I decided not to return to Yellowstone for the day. I'm currently in the back of a suburban in Arco, about ready to sleep for the night. I woke up before my host this morning and ate a bunch of cereal for breakfast. My host, James, biked a short ways with me to the edge of town before we parted company. And then I headed out into what a man at Fred Meyer (where I got my new belt bag yesterday) says the locals refer to as the desert. It isn't technically a desert. But it does seem fairly close. It's dry, it's mostly scrub with little to see...and it gets windier than all hell.
For the first half it was just dull mainly, which was fine by me. I've become an expert at dealing with boredom. I've learned all kinds of mind games to keep me properly distracted on long, boring stretches of road, while still paying due attention to my surroundings. I make bets with myself if I will see ten red vehicles or blue ones first. I'll make myself remember minutiae of games I've played, shows I've watched, or books I've read. I'll sing songs to myself, or often make up ones of my own. I'll do all kinds of things to pass the time. My legs run on autopilot and my mind is free.
James asked me last night how I went about packing up and going on a trip like this. He showed me his own vacation he has meticulously planned, and seemed to expect there must have been a similar physical and psychological process. I told him there wasn't. In a large way, for what planning and preparation there certainly was, I really just got on my bike and left and that's all there is to it. All of the barriers between you and what you want are mostly just in your head. I've learned how to overcome so much in this time.
...But wind, accused almost-desert wind... I guess it's frequently terrible around here. It picked up in the early afternoon, and as it is want to do it seems, once it started it just kept intensifying. So, for the latter half of my 70 mile trek I was fighting the wind the whole way. Wind is so bad. Ir's worse than steep slopes, worse than a mountain even. There you know that as far as you go up, you eventually must come down. You build up a sort of potential energy karma that will inevitably be paid up. Heat and cold you can protect yourself. Rain just gets you wet, and isn't hard to get shelter from, and it really must quit before too long. But wind on the other hand, there is no payout in return for the difficulty it causes, no later reward, and there's no real shelter or protection, and no waiting it out. It just makes life needlessly hard. Headwinds push on you, forcing you to work so much more, and crosswinds threaten to send you off the shoulder. The only good wind us a tailwind, and going east to west that's basically unheard of. And the wind isn't just physically taxing (also chapping lips and parching the tongue), it's emotionally exhausting. The wind seems to fill my ears and flood my head with thoughts of anger and despair. I really, really hate biking in high wind.
My next trek is 90 miles to Fairfield. I may stay here another day to avoid more atrocious winds predicted for tomorrow, as my host has said that it's okay. He's a great guy. He drove me to the grocery store to get food for myself, and he shared three beers with me while sitting and bullshitting. He and his two dogs live here in a mobile home on a few acres of land technically just barely in the country here in Arco. He lives cheaply and mostly off grid, but what he has, he's more than happy to share. And he gladly let me sleep here in the back of his suburban so I didn't have to go to the trouble of setting up tent.
And having said that, I now really ought to sleep.
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