Good morning, Gary.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to deliver the Queen Fluteskera to the ancient city of Thermopolis. This journey may present some discomfort but will reward those who persevere. Start out with a damp, 20 mile morning ride into a slight headwind and light rain northward to Shoshoni, where you will breakfast at the Desert (or is it Dessert) Cafe on 3 large, fluffy pancakes doused in fake maple syrup and lots of butter, washed down by 3 cups of black coffee. This non-natural breakfast will present gastrointestinal difficulties as you turn onto SR 789 and climb slowly into the low clouds around Boysen Reservoir for 15 miles as the rain continues. Enter the Wind River Canyon, where your terrain will alter drasticlly. Hemmed in by steep canyon walls with junipers, mule ears and sage clinging desperately to its sides, the road will wind and narrow. Three short, but shoulderless, tunnels may scare you, but ride quickly through my friend! Don't run off the road while gawking at the vistas. Many of the exposed rocks are from long ago eras. The multi-colored rock bands will defy words. The sagey colored Wind River will churn below you. Do not listen for Sirens. As you reach the end of the canyon, the sun will force through and your mission is almost completed. Steady as she goes for 6 more miles and the Coachmen Motel will be the arrival point for you and the Queen into Thermopolis.
As always, should any of your group be captured or killed, this Blogsite will disavow any knowledge or record of your existence.
This message will self-destruct into the binary ether in 240 million years, roughly the age of the rock outcrops you just observed.
Good luck, Gary.
When we were kids, riding in the car on one of many trips to Thermopolis to visit our friends the Rankins, I always found Wind River Canyon kind of magical. Sometimes we could see the train speeding down the other side of the canyon. Sometimes we'd stop for a few minutes of looking. During one stop I tried to fish the river. My dad took a few casts to show me how. The demonstration ended when dad hooked a huge rainbow trout. I ran my Indian-bead belt through its gill to carry it back to the car. And whenever we drove through those three tunnels, dad always obliged our request to honk the horn.
ReplyDeleteGary, the previous memoir of Thermopolis was written by me, when I didn't realize I was signed in as my son. Unfortunately, once you've commented on Blogspot, you can't take it back.
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