Log cabin in southern Wyoming where the owner invited me to pitch my tent.
Prong horned antelope horns piled beside the clear flowing spring.
A Motorcycle Trip to Pensacola
Dispatch 2 continued
Somers, MT to Denver, CO
May 8-11, 2007
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I continued south through Wyoming
that afternoon and into evening. As the sun lowered, I began
seeing prong horned antelope grazing beside the road. Some were in
pairs and some in groups of five or six. They ignored me as I sped
past, but when I would stop for a picture, they realized that I was up
to no good and they would bound away from the road and stop just out of
camera range, flicking their tails arrogantly.
It was lonely country, and I
would often go ten minutes before a car would pass. It was
evening, and I stopped at a gas station at the junction of Hwy 287 and
Hwy 26. The friendly proprietor welcomed me to Three Forks and
told me a bit about the area. He pointed out a range of hills
about ten miles north and said that the early settlers had run their
wagon trains along the Wind River on their move westward. They had
crossed the Continental Divide just west of this region. He
pointed out a herd of horses on the hill across the road.
"Those are wild horses he said. Almost all the horses you see
out here are wild." I had been passing herds of horses all
evening and had assumed that they were owned by ranchers.
I asked him where the was a
camp ground for pitching a tent. He pointed to a log cabin a mile
down the road. "That's my cabin," he said.
"You are welcome to pitch in the grass behind it. There's a
clear spring, and cottonwood trees for shelter." I did just
that. In the waning sunlight, I sat behind his house, read my
book, and watched deer, wild horses and antelope play under a big sky Wyoming
sunset.
The wind kicked up that night,
and I was somewhat surprised that my tent didn't blow away. My
motorcycle cover did, but fortunately it stopped in the lee of the
garage. The dry air served to dry out my gear from the
Yellowstone rain. Friday broke clear and breezy, and I made good
time continuing down Hwy 287 another 43 miles until I met Fwy 80.
I took 80 about 150 miles east through rolling sage until I got to
Laramie,
Wyoming and rejoined Hwy 287 south.
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Log cabin in southern Wyoming where the owner invited me to pitch my tent. Prong horned antelope horns piled beside the clear flowing spring.
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Deer walking behind the cabin. |
Reading behind the log cabin under a big Wyoming sky.
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Soon, I crossed into Colorado.
Like flipping a switch, the expansive sageland turned into rolling
grassland with irregularly shaped, red sandstone bluffs and giant
boulders adding interest to the scene. Eventually, I descended
into the plains east of the foothills and rolled into Ft. Collins,
home of Colorado
State University. It was graduation weekend and the place was
packed, but I managed to find an internet cafe to write this
epistle.
Now, I am finishing this at
Ron and Dorothy Foote's house. I rode from Ft. Collins to Denver
in Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic, and was greatly relieved to
take a shower, get into shorts, and relax with the Footes last
night. Dorothy was a classmate of mine in Taiwan,
and over the years I have enjoyed visiting with them when I came to Denver
for training with United Airlines.
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Colorado, still on Hwy 287, a few miles north of Ft. Collins. |
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A gravel side road typical of eastern Colorado.
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Other Links:
Don's Home Page: www.jali.net
Don's email: websterdr@yahoo.com
Page by Don Webster: websterdr@yahoo.com
