We both rise at 5am to clear dark skies. I pack quickly and leave
before Kent who stows away his beloved tent. I ride through the fast
drying mud and soon I am rolling along. The trail is wide and winds
around low hills, there are a few side trails leading to remote
residences but no one is to be seen at this hour. With several miles to
go before the next town I turn off the main trail and onto a marked snow
trail, it's not quite singletrack, more doubletrack to accommodate the
ATVs and snowmobiles that seem to form the basis of American outdoor
life. The beauty of the trail takes my mind off my concerns until my
concerns suddenly reprioritise as a fairly large grizzly skids onto the
trail about 10 feet in front of me and tears up the ground trying to
make an escape. I have time to watch, the muscle at the top of its legs
ripples with immense bulk and I can only stare. I can do nothing. In 4
or 5 seconds it is all over and I am cruising the trail again as if
nothing had ever happened.
I make the next town safely and stop to eat the best breakfast so
far. I chat to the waitress who shows interest in my story and tells me
that another rider left about an hour before. I ask her if she can check
the credit card statement for a name, she does, it's Matt.
I leave town and head down an old railway line which stretches
straight for maybe 50 miles on the map, with one bend. The ground is
soft and slow in places but for the first time in days there is no head
wind. I stop at a gate and two riders are coming from the other
direction, I ask them if they have passed anyone, only one they say. I
assume it must be Kent as I had stopped for quite a while at breakfast
after borrowing a hose and washing down my bike. The views this morning
are stunning. I'm in wetlands looking across meadows full of birdlife
towards the Teton range of mountains. I stop frequently to take photos.
The railroad finally ends after running alongside a deep river gorge and
the GDR climbs towards Yellowstone but before it enters the park it
bears off along the Flag Ranch trail. I stop for a coke and listen to a
few horror stories about 4x4s taking 8 hours to do the 35 miles to Flag
Ranch but on this occasion the trail is dry and I make it in good time.
My circulation problems had been getting worse as each day went
by but things now took a bizarre twist. Now male riders will relate best
to this, occasionally an adjustment is made in the shorts as things move
around. I put my hand where my brain was telling me something should be
but there was nothing there, a quick panic and I soon located it, but
there was no feeling. I rode off the saddle for miles, worrying.
Stranger things were too happen that day, I would get the sensation that
a swarm of bees were buzzing in my shorts, not a nice thought at the
best of times but now I simply did not know what was happening.
I got to Flag Ranch just as the rain started and the sun was
going down. I was feeling low. I was beginning to think that I might not
make it to Mexico. My legs were getting stronger each day and my knee
had not troubled me for a while but I constantly thought of long term
damage. My hands and feet I could cope with but not the other.
The rain fell harder and I sat under a shelter next to a car
park. The roof above started to hammer and I looked out as hailstones
the size of marbles shattered on the hard surface. I was cold and hungry
and wanted to rest and think things through. I watched as tourists ran
from cars to their warm dry hotel. The hailstones stopped and I headed
for a large campsite about 20 miles away. I climbed steeply for a few
miles on the road and approached the summit when the skies opened and
dumped a hailstone storm that made the earlier one look insignificant. I
pedaled down the other side hard, the road was by now completely white
with icy marbles and I looked at my computer, 30mph, this was insane, I
just wanted to find shelter. A car passed me and stopped in a lay by,
the passenger swung the door open and beckoned me in, I politely refused
telling them I was in a race. The hailstones blasted through the vents
in my helmet and stung my head, I pedaled on with a further 16 miles to
go.
After an eternity I reach the campsite and realised I had been
here several years before. I got a tent cabin for the night, two log
walls and the rest canvas, but it had a wood burning stove. I buy food,
a box of wood and sit down in front of a roaring fire drying all my kit
which is spread over the concrete floor. I indulge in fresh orange
juice, yoghurt, cheese and a panini which I heat on top of the stove. I
sit on my rest mat and try to work out what I should do.
