decades… and likely meaning an energy company well was somewhere out there.
As I was methodically picking through “the mystery of the star pattern” a battered truck with Idaho plates showed up. I rode over to say “hi”. I’m glad I did.
The driver introduced himself as a “longbow antelope hunter”. He was old but then again so am I… now. There’s a timelessness about people (especially working men) on rangeland. The hot sun and dry air makes a young man’s skin look old but it also preserves a wiry old man’s skin forever. Should you ever meet a “real” cowboy, there’s a good chance he’ll look the same from age 30 through 90.
The guy was ageless but not young. He suggested that it’s a nutty thing he was doing. Apparently, it’s damn near impossible to get an antelope with a plain old longbow. (Not even a compound bow!)
I get that! Antelope have eyes like telescopes. I think the standard way of antelope hunting is to use a flat shooting caliber and take a long (200+ yard) shot from a really good support. Probably the longbow solution is an ambush. Maybe a blind or something? Antelope are fast and can see like satellite vision but there’s something alien about their intellect. A wise hunter, especially an old man with a longbow, probably capitalizes on their mental limits.
I’ve only hunted antelope once and the short sagebrush had me completely buffaloed. I simply couldn’t estimate distance. I stalked a small social unit relentlessly; like a Kalahari Bushman. My cover was blown many times. They see so far! I kept at it day after day until finally they walked near a rock that obscured their view. It was the only opening I got and the only one I needed. I hustled up behind that rock, slithered around the side, and popped my target at 60 yards; which is stupidly close for a rifle. I can hit a quarter at 100 yards and a 50 cent piece at twice that. So why the hell was I crawling over cactus like I was using a sling? Because I sucked at distance estimation! I could have gotten my antelope days earlier by simply taking a longer shot.
Back to the story: The longbow hunter reminded me of… me. But older and cooler. He had been out there some unspoken number of days, presumably hunting but likely just “chilling out”. He said he had a “fine cabin tent” in his truck and that once setup he was “comfortable enough that I’m in no hurry”.
Not too many years ago I bought a big tent. It sets up in a flash and I fill it with a huge cot which is almost as nice as a regular bed. I blogged about it as “operation old guy” and the camping it facilitated has been checking off my “bucket list” very handily. Later I bought a “hot tent” which means it has a wood stove. I’ve had a few campouts where the toasty fire on a cold winter night made my tent into a snug little den. On this trip I had much less luxury. I had my tent with me (and my magic orange!) just as he had his tent and gear, but with a tiny bike I’m basically doing mechanized backpacking.
(Note: If you’re looking for details, for Summers I use a Gazelle Hub Tent. It sets up in a flash and I can stand up in it. I use a TETON XXL Camp Cot & matching Camp Pad which only fills half the tent. For winters I use a Russian Bear Market UP 2 which is expensive & massive overkill. Though, I can ride out a blizzard like it’s a fortress! I heat it with a Caminus M woodstove and cram the tent with the same cot/mattress as summer.)
We talked about cabin tents for a while. He was retired and had all the time in the world. He sounded like he setup his tent, hung out a few days, and then moved on… never too worried about antelope; which we both assume were just an excuse to “be”.
I have a truck and a tent. I could do what he’s doing. But have to go back to work which means I can’t. When I grow up I wanna’ be like him.
He gave me instructions to find my trail and we parted ways. I couldn’t have encountered a better role model if I’d met Santa Claus.
It was a heck of a day and I’m just getting started… stay tuned.