Day 45. Bridgeport NE. | End: Torrington WY. | Mileage 2529.3
Another free night with the “honor system.” Sure a concept that weighs down on one’s morals and stirs up that little voice in the head. I do not feel cheap, wrong or even bad, for my experience with this camp was not so great. My view on the concept of camping must be very different from people that we have come to camp next to during the past weeks. Literally the saying “everything but the kitchen sink” comes to mind. I see people with condo-sized tents, coolers upon coolers of food, games, electronics and knickknacks all for one night stay. As we set up our little tent for the night, kids would pass by saying they feel sorry for us, making fun and pointing fingers. We laughed, couldn’t believe these little dudes were ragging us on.
I would soon pass out, my clothes as blankets and my new under armor getting some use. A cold night, apparently a loud one that Dirk mentioned was full of screening kids. Aside from the trash all about, the poor management of this park, screening kids and lack of showers, the honor system did not exist in my mind. Yes another night of no shower, 110 miles later and we didn’t even have the opportunity to wash up.
Waking to a face wet with dew, I packed and we set forth. After comparing what we just did, the day ahead of us had a lazy feel to it. I guess we had all the confidence in the world after the winds and hills. Today was the day for some sight seeing and Chimney Rock was our first monument. It was exciting seeing this rock formation reach into the sky, the power of wind and water eroding the earth. Taking a dirt access road, we tried to get a bit closer. This proved difficult with the thin road slick tires we had. Sliding and wobbling like some drunk, my bike was just everywhere. My rear rack fell apart and I called it quits. Patching things up with a couple zip ties, I waited to get to Casper WY to fix it.
Wyoming, the Wild West is a breath of fresh air. The roads were horrible to us as we made the break for the border. Ruts so deep that I was just waiting for the moment when something on my bike would give out, explode in my face and send me flying to meet the road. With one of the smallest signs to greet us, we made it to Wyoming. Not far down the road, while in search of a watering hole we crossed paths with some cyclists. Three men in their 70’s, gnarly old dudes, so many props. They were heading east, another group that was ending in Virginia.
Now as we enter the sketchiest of camp groups, we took turns riding out to the fairgrounds for a shower down the road. Watching the bikes and charging up the gear we tally another free night, but most important a night with a shower.