June 14 Old I-90 to Gillette

Plan A>> Ride as much of the 100 miles of old I-90 highway, Buffalo to Gillette, as possible today, sleep in a ditch, and finish up the route tomorrow morn, arriving in Gillette at midday.
Plan B>> Ride the 67 miles of new interstate 90, which is the "as the crow flies" route but comes with 80+ mph traffic.
Plan C>> Ride the 100 miles of the old route in one push.

Plan A rules for most of the morning as GT2M heads north through 30 miles of flat rangeland, passing through the now forgotten, backwater towns of UCross, Clearmont, Leiter and Kendrick. It's so quiet here, it's Sunday morning with no traffic and I almost feel like I'm intruding on the peacefullness. I'm sharing the shoulder with only the occasional pile of cow flop and can recognize the towns only by the boarded up stores, cafes and defunct, concrete grain silos. Reaching Campbell County, the road surface becomes red pebbled and bumpy, you know, "ka-bump, ka-bump", every 25 feet. Taxes the sit muscle! (Now I'm thinking Plan B mightta been better.)

Terrain becomes rolling, with a slight north breeze. The air is warm with very pleasant temps in the mid-70's. I'm feeling the miles as I push past my 50th, no doubt from the long Bighorn climb yesterday. Atop a small rise, the Spotted Horse Wide-Spot-In-the-Road (combo Post Office, Tavern and pool hall, Town Center, and regional collection of junk cars and buses, wooden wire spools, appliances, dead farm equipment, and a host of other items my wife would never let me have in our yard) appears. After towelling off, I step into the poorly lit building but step back a few decades. Every conceiveable knick-knack and tacky, western adornment is stuck somewhere; including license plates, elk antlers, cowboy riding gear, wind chimes made of beer cans, maps and photographs of better times, and all covered in a heavy layer of red dust. A dozen squinty-eyed looks great me from under large brimmed cowboy hats. A stranger in a strange land has interrupted the tranquility of their 3 light beer chats. They 'up and down' the sweaty redface, clad in tight black shorts and neonic yellow jacket, but quickly turn back to their conversations on gas drilling, price of beef and weather. I spy the cooler and choose 2 Pepsis (over the light beer) and strike up a chat with 2 motorcyclists.

Before leaving, I did learn that the local drilling stations I have been passing are shallow, coal bed methane gas wells, with extraction done by first removing the layer of subterranean often-brackish water that lies above the gas, then collecting the gas as it fills the vacuum. Frequent pumping stations compress the gas for pipeline transit. The NE quadrant of Wyoming contains 51,000 such wells, roughly one per 60 acres and the removed water measures a staggering 2.5 billion barrels per year! There are a plethora of environmental issues that arise from this process, many under continual debate. We get our natural gas supply, but at what cost? Evidently, the price of natural gas is depressed now due to less national demand, so the place is not "crawling with ants", as it was when oil was at $140 a barrel.
Guess the sugar and caffeine kicked in shortly after my pause at the Spotted Horse, and along with a convenient tailwind, I start a sweet float, now due southward. Reach 60 miles, then pass 70. Now I'm thinking Plan C! Reaching the Gillette Airport at 84 miles, I call my guests to let them know that THIS biker is not ready to sleep out tonite and was heading IN... In Gillette, a cooling rain comes with a welcoming rainbow, afterwhich I crunch a few more miles south of town to Gwyn McKee and Mark Winland's home. Mark is kind enough to escort me in the last couple miles by car as daylight wanes. A glorious sunset with streaks of gold spraying out from behind towers of grey clouds chases me. How nice to NOT be in a ditch tonite! Thank you Mark and Gwyn!
My first (and possibly last) century. Tired!