Currently sitting at the city park in Buffalo to charge my phone and use the facilities. I'm not actually camping in said park mind you, but on the lawn of a lady a few blocks away who gave me permission. Because for reasons I can't quite fathom that just doesn't seem to be a thing outside Nebraska. The guy at the information booth who I asked about local camping was himself flabbergasted to find out the cheapest place here was 25 dollars. And that was for little more than a patch of grass. The nice man found it so ridiculous and was so apologetic for being unable to help with a situation entirely not his fault he actually offered to take me to and buy me dinner after his shift ended. But I felt unable to accept the offer.
I said farewell to my extremely generous host, Steve, this morning, and headed west once more. It wasn't a terribly hard day, thankfully. And my patch held the whole time. It was 70 miles from where I started to where I ended up, according to Googlemaps and those geosynchronous satellites up there measuring time with relativistic accuracy. But while there were a few rough hills (by my old definition of hills), but they were nothing compared to what I adjusted to in the Black Hills.
...But the whole day I got to watch the Big Horn Mountains loom ever higher on the horizon, and those are what awaits me. I've never done a mountain before, and it makes me nervous. And if I were to personify my bike, my already wearing brake pads would be screeching with concern for the use they will get coming down. They should hold up for this much at least, but they may very well be overdue for a replacement after.
It's getting rather cold out here, and I've got a tough haul to make tomorrow (not to mention yet again not knowing where I'll be staying when it's done), so I head now toward sleep, so that I may be ready to face the looming mountains tomorrow.
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