Day 23 - Rawlins, Wyoming

A killer tailwind, a 13-mile stretch of I-80, and some mineral-tasting Wyoming water carried us into Rawlins today, where the RV parks are treeless, just like the landscape.

There are more motels in this town than in any other we’ve seen. In fact, there are more closed motels in Rawlins than there are open ones just about anywhere else. The effects of the recession, or at least of the decline of small towns in America, can be seen in most of the towns we pass through in the abandoned storefronts, faded for sale signs, and reduced hours at public libraries, not to mention the decaying, partially inhabited trailer parks. Rawlins is no exception.

In the past week, we’ve strayed farther from the welcoming towns of Kansas, with their libraries and public pools, and into the craggy peaks and alpine meadows of the Rockies. We biked through South Park (namesake of the tv show), over Hoosier Pass, and into Breckenridge and Summit County, where our friends Chris Newton and Laura Duerkson drove up from the Denver-Boulder area to camp with us and we lingered for a morning in fancy grocery stores, the Pearl Izumi outlet, and a delicious bakery.

We climbed and climbed, happy to have scenery that wasn’t heavy farm machinery or grain elevators, and discovered that anything is possible if you have a low enough gear (I didn’t even know it was possible to stay upright on a bike at 3.5 miles per hour). Coming down made the climbing even more worth it: 45 mph is exhilirating on a deserted road in Wyoming, with nothing but cows and pronghorn to hear you whipping past the Platte River.

At some point between Kansas and Colorado, it finally started to feel like we were in the West. At what point, I’m not sure, but more on that later.