A pronghorn sheep can sprint to speeds of 60 miles per hour, and maintain a speed of 30 miles per hour over an extened period. Man that's quick; I think that a cheetah only does around 70 miles per hour (Clint says 65). Their speed does beg the question of why, however. Apparently, pronghorns' chief predators are coyotes, and there is no way that a coyote can move even close to that quick. So why the ridiculous speed? A cheetah needs it to catch those little gazelles they're always chasing, but what the heck does the pronghorn need it for? I'm open to ideas.
I devoted a large part of my concentration to looking for pronghorns today, becuase there wasn't anything else to do. After leaving Lander, the landscape of Wyoming went from interesting to insanely boring.
Lander was awesome. I'm from the LA area - say around 11 million people within 100 miles. Clint is from Sac - 2 million in the area, give or take. Lander has 7,000, and seemed massive. It had not one, but two gear shops, as well as a dedicated bike shop and two different places to buy espresso. That's cosmopolitan, right there. We met up with one of the instructors from my NOLS course for lunch - organic local beef hamburgers and beer, oh yeah. The highlight of Lander was eating, in fact. The first night we cooked up a package of smokies and sat like rednecks in our thermaloungers in front of the tent, drinking Fat Tire and commenting on the people who walked passed. But on Monday night, we settled for our usual pasta, and had just finished when some folks who were havig a barbeque asked if we could manage a burger - they would have to throw them out, otherwise. I said I might be able to choke one down, and called Clint over as well. "A burger" turned out to mean a burger (and/or hot dog), potato salad, brownies, and ice cream, with a Bud Light to wash it all down. ( I am required to say that Clint had a Coors Light; I make no comment on their relative merits). We waddled back to the tent and spent the next several hours moaning and rubbing our bellies.
We are now well and truly in the rain shadow of the Rockies - in the high desert of eastern Wyoming. From the lush pines on the west side of Togwotee pass, the dominant vegetation has switched to sparse sage, tumbleweed, dirt trees and rock shrubs. When I get off the bike for a photo, I watch in front of me for rattlesnakes. We drink twice as much water becuase the air is so dry, and our tans are darkening by the day (in case you haven't figured it out, Clint is sitting by me right now, and I am instructed to say that Clint's is still an Irish tan - not a real one). Yesterday, the change was nice, in part because of a great tail wind that let us sit up and watch the knobbly granite outcrops, pronghorns, and the now distant Wind River mountain range as it receded behind us.
Today was a slog though. Rawlins is not my favorite town. I did get off on the wrong foot with it, I admit - breaking another spoke on the rear wheel as we rolled into town. I had it fixed by some punk kid at the local bike shop/stereo installation shop/dirt bike and dirt bike accessories superstore. I say 'punk kid' advisedly; he was all of 14, wore all tight black, a black beanie and one of those metal studded belts, and fixed my wheel, oiled my bike chain, and adjusted my shifting in a total of 20 minutes. Not bad for some punk kid.
Rawlins does boast excellent Mexican food. we had both been craving it, and asked our way to Rose's Lariat - great enchiladas, and the first time I've taken dining advice from some one I know to be from Kansas. Advice well taken.
Oh well. At least the ride today was short. Tomorrow it's 60 miles to Riverside/Encampment. Granby on Saturday, and Denver on Sunday. I have to get off the computer now.
