Day 40: Jeffrey City to Rawlins, Wyoming

I stopped for breakfast at Jeffrey City's single cafe, where several tired looking older women seemed surprised to see me. I learned from my waitress / cook that Jeffrey City had once been a uranium mining community of 5,000 people. The mines tapped out, and the community blew away, leaving only a husk of a town. New surveys were being conducted, and with new mining techniques developed in the last half century, it was estimated that new mines might support a work force of perhaps 500 people.

Back on the road, I faced another day of heavy winds and endless plateaus. Rocky outcrops rose in the distance as the composition of the land began to change.


Watch for Graboids, it's Tremors country

By late morning, I reached Split Rock, a significant landmark along the Oregon Trail. A small "interpretive center" was nestled against the rocks, and from the plaques sprouting there I learned several interesting fifth grade facts, notably: the legendary Pony Express only operated for 18 months before it was replaced by telegraph lines, costing its investors a million dollars; many Mormons followed the Oregon Trail seeking to escape persecution, which was news to me because I'd thought Mormonism originated in Utah.



The rest of the day turned into another mind and body numbing slog. A few miles from Split Rock, I reached a turnoff onto another road at right angles, putting me solidly against the wind for 45 grueling miles.



The only service in those 45 miles was a cafe called Grandma's. I arrived there, heated and exhausted, ready for lunch and a nap, and found it locked up. Through one broken window I could see an wall on the other side that opened to daylight. I walked behind the building, where sprawled a junkyard full of vehicles and cast-off industrial equipment that I assumed must be left over from the defunct uranium mines. The open wall I had seen was the bay door of a filthy garage bay that adjoined the cafe. I found my way into the empty cafe, used the restroom, and filled my water bottles with ice. Afterwards, I wheeled my bike into the junk yard and had lunch and a nap in the shade of a half container. Between this and last night's empty motel, I was starting to wonder if I had left the land of the living.



The day dragged on, wearing me down, setting me back to swearing at the wind and hills, leaving me with only my angry perseverance to keep me moving forward. I climbed six miles from one plateau to another, crossing the Continental Divide yet again, and reached Rawlins at the end of a 12 hour day.



The road forked into Rawlins; one branch leading left to the interstate services; the other, right, into town. My route took me into town. I stopped at the first hotel I found, the Jade Lounge, run by an Indian family. Chatting with the mother, I learned quite a bit. They'd lived in California for 18 years and just moved bought the motel here a year ago. Winters were hard with lots of snow. The road just beyond the motel was under construction while they widened it, and they were losing money due to the construction.



I had decided to take the following day off to recover from fighting the winds. I parked my bike in my room, ate dinner at a Thai restaurant, and then went for a walk in the dark through the sealed off road construction. Walking down the dirt road construction zone in the dark, with neon signs in the distance, I was reminded of Burning Man, currently going on, and found myself missing it. I went back to my room and stayed up late watching cartoons and comedy shows.