The morning light brought the heat of the sun as we loaded the bikes to finally break out of Colorado. Years ago when I lived in Steamboat I managed to connect with a great couple, Sherry and her boyfriend Gary, who lived in Walden, Colorado. They'd invited me to ride to Sturgis with them as they did each year. I figured it would be worth the trip at least once, and to say I went to the world’s largest Harley rally on my BMW GS. Hey, someone has to be a rebel.
Long story short, Gary had been a sheriff for many years and then headed the marijuana eradication program for Colorado. He was now sheriff in Walden and we swung by to see him before leaving for the Wyoming border. Unfortunately he was out dealing with the forest fires northwest of the area.
From Walden we rolled north through the rolling hills and green valley, hanging a left onto Hwy 125 at the fork, for Riverside & Encampment, a right heading for Laramie. Selfies and goofies at the Wyoming border sign were appropriate, which surprisingly sported only a single bullet hole. It must have only been up a day or two...
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There was a stop in Riverside to hit the Bear Trap Cafe, peer into the the now closed and for sale Mangy Moose Bar and a walk across the street to the tiny grocery in search of interesting bumper stickers. None were to be had, but the young dude behind the counter with long blond hair and a beanie offered me a few post cards and good luck on our trip.
We have been blessed with perfect weather and no rain since leaving southwest Colorado, much appreciated each day and especially over Rocky Mountain National Park for the views from the top. It was interesting to see the difference in the sky as we passed deeper into Wyoming, something I always notice when I'm in the state. There are always different types of clouds at different altitudes, creating a fascinating menagerie of white against the deep blue.
At Hwy 130, we made the right turn for the Snowy Range to search for a campsite, stopping in at the Ranger Station. The volunteer hosts were retired Coloradians, who now lived in Texas but spent their summers in the Snowy Range. Turns out the husband had been a benchrest shooter and president of the Benchrest Shooters Association, so we talked guns for a while and got some info on where to camp, as well as the moose and bear status.
A couple of miles up the road we stopped in Ryan Park, an old WWII prisoner of war camp, and had two awesomely delicious cheeseburgers. The owner and his wife asked what we were doing and offered to let us have some things shipped to their address if needed. Kim had asked about it earlier, as we've needed a couple of things for the bikes but haven't been in one place long enough to have something shipped.
As we sat after the burger, a family came in, asking about our bikes and the father discussing rides in Canada. As we finished talking, another group of people came in after pulling up on 4 wheelers. They sat near us and asked about the bikes as well, wanting to hear about our trip. When we left, everyone in the little cafe wished us well and safe journeys, which was a nice moment.
We rode into the national forest looking for dispersed camping, eventually finding a good spot on a babbling brook. After getting set up and unloaded, the sound of the water lulled us like a gentle massage, dozing in our Helinox backpacking chairs - aside from the bikes probably the best piece of kit we brought.
As darkness came, so did threatening skies and a bit of wind, but only sprinkles tapped the tent that night. Only readjustment of clothing layers as the temperature plummeted in the deep night interrupted the sleep.