A Sticky Wicket

Day 27

Lander, WY to Jeffrey City, WY

Distance: 59 miles

Slowest speed over an hour: 4 mph

Road surface classification*: LJ-LLJ with a belt of TOWIE passing through early afternoon, returning to LJ-LLJ by sundown

*classification notations described below

I was supposed to ride 126 miles today from Lander to Rawlins. I’m glad that I didn’t!

Luckily, one of the cyclists I met back in Idaho, a guy called David who was going in the other direction, told me that a motel had opened up in Jeffrey City, mid-way between Lander and Rawlins, and voila! 

And so it was a relaxed start to the day as I moseyed out of bed and down to the Oxbow Diner for a breakfast of eggs, bacon and hash browns, knowing that there were no services until I hit Jeffrey City for the night. It was a little after 10am before I set off, and it felt like just another ride. A straight shot along one road to get to a town with a population of 58, with a recently re-opened motel and a bar/restaurant that is not even on the map. And so also somewhat a leap of faith.

All was going well, if slowly. The first 23 miles I knew would be a slow gentle uphill plod, and there were no surprises. I met a cyclist called Gerry going the other way and stopped for  a chat  - he’s riding from Savannah, GA to Seattle, WA with a bit of the TransAmerica in the middle.

Then, just as I’d pulled in to scoff an energy bar and get some of the extra water stash out of my panniers, my friend Cheri who I met at Jackson Lake the other night came past in her car and stopped to say hello. We caught up on the last few days and then took a couple of pics of each other…

And then it started! Having been treated to a shoulder of LeBron James width (“LJ”) and LL Cool J smooth (“LLJ”), the shoulder then diminished and roughed itself up until it was as skinny and coarse as that bird from The Only Way is Essex with the fake boobs. Can’t remember her name and there might be more than one fitting that description (“TOWIE”).

But it wasn’t actually that which was the determining factor. There were in fact a few aggravating features. First, the gradual climb started to steepen a little at that point. Second, and most importantly, the wind suddenly appeared out of nowhere, almost knocking both Cheri and me for six as we were about to say our goodbyes.

“At least it’s from behind,” I commented cheerfully as Cheri drove off.

But that had obviously been just an odd gust, as it was very definitely a side wind. Not any old side wind, but one that literally pushed Steed and me into the road, and then subsided and then pushed us again. Getting caught in the wheels as they went round and making it feel like I was cycling through mud.

Which is where the third aggravating feature makes its entrance stage left: the Tacky Tar. I’m sure you all know what I mean. You see it on old roads covering over the cracks in squiggles of black like a toddler has been drawing in black crayon over the carriageway after a few too many Sunny-Ds. 

Well, when the sun shines on these lines they get hot and sticky. So much so that, if you have the misfortune of encountering Tacky Tar lines which are in the same direction of travel as you, and you ride your tyre into one of these little blighters, expect a result similar to the one you would get if you rode your tyre into a tram track… get my drift! Except then add a small period of your tyre sticking to the road afterwards and picking up extra bit of gravel until the tacky tar has worn its way off.

I have learned the hard way before about Tacky Tar, but today with the addition of the climbing, the wind, the TOWIE road surface and the odd car, truck or RV requiring me to move over, it was the perfect storm. It took me an hour to cover four miles. And I was ready to give up long before then. 

Many a driver, or gust of wind, or piece of Tacky Tar was shouted at as if I had a case of Tourettes. And I started wondering what on earth I was doing there on this stupid trip. Even the Eastern philosophy was unable to save me for that short period of time because I couldn’t even get into a position or speed which was comfortable!

But eventually the road changed direction, and the hill peaked out, and the four miles were history. With the change of direction, the wind was miraculously behind me, with a flat road ahead. Returning to the LJ-LLJ classification of shoulder I was cock-a-hoop and remembered what a great idea this trip was after all. The only fly in the ointment being the rumble strip at the edge of the shoulder which would appear with the stealth of a Ninja (no PJ & Duncan warning) in the road ahead of me and cause a whole punch of jolts and an effect similar to a mild case of whiplash, or Whip-Lite as I like to call it.

And talking of flies in ointment, I leave you with another sticky situation. My skin. Despite daily showers, the layers of factor 100+ super-waterproof sun cream have started to build up, leaving my arms and legs resembling one of those sticky pieces of tape that you catch flies on, attaching themselves to the bed sheets and anything else with which they come into contact. It’s a bit like being in a permanent Velcro suit – just hang a bed sheet on the wall and if I threw myself at it I’d have a fair chance of sticking.

Right, I’m off to the Bar & Restaurant in Jeffrey City now to fill my stomach, have a few beers, and see how many of the 58 residents are out and willing to chat to a sticky touring cyclist from London.

Me x

P.S. Since my sis is away, I thought I’d also sneak in a quick Bob Monkhouse style joke while she’s not looking…

So, I see a cricket by the side of the road today – they’re all over the place out here rubbing their little legs together or whatever it is they do to make that clicking noise – and I say to him

“We’ve got a game in my country that named after you.”

And the cricket says, “What, Colin?”

Boom Tish

Me (again) x