I like it when the hard stuff comes early. When I hiked the Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia, I started in Maine (most go the other way). That meant that the first thing I encountered, after climbing Mt. Katahdin for the start of the trail, was the 100 Mile Wilderness. Maybe the trail didn't get easier as I went south but there wasn't a more mentally challenging section. The same challenge seemed to be the case here in Wyoming. I'm not even half done yet so this could totally backfire on me, but the first four days were all road miles. Most of that was dirt roads with the remainder being secondary highways. The problem of finding the trail started on the first day, at the first step. The Oregon Trail simply doesn't exist in most of eastern Wyoming. It has been plowed, planted, fenced and posted in most every section. By "posted", I mean "No Trespassing". We did find one section of original trail. It was marked on my map and showed that following it would be much shorter than taking a road detour to the next town. I liked that as it is rare that the trail is shorter than a road.
Wanting to get more info on this trail section I stopped at the only house along the road going that way. At the cattle guard protecting the yard was a sign, "Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again." The sign was metal and bolted to an upright railroad tie. It had been created with some holes drilled in it with those bullet decals people put on the side of their PT Cruiser. Just to make it more authentic however, the owner had taken his own shotgun and blasted the sign with real bullet holes in addition to the fake ones. Walking past the sign and across the cattle guard, I didn't have the courage to actually knock on the door of the home, but I did yell "HELLO?" from the yard about seven times. Perhaps I wasn't close enough for a clean shot but no reply came from the home. I left the yard and headed up the dirt road for 8 miles toward a possibility of a trail.
Hewett had driven ahead and found the section of trail. He ran the first half mile and was impressed until he came to a chainlink fence barring access with a sign reading, "No Hunting." Technically, trespassing does not require hunting and we considered using it. Then Hewett met a neighbor who explained that the landowner had been having a tough time with hunters on his property. He said that we needed to get permission from the landowner and he could not give it to us.
Not wanting to infringe without approval I ran a detour on roads to the next town. Still not finding "my friends." Hewett did take a picture of the ruts which I'll attach here.
One observation I have about eastern Wyoming is that people mind their own business here. It's not a rude thing, more like a culture. That goes for staying off people's land, not doing U-Turns in their driveways, not parking your support vehicle on the shoulder near their driveway or asking unnecessary questions. Don't get me wrong, people have been nice. Maybe hospitable is a better word. For example, nearly every car pulls over into the far lane when passing me. Most all of them give me a wave. It took me awhile to figure out the Wyoming wave. For senior citizens, you kind of cup your hand and twist it, as though you're opening a door knob. For all other people, casually throw your hand out with fingers outstretched, like you're indicating to the blackjack dealer that you don't want any more cards. Finally, for the most brief of interactions, two fingers slightly raised. That's all it takes to acknowledge each other, and all that is expected.
This morning, as we were leaving Douglas, we stopped in a Maverick gas station so Hewett could get his coffee. I got hot chocolate. The place was swarming with middle-aged men starting their day, on their way to fields, wells, pumps, and machines. I had to look hard to find a pair of jeans that didn't have a worn circle in the back pocket from tobacco. People held the door open for us. Many looked at me. But no one asked any questions. That sort of thing doesn't seem to happen here. And it's not that I crave attention. It just seems that someone who is dressed so differently as I am and doing something so seemingly bizarre, would arouse curiosity. Twelve miles down a dirt road this morning, and many more miles from any obvious destination, I came across a rancher with a shovel. He was at the end of his dirt driveway where it meets the dirt road and he was digging up weeds that had grown around his mailbox. These were the same weeds that I have now run on and past for 150 miles. "Say, you've got your work cut out for you there," I chided, indicating the miles of weeds in both directions on both sides of the road. "Oh, I'm just clearing it out so we can see the snakes better near the mailbox." And that was the end of our conversation as I ran on down a road that you couldn't see the end of.
In fact, several times when Hewett was pulled over on the side of the road and waiting for me, others stopped to ask if he needed help. When he responded with, "Thanks, no. My friend is running across Wyoming," the response has always been: a tilt of the head, a second of pause, and the single syllable, "Huh."
If there's one thing I'd like Wyomingites to know about me, it's that what I'm doing out here is not really that different from what most other people are doing. I get up early, I eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I drink my morning brew (for me, it's an energy shake from Hammer Nutrition), and I work hard all day, usually for 12 hours. The visible difference is that I'm wearing bright yellow marshmellow shoes, nylon shorts and a hydration pack that, from a distance, makes it look like I'm wearing a sports bra. Oh, and today I was listening to the soundtrack to Annie on my Ipod, a selection I doubt many drill workers chose today. Listening to "N.Y.C." while watching several hundred antelope scamper away from me across prairie grass hills was quite an experience.
I've heard that the "trail" greatly improves as we move onto BLM land southwest of Casper. The purpose of this trip was to experience the Oregon Trail and so far, I have yet to set foot on it. But traveling a trail, even if by road also brings with it a host of observations and experiences. In the next two days I should see a drastic change in the route, going from busy roads to desolate trails. It will be interesting to see what other changes are evident.
Mileage so far:
Day one: 32 miles - Henry, Nebraska to Guernsey, WY
Day two: 40 miles - Guernsey to Glendo Reservoir
Day three: 38 miles Glendo to past Douglas
Day four: 40 miles Douglas area to Casper.
PS - I did find one bit of humor yesterday while running through Douglas. Enjoy and thanks to the owner of this door for sharing my sense of humor. And Douglas, Wyoming was named "Home of the Jackalope" so this humor fits right in.
No comments:
Post a Comment