REAXblog

Today I left from Bozeman and proceeded to Devil’s Tower, WY. In the morning, I changed my oil, and deposited most of my cash at the bank. It was too much of a hassle to close my wallet and I feared that I might lose it, drop it, or whatever.You can see pictures here.

Anyway, I chatted with some people at the hostel in Bozeman. The first guy to wake up told me he had just gotten out of jail the day previous, 6 months or something on a DUI. He left early, on a bike, to look for a new job I think. While I showered, a german kid made a delicious tasting omelet, but I didn’t have any. He was a transfer student from Berlin who arrived in Bozeman but didn’t have an apartment lined up yet. I bid farewell to them all.

I drove like mad to the east, hoping to arrive at Devils Tower at a reasonable time - daylight, mostly. I ran at 70 most of the way. My friend the service sanity light was again with me. I kept an eye on the oil gauge, which held steady like a champion for quite a ways. Between the 5W-40 we added in Warm Springs and the oil change, I was confident Van Go would hold out.

It was hot again, in the nineties, as Montana stretched on forever and ever. As the road passed through reservation lands, the country seemed worse than ever, a never ending expanse of land that only the most foolish would attempt to pass.

I passed Columbus, passed Billings, past the reservation town of Crow Agency. Eventually, I arrived in Sheridan, Wyoming, a nice little town of about 40,000. I hopped off to the I-90 Business Loop, and saw that Sheridan was America’s Best Western Town. I liked it, and the people seemed friendly. I picked up gas - $3.97/gallon - at a Holliday quick-center, then continued down the Business Loop to pick up I-90 again, when I realized I left my glasses at the fuel-up. I stopped in the second quick stop, considering buying new ones, but decided I could burn two miles worth of in-town gas to go back and find them. I did so, but they weren’t there. I looked in my van, didn’t see them. I went inside and looked again. I vowed not to buy new glasses, but as I climbed in the van, I noticed them dropped underneath the rear seat. Dummy. I should remove that rear seat anyhow, it’s just taking up space, but my only option would be to deposit it on the side of the highway. Probably not a bad option, but not one I like. It allows me to pick up extra bodies, should I choose to do so. I’ll definitely get rid of it in Chicago.

Anyway, I had gas, and I had my glasses, and felt good. It was getting on in the day, so I pushed it harder to make time. The Wyoming landscape was unassuming, dry, with big long gentle hills. I was flying, passing everyone in sight, leaving nothing in the rear-view. Even better news lay ahead, as I spotted rain clouds in the distance. I had been so hot, I would have killed to be rained upon - although I feared what raining at the Tower might be like. As it was, I-90 bent around the gathering storms (even a few lightning strikes) and I was touched by a few drops at most.

Ever since Sheridan, I had seen an increasing number of motorcycles - Harley Davidson’s - on the road. Bike dudes, some with their biker babes in tow. They all kind of looked the same. Beer belly, shades, black leather or sleaveless shirt. The biker babes all wore jeans and chain-smoked. I past them all with ease. I reached Moorcraft, WY, a puddle of nothing town that featured a dry grocery store - no beer. This was around 4pm. I gang of bikers hung out at the gas pump, filling up on $3.50 gas on sale. I picked up some Cup-O-Noodles and turned on to Highway 14, a one-lane road through the wooded land of northeast Wyoming.

Having felt good about my oil situation, that suddenly changed while climbing a long, slow hill. The gauge started jumping, but more importantly, there weren’t any buildings, or people, in sight, nor were there any signs advertising Devils Tower - a national park. I was concerned that I was going to break down going in the wrong direction, a severe embarrassment. I pulled into a country shop about 20 miles down the road to confirm I was going the right direction, but planned to ignore the oil situation until I got to the park, which should only have been about another seven miles away. I was blasting the stereo.

The friendly gentleman who ran the store - he was out front drinking with some buddies, put me on my way (I was on track), and as I backed up, I heard how loud and clanky the engine was. I stopped and added two quarts. The proprieter mentioned “Yeah, I thought it sounded a bit rough” as I drove away, Van Go responding with a friendly purr now that he was slaked.

I was now on the path to Devils Tower, but was concerned that it wasn’t in sight. I dodged bikers. I crested hills. Finally, it appeared from nowhere, upon me like a beast. I pulled past the KOA campground at the entrance to the National Park. The looked to be parting pretty hard there, but I pulled forward and drove up to the visitors center, right at the base of the Tower. The visitors center was decent, but didn’t have much. I bought some postcards and headed back down to the campsite.

I set up my tent and looked for other young people. No dice, nothing but families with young kids and bikers. I tried asking a group for some hot water for my Cup-O-Noodles, but got an icy response. I was the only solo person in the camp. Worthless Cup-O-Noodles. Some people had power, light, running water… I didn’t have crap, not even beer. Well, I almost had nothing, which gave me an idea.

There are about 15 miles of trails or something at Devil’s Tower, and I hiked up one… it was about 1 miles up, then another “Red Beds Trail” for about 1 mile back to the to Tower Loop trail, which went right up against the monument. I walked through a prairie dog park, across the road, and up towards the monument. There I ran into a rock - it was like, smooth sandstone, looked like a flood ran through it. A great tan marble in the otherwise rough landscape. I climbed up onto it, and looked onto the valley below. There was a cave, I could have gone in there, but I was concerned there would be a rattlesnake in there, so I climbed the chute. I looked down upon the valley below, and enjoyed that time. I spent about half an hour there. I could hear voices from all about the park, the park rangers talking to visitors above at the center, bikers on the road, people at the campsite yelling at their kids, everyone. It introduced a kind of strange paranoia, like I wasn’t supposed to be hearing all of this at once.

As the sun set, I snapped a few pictures of the shadow of the tower over the valley below. It was an experience. I began to wander back down the rock and the trail. I wanted to hike the entire system, but it was getting dark, I was getting tired, and I didn’t feel in condition to hike another four or five miles. So I walked back down the hill. I saw a badger, or some sort of furry mammal, saunter along the trail ahead of me.  I saw something move to my side. I froze. There was a deer, not more than 20 yards away, calmly chewing on some shrubbery. Truth be told, it wasn’t much different than a giant prairie dog, but it was still cool to see. Real Nature, Up Close!

I stood there in awe a moment, and then quietly walked past it. It was aware of me, but didn’t care, I think. I went past through Prairie Dog Town again, swatting away mosquitoes. At the campsite, I sat down to write, but didn’t have any internet access or power, so I tried to write on paper by dusklight, but that didn’t last long. Around 10pm I hopped into the tent and settled in to sleep.

People showed up through the night, with their car lamps on, which kept me up. I didn’t sleep especially well. I decided, rather than hang out the next day and hike all the trails, I would wake up early and catch sunrise and then head out afterwards, and I dutifully set my alarm for 4:30 and eventually reached slumber…