Distance: 61.1 mi, Climbed: 3,012 ft
Completed: 3,006.5 mi, 134,215 ft
After spending the night in a tipi on the Wind River Indian Reservation, Rich and I were back on our bicycles at 7:30 in the morning, heading northwest toward Dubois. A thunderstorm rolled through during the night, waking me several times. Even so, the tipi kept us completely dry, giving us an even greater appreciation for how well these traditional shelters are designed.
By morning, the skies had cleared, and we were treated to a beautiful sunrise as the moon slowly set behind the tipis. Roosters announced the start of the day, dogs barked in the distance, and the reservation slowly came to life around us.
Unfortunately, the peaceful beginning didn’t last long.
Just a few minutes into our ride, a barking dog charged out toward me. I yelled as loudly as I could, and thankfully it stopped chasing me. I pedaled hard, putting as much distance between us as possible. Rich was behind me and witnessed something I did not. An oncoming car struck the dog. By the time I stopped to wait for Rich, I could see he had pulled over, and so had the driver. I feared the worst.
When Rich reached me, I thanked him for handling whatever had happened and told him I did not want to know the details. I felt terrible, knowing that my riding had caused an accident. Rich told me the dog had been hit but assured me it had gotten up and run away. Even knowing that, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It stayed with me for much of the day.
About a mile later, we stopped at the Sinclair convenience store in Fort Washakie. Throughout this trip, we’ve seen at least twenty Sinclair dinosaurs standing outside gas stations, but this one immediately caught our attention. Instead of the familiar green dinosaur, it was beautifully painted with Native American-inspired artwork, a fitting tribute to the community and the reservation where we had spent the night.
As we headed north through Wind River, we were met with spectacular views. I found myself smiling throughout this part of the ride because I could hardly believe Rich and I were bicycle riding through such a beautiful stretch in Wyoming.
Further up the road, we met Randy, another cross-country cyclist. Forty-one years ago, he rode around the Olympic Peninsula in Washington. For this trip, he wanted to ride the peninsula again, so he began in Seattle, headed south via the peninsula to Astoria, Oregon, and then joined the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail on his way to Delaware, where he grew up. He’s riding a Trek Checkpoint, just like mine, and because his is yellow, he affectionately calls it “Mustard.” I always enjoy hearing the stories behind other riders and their bicycles.
Soon afterward, we turned west onto Highway 26 and began the gradual two-day climb toward Togwotee Pass. The grade itself wasn’t especially steep, but a relentless headwind made every mile feel earned. The wind funneled through the valley for much of the ride, making steady progress a challenge. The afternoon heat had softened the tar patches sealing cracks in the pavement, and each time our tires rolled across them, they would stick a little bit to the road.
The landscape was classic Wyoming—wide-open plains stretching in every direction, with distant mountain ranges anchoring the horizon. There were long stretches where it felt as though Rich and I had the entire valley to ourselves.
The morning’s events were still on my mind when another dog suddenly bolted toward Rich from a nearby yard. My heart was in my throat. Fortunately, just before reaching Rich, the dog abruptly turned back. When I rode past a few moments later, it barked and ran parallel to me from the safety of its yard, staying well off the street. I didn’t relax until the dog’s barks faded behind us.
We had the pleasure of meeting Jane from Scotland at a roadside rest stop, where we sat down together for a snack. She told us she had been inspired to ride the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail after one of her high-school teachers completed it. Like us, she was riding from east to west. Jane even carried a ukulele with her! Every cyclist we meet seems to have a different reason for being out here, and I love hearing the stories that brought them to the road.
In the second half of the ride, the scenery became more and more dramatic. We crested a hill and then descended into a mountainous region with pale-colored rock. Some of the mountains were accented with yellow-brown grass, some with pink rock, and some with green shrubbery. The accents gave each mountain its own unique color.
As the sun started to set, striking red-rock formations began appearing, adding stunning color to the landscape. Riding through scenery like this is one of the things I love most about bicycle touring. On a bicycle, there is no rushing past it. We have time to notice how the land changes mile by mile and to marvel at all of it.
By evening, we reached Dubois and enjoyed dinner at the Cowboy Café. We were seated next to Shannon, a special-education teacher, her husband, Lonnie, and her brother, Trent, and before long we had struck up a conversation. They were visiting their friend Kelley, who had moved to Dubois just two weeks earlier to manage a local RV park. It was another reminder of how often a simple meal on this trip turns into an enjoyable conversation with people we otherwise never would have met.
As difficult as the start of the day had been, riding into Dubois felt deeply satisfying. We pedaled across the Wind River Indian Reservation, battled an unrelenting headwind, watched the landscape gradually change from open plains to striking red rock, and finished another memorable day on the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail. Rich and I experience every mile at its own pace, taking in the changing landscapes, sharing the road with fellow cyclists, and ending the day with conversations that add another layer to the journey.
