Hot on the heels of the Bald Mountain challenge, Wyoming served up some more whoop ass in the form of weather. This was a bit worse that the 30mph headwind I weathered earlier in the week. The Sheridan to Gillette ride featured high temps in the mid 40s, a windchill in the mid 30s, wind, and rain.
Miserable.
I pedaled my brains out to stay warm. I had my eyes locked on the bike computer's trip odometer, eager to feed off any progress. The miles went slowly due to the rolling terrain.
My hands were the major casualty, particularly my left thumb. Despite regular warmings it stopped working properly and I had to use my right hand to shift the gear lever on the left.
The main problem with being out in this weather was the duration. 112 miles on rolling terrain meant that the day would not go quickly. Hours upon hours in the cold was not invigorating. The oddly warm stench of death, from what seemed like 100s of dead deer by the side of the road, dominated my runny nose. Plenty of live deer watched me pass, some running with me, some away from me, and some just standing still with their oversize ears catching the hum of my chain.
The miles finally started to add up and the sprawl of Gillette was a welcome scene. 6 miles to go! And then the deluge started. Soaked. Completely soaked. Freezing. I was such a pitiful site that a driver offered to give me a ride. I made it 105 miles in this crud, I was certainly going to make it the last 6.
And I did. I hope that Wyoming is done with me.
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