Brokedown Wyoming (pop 1)

You see that smile ... that's not what you should be looking at. What really tells today's story is the look in my eyes. That's what I look like when I'm scared - that's fear trying to hide behind a smile.

OK so here I am safe and sound in downtown Buffalo, WY, which is not Cody, WY where I should be tonight. The bike, she's in a town, about 16 miles away, called Ucross (pop. 25, that's right twenty-five). I guess she kind of likes it there because I told her I'd leave her there for the night if she didn't start the last time I tried to crank her over and she didn't start, so I left her there and I hitched a ride to Buffalo (pop 4,200). I'm told the big business here is methane gas, apparently there's been a boom for the past 5 or 6 years in methane finds here - who knew?

To go back a bit, I started today at the gravesite of Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane in Deadwood cemetery. With a cigar clenched firmly in my teeth (because strong odors arouse the spirits), I hung around for a few minutes then bailed when the tour bus showed up. I rolled out of Deadwood and headed to Wyoming. The sun was shining and the day ahead promised to be another great day of riding.

A little after lunch, I was motoring along US-14 when I came across some road work. Now I have to say, I've seen lots of road work over the past few weeks, mostly because I've been to places with harsh winters, so road work can only take place during the summer months. But today's work was unbelievable. Normally they shut one lane of the two lane road down and stop traffic and allow east-bounders to go, then west-bounders, and like that. Today though there was the added bonus of actually riding on many different types of terrain. First was torn-up and rutted pavement, then torn-up and rutted pavement with gravel, then there was compacted dirt, then rutted compacted dirt, then rutted, compacted dirt with gravel, then loose dirt, and finally loose dirt with gravel. I kept thinking that it had to end, but each hill we crested, each curve we took, it just seemed to go one, endlessly. At one point we went up a steep hill and when we reached the top, I couldn't even see any roadway at all. There was just a big clearing of dirt and large Tonka-looking trucks, but nothing that could in anyway be called road. By the time we got through the 5 miles or so of this (which took about 25 minutes to drive), I would not have been surprised if it ended in sand.

It was a nerve-racking jaunt, to say the least. But who knew that wouldn't be the best adventure of the day. After finally reaching real pavement without any rutting, or gravel, or dirt ... just regular blacktop, I was humming along again. I found a town with a gas station and filled the tank and drank a liter of water because it was hot and dusty on that long ride through the biggest road construction project since Boston's Big Dig (OK I'm exaggerating greatly, but it was the biggest road job I'd ever seen where they hadn't just closed the road).

10 minutes after gassing up, at the juncture where US-14 and US-16 divide, I pulled over and shut the bike off. I had been thinking all day about whether to take the long scenic route (US-16) or the shorter scenic route (US-14) to Cody, WY. At the town of Ucross I had to make my decision. I looked at the map and decided that due to the late hour I would take the shorter route.

Well the bike had other ideas. She decided we would stay right where we were (or at least she would). I tried cranking the engine and got only a small sound, like half a rotation and nothing else. After trying a few more times, I thought she must be overheated and I should wait until she cools down. So I did just that. I couldn't get a cell phone signal (I tried calling my friend Paul, just to hear a familiar voice, but no dice. After a little while I tried the bike again, but that wasn't working either. I walked up the road about 1/4 of a mile and talked with 2 locals who were having a beer at the side of the road. We stood at the back of one of their pickup trucks and talked a little. I told them my troubles and we talked about New York City and they talked about growing up in a small town (one of them said Sheridan, WY was too big a town for him and they've got like 1600 people. I told them you would see 1600 people on the subway on your way to work in NYC.

They left and I waited around a little longer to see if the bike would cool off. I waited until sunset (luckily, I had stopped the bike, unknowingly, under the only 3 lamposts in a 20 mile radius. I guess they're there because it's where the roadway divides). I knew the road would be busy, the local guys told me the methane business goes 24/7 in these towns, so there's always someone around.

I had water (as warm as tea, but still wet), food (Nature Valley bars), two flashlights, a tent, a sleeping bag, warm weather clothing and rain gear - so I knew I would not die. As my good friend Stan said to me when telling an adventure he and Barb went through years ago, "this is survivable". I kept that thought in my head as I began to get worried. I kept thinking I would easily survive this.

But I was still scared. Mostly I was scared of what I didn't know. Would the bike start or would I have to get a tow, and if I get a tow, to where would we go? It's amazing how resourceful I can be when I'm home. I remember once telling a co-worker that all I need to get anything done was a phone and e-mail. Once, when my desk phone wasn't working, he commented that I wouldn't be getting much done, and I said I still had e-mail. My phone was working again within 15 minutes.

Now I'm out here in the middle of Wyoming, and I've neither phone nor e-mail. I can't tell you the urge I felt to talk to someone who knew me, someone I could say hello to and tell them I was stuck, just to feel connected to the world again. I pulled out a note book and a pen and wrote a little about what I was feeling. For a minute my eyes watered up and I let the feeling run through me, but not run me over.

The writing helped. I wrote about the food and water and shelter (again, something I got from Stan - who was with me in spirit out there). The biggest problem I faced was I couldn't seem to make a decision, should I stay with the bike, or get a ride to the nearest town and get a motel room? I kept hoping the bike would start, so I stayed. I tried one more time to call out to a friendly voice. By holding the phone above my head and walking west, I was able to get enough of a connection to get a call through to Lauren. I felt terrible to call and say, I'm stuck and there's nothing you can do, but I just needed to talk to someone I know ... but I really just needed to hear a familiar voice. Unfortunately she couldn't hear me very well and I was sort of loosing it at that point, so I felt even worse about it, but I was able to explain my dilemma and Lauren said leave the bike and get somewhere for the night. It was the right thing to do, I just couldn't see it. Thankfully she could (and I knew she would that's why I reached out). Perspective, it's all about perspective.

Once the sun went down and the temperature had dropped enough that the bike should have started, (and she still didn't) I hitched a ride with the next passing pickup. I waved him down with my trusty flashlight and explained my situation and asked for a ride (another thing I have trouble with, asking people I don't know for something - I can ask my friends and family for just about anything, and I have, but asking someone I don't know for directions, much less a ride ... forget it).

Jim, a very nice guy, gave me a lift into Buffalo (about 16 miles from Ucross) and waited to make sure I got a room. I offered him gas money, but he refused.

I've been in touch with my insurance company (I have roadside assistance with them as well). They will have a truck out there in the morning to pick the bike up and trailer her to the nearest Suzuki dealer (in Gillette - pop 22,685), about 70 miles or so from where the bike is now.

Hopefully the dealer will be able to get me back on the road quickly. Otherwise, I'm hanging in nowhere Wyoming for a while. But it could be worse ... it could be a hell of a lot worse.


Last thing - here's another picture of me at the breakdown site (I was trying to entertain myself while I pretended the bike would start at some point in the future and I'd roll out of there and laugh about the while thing). There's fear in my eyes here, but I'm hiding it a bit better. But I included the photo here because it's a better representation of how oddly my face has colored over the past few weeks - just look at that nose, what a freakish looking thing I've become. It's another reason I waited for the sun to set before trying to get a ride (just kidding).

I'll post again tomorrow from wherever I am (hopefully back on the road and headed to Yellowstone NP).