AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Just because I really appreciated the level of unbelief you had in the grease method of removing a pilot bearing/bushing.... I thought you needed to see the other method Ben and I were mentioning. Using regular white sandwich bread

https://youtube.com/shorts/_nRXLXdCq4M?feature=share

We just call em homeless

 

One thing that we heard about the checkerboard (from some locals) - at least in this area near Elk Mountain - is that the private parts of the checkerboard land that was given to Union Pacific (essentially as an incentive to build the rail line into what was - at the time - a no mans land) was supposed to be sold by UP, essentially as a way to recoup the cost of building the line.

...surprise, they never sold it. (Some) locals aren't happy.

Will get (at least some of) them posted here for the next week; was out on the trail again last week!

Definitely looked like a good place to climb. Looked a bit like the wild west of climbing though, instead of organized. Of course, I have no idea how you'd organize it...but I wonder if that would/could make locals happier.

Nah, the Ten Sleep vanlifers vans are like $100K Mercedes Sprinters. They are trust-fund-kids. The ones you're talking about are in the old A-Team vans.

I want one of each. I wanted my first car to be an A-Team van when I was a kid. But a sprinter with a GFC-style pop-up would be pretty sweet too. Naturally, I'll get neither. I'll just be homeless in my Tacoma. So low brow. I have to go outside to get to the bedroom, and my kitchen gets wet when it rains.

 

I have read the land was given as kind of an incentive for railroads to build better better railroads. I don't know railroads were ever obligated to sell the land but some did to recover their costs. The government was originally supposed to sell the remaining land but those migrating west couldn't afford it.

It's an interesting legal conundrum. There are four hunters in WY who face trespassing charges for using a stepladder to move between corners. Except the airspace above the corners is "owned" by the landowner (do they trespass airlines?). The article puts the amount of inaccessible land just in WY is a couple of million acres. It's interesting to me because the public is effectively prevented from enjoying public lands.

 

OnX has an interesting article that someone else pointed out to me as well.

onX Corner-Locked Report: The Impact and Ethics of Corner Crossing

At least the hunters they highlight were all acquitted, but no precedence was set in their cases (by order of the judge). See https://www.onxmaps.com/onx-access-...sing Legal Backstory,-Though checkerboards of

Fun times with property. I find it intriguing, but not surprising, I suppose. Definitely not the worst problem plaguing our society these days. If we could get people to be a little more understanding, respectful, and accepting of each other - regardless of political views, ethnicity, net worth, etc. - I bet it would go a long way to making this corner-hopping a non-issue. But I'd go for all of those things over access to these specific bits of public land every time.

 

I dropped a pin on Shell for future reference for when I get out west to do some travels.

I’m a little conflicted on the influx of travelers to small towns. I think it’s good to pump up the local economy some with “truck campers” and BDR riders, people that are just traveling through the area, maybe staying a day or two. The vanlife crowd that moves in for long term also bring a boost to the locals but also bring a host of other issues. I have seen the problems first hand as LE here in FL on the beaches.

Looking forward to the next chapter

If I was going to do a van it would be a Sportsmobile over a Sprinter. But I’m like you, can’t afford either one. I’m also totally happy sleeping out of my truck. Now if Toyota would ever import the Troopy to the states I might have to break out the piggy bank.

 

Sportsmobile mostly does Sprinters now, though the company sort of split in two recently with the two new companies taking slightly different directions. Full disclosure: two years ago we bought a van (though not a Sprinter), got it converted (though not by Sportsmobile) and it was not cheap. But we’re not trust-fund twenty-something’s; I’m a retired sixty-something though my wife, also sixty-something still works full time and not remotely. I prefer my Tacoma on the trail, and at the gas pump, but on the highway getting to remote places and once we’ve set up camp, the van is hard to beat.

 

I think you can break it down further and I’d suggest there are some folks who are homeless except for the van/trailer thing. There are some places where two sides of the street are occupied by trailer/van setups. They haven’t moved and likely won’t or cannot. When homeowners have had enough, the city moves them out but they go elsewhere only to slowly return. Calls for service are difficult because officers are not able to identify where or even who needs help.

Not an easy problem to solve but the city has tried opening a large parking lot for fully self contained rigs which has helped. But it’s really not a solution long term.

 

Very true, I wasn’t trying to simplify it and hope it didn’t come across that way.

The vanlife problems on our beaches were strictly surf bums, fishermen, and instaoverlanderz who were trying trying to game the county ordnance for no camping on the beach/public parking lots.

 

I didn't view it as simplification. I see people living the van life at the beach. They stay all day but are usually gone by the curfew time. There are some you would describe as derelict who stay past and hope to avoid the knock--they wreck it for all.

 

Elk Mtn to Alcova - A Most Welcome Detour - WYBDR 3
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

We had a hell of a time getting out of Elk Mountain. Well, not exactly out of town per-se, but out of the Conoco fuel station along I-80, just a few miles away. With gas prices as they are, I'd downloaded the Conoco app to save $.10/gal; let me tell you - that thing is a piece of crap. Credit cards added to your wallet are "lost" from your profile every time the app is restarted, requiring all the details to be reentered. The problem is that you can only enter five cards total, and the back end seems to remember all the "lost" cards, so pretty soon, you can't add your card anymore. But hey, at least we saved a whopping $1.60 for our trouble.

Leaving the frustration behind and pavement behind, the strangest structures rose up in front of us as the landscape changed - from the mountains we'd encountered so far, to Wyoming high-desert.

What the heck is this thing? (41.7529, -106.4492)​

Ultimately, we decided that we ought to just "carry on, nothing to see here" - rather than poke around some strange building on private land - and we pushed north. It was 11:30am at this point, and with outside temperatures in the mid 90s °F, I can assure you that only one of us didn't mind as we ran into our first gate of the adventure.

This landscape is strikingly similar to the high deserts of Oregon and Nevada, which we do love.​

At least it wasn't a barbed wire gate!​

We'd run into three more gates in quick succession over the next mile or so, quite the concentration, given that I think we only ran into a couple more on the entire route! Still, they were easily returned to their original state, and after 15-20 minutes, we found ourselves approaching the ghost town of Carbon [1] [2].

Note: The ghost town of Carbon and its cemetery - while marked with a waypoint on the official BDR route - is on private property and is historically sensitive. It is important to show respect to this place. If in doubt, enjoy it from the road.

​

To our surprise, there were people there, digging! "Some sort of restoration?" I mused, as we found a place to park along the side of the two-track road, and wandered up the hillside to check out some of the rock wall ruins a little further away.

One of the larger remaining ruins of Carbon.​

After poking around a bit on our own, we wandered over to the cluster of folks sifting dirt and carefully excavating under the mid-day sun, to introduce ourselves and see what they were up to. Turns out, they were from the Department of History at the University of Wyoming and had been here for a couple summers, doing research around the old townsite and nearby cemetery.

As we chatted with the two women in charge - Prof. Kelly and the site manager Aubrey - it was great to share stories with folks who were out enjoying the backcountry, albeit in a slightly different way than we were. We were - as always - curious about what they were up to, and they were similarly curious as to what the heck we were doing out here! After describing the concept of the BDR trails, and some of where we'd been so far on the WYBDR as well as where we were going, they seemed to think it was pretty neat, would explain the increased motorcycle traffic they'd seen, and was also... a bit worrisome.

University of Wyoming history students helping to uncover - literally - some of Wyoming's history.​

Their worry, understandably, is that places like Carbon - which have historically seen very little traffic - might start to become overrun with riders. Unaware of the sensitive nature of these historic sites, artifacts could be inadvertently ruined or even removed. Certainly a concern of ours as well, we conveyed our hope that other explorers would show the same respect we do, leaving things as we find them, taking only photos.

After chatting for 20 minutes - all of us, I think, enjoying the interactions with a different group of humans out here in the middle of nowhere - we thanked the researchers and covered the last half mile or so to the cemetery.

The Carbon cemetery is enormous. It appears to still be in use to this day, with children of residents visiting regularly to pay their respects.​

There are some old residents as well.​

It was a tough life for this family in Carbon.​

After wandering in the sun for the better part of an hour between talking to the excavators and looking through the headstones, we were both hot and hungry. The problem, however, was that the only shade for miles around was a solitary tree in the cemetery, so we hopped back into the Tacoma and set off towards the town of Medicine Bow, hoping we would find a shady park where we could cool down and refuel.

It turned out to be a reasonably short distance to Medicine Bow - the WYBDR following US-30 for about 10 miles - but we're easily distracted, and an ungated wind farm just next to the highway was too much for me to pass up.

I should note that - like Carbon - the Seven Mile Hill wind farm is on private property. We did run into an employee there who seemed to be OK with me taking a few photos, but it's important - obviously - to be respectful of their operation and to keep a safe distance from the generators. Even from the highway, you can get pretty darn close.

​

Soldiers of the Seven Mile Hill wind farm.​

Towering over the Tacoma.​

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Each blade requires a "long load" semi to move.​

The closest I've been to one of these amazing beasts.​

After a few minutes of geeking out on the windmills, I was back in the truck and we covered the last few miles to Medicine Bow. There, we found a perfectly shady park with several picnic tables in the courtyard of the museum. As usual, I set about snapping a few photos while @mrs.turbodb expertly crafted the turkey sandwiches that would fill our bellies.

Medicine Bow wins the prize for fanciest steel sign!​

I always love finding brands when we find abandoned ranches and cabins on our exploration, so it was pretty neat to see this display at the museum.​

As we were eating lunch, we got a special treat. The engineer of this train was super cool - as soon he saw me waving, he let off the horn and waved back.​

With lunch behind us, it was early afternoon - 1:30pm or so - when we headed north out of Medicine Bow, toward the Shirley Mountains. The first 30 miles or so was pavement, but with green grass lining the highway, and pillowy white clouds in the sky, I wasn't complaining.

@mrs.turbodb wasn't complaining either, the smooth pavement made her afternoon nap more peaceful. ​

Eventually, we turned off pavement for the final approach to the Shirley Mountains.​

An old cabin at a Point of Rocks.​

We really enjoyed the various fences of Wyoming over the course of this trip.​

Up we go.​

Back in the mountains, it's spring again!​

As with each leg so far, the views as we gained elevation were spectacular. Stretching out into the distance, red badlands wrinkled around us, their folds accentuated by the freckled shadows of the clouds above. And there, churning away, were the powerful turbines we'd admired earlier.

What a view.​

​

Just as we rejoined the route - after our quick jaunt to the viewpoint - two WYBDR riders sped by without seeing us. A little further up the road, we would pick up - and return - a glove that one of them had dropped, thanks and happy trails shared both directions.

(Is this you? CO plate DNK ###. Contact me.)​

After returning the glove, the BDR riders from the Denver area of Colorado ended up stopping in some shade - though in all that gear, they still must have been hot - as we continued on through the mountains. We'd see them again - they were much faster than we were on the smoother parts of the trail - but only as we dropped down towards the end of the stage at Alcova. For now though, we were in the lead, moving at our leisurely pace, stopping as interesting elements popped up.

A metal yurt-ish-thing. There was a buried power line with a meter mounted nearby, more than 50 miles from the nearest town.​

From the inside.​

Lodgepole Pine's covered parts of the Shirley Mountains, their branchless trunks reaching toward the sky, their canopies limiting growth below.​

I don't know exactly what Lodgepole Pine are harvested for; it seems that each might only be good for a couple 2x4s.​

Into the flats.​

Passed - for the last time - by the bikes.​

It was at this point that the detour for which this story is named takes place. As such, it's worth prefacing the whole thing with a bit more info. You see, the good folks over at RideBDR know that any route they create is bound to have sections that are closed - or otherwise require rerouting - at any given time, so they have a route updates page where riders can get the latest information on a given BDR. Even though there really shouldn't be any modifications to the WYBDR - given that it's the first year of this route - some last-minute road work on the highway (Kortes Road) leading into Alcova - the town, and more importantly fuel, at the end of the stage, caused the need for a bypass around the opposite side of the Alcova Reservoir.

But the big orange signs posted on the road simply read: "Road Work, Next 7 Miles."

Now, 7 miles was the entire distance into Alcova, so the genius in the driver seat figured that maybe the road blockage was over and we could avoid the 30-mile reroute around the reservoir. This is in contrast to the motorcyclists, who were immediately in front of us at this point and dutifully followed the directions provided by the BDR organization.

Anyway, as is probably obvious by now, the signs were wrong and two miles up the road, it was still closed.

We're definitely not squeaking through there.​

It was, as we were turning around, that we noticed a small sign for a "Dinosaur Trail" at a road that seemed to lead down towards Alcova Reservoir. Curious - as always - I suggested that we follow it, hoping that we'd see some cool dino tracks or fossils.

Climbing out of the truck at the trailhead, it was 98°F, and we could see that the well-trodden trail went straight up the sandstone hillside in front of us. We should have retreated to the comfort of the Tacoma at that point, realizing that - surely - nothing all that amazing could be up such a well-worn route, but we didn't. And of course, by the time we got to the top, it was clear that this trail was more about the educational placards than it was about actual dinosaur bones or tracks (though, one sign did suggest there were tracks - which we couldn't find, and another hinted at bones - also missing in action).

We did, however, get to see some fossilized sea shells.

​

There's a reason they never made the movie "Jurassic Clams." These are not as exciting as dinosaurs.​

Even if there weren't any rocky reptiles, the views were pretty great.​

It was as we were standing at the top of the mesa - each of us quite sweaty at this point after the 400' climb - that I suggested what I think @mrs.turbodb had been thinking the entire time: "Wouldn't it be nice to go jump in the lake?"

We could see roads down to the water line, and there were most definitely boats out on the water. Figuring that the worst that could happen was utter disappointment, we retraced our steps to the Tacoma and turned the A/C to full as made our way to the water's edge.

After our hike to Medicine Bow Peak the previous day, and to the no-dino-bones mesa, the water was just... so inviting.​

We were overjoyed to find that it was swimmable, and we changed quickly before jumping in to wash the sticky off our bodies. Let me tell you, this detour was the best thing that could have happened to us. Even without soap, it was so nice to get clean - the water temps were perfect, and by the time we climbed out ten minutes later, not only were we refreshed, but our core temperatures were down. Even now, @mrs.turbodb recalls this as her absolute favorite moment of the entire adventure.

With a bit of time, maybe we could have caught a full dinner.​

Well, our little detour couldn't last forever, so after splashing around and cooling down for a spell, we donned fresh clothes and continued on our way. Or rather, we backtracked to the spot where we'd exited the Shirley Montains, and set off through Fremont Canyon on our way to Alcova.

Fremont Canyon is a deep channel that connects the Alcova and Pathfinder Reservoirs.​

I see you Alcova - with your intricate water-jet art, trying to out-do the colorful sign of Medicine Bow.​

It was 6:00pm when we pulled into Alcova to top off the tank with fuel. At our lowest elevation of the trip so far - only 5300-feet - it was hot, and while we were both ready to find a camp site, we knew that we needed to gain some elevation first. Only one question remained - was that even possible to do?

 

Oh man, I love these kinds of challenges, and trying to solve them from home by searching the internet. But none of the usual places that help me solve these types of unknowns gave me even the slightest clue. Heck, even the road to the site doesn't show up until the 2017 USGS topo maps (absent thru 2015), yet clearly this site is much older. So, I still have no idea what this is, and my curiosity is only growing!

Let's start with this bizarre tower. It appears nearly 100 feet tall. The upper portion is a tapered polygonal steel pole, like what you'd see used for a power line, communications tower, or perhaps an early wind turbine. Certainly the region is being developed for wind, but... well, grid-scale wind power still seems relatively new, but this stuff looks cold-war old! I do see what appears to be remains of a skirt walkway, and a doorway within the foundation -- perhaps suggesting access to an interior ladder? That would make sense for a wind turbine, but the top of that tower is sooo tiny! We also have proximity to a gas pipeline, and there's some historical hydrocarbon extraction wells nearby, making me wonder if this was maybe a flare tower? Doesn't look much like a flare though, and I don't see signs of connecting infrastructure to the pipeline. Finally we have a strip mine nearby as well -- could this be related? I can't imagine how, but I'm out of ideas!



The adjacent areas do hint at signs of exploratory strip mining, but it's hard to tell. There's no overhead power service, but there's a fenced-off structure a few hundred feet to the southeast, located right along a pole line, and with vertical elements perhaps 20 feet tall based on shadows -- perhaps this is some sort of substation? Is the disturbed terrain connecting the two indicative of an underground power connection? Or is it just a fenceline, or old tire tracks?

Tracing that pole line, we find this perplexing structure just across the highway to the west:



Here, I see a transformer, perhaps around a few megawatts class, serving a nondescript ~1500 sf utility building that occupies about half of an even larger concrete pad. The building comprises several bays, each with what appear to be cooling units on their exteriors. If I had to guess I'd say this is a battery energy storage site, or perhaps a covert storage site for alien spacecraft. I'm probably not the right person to ask. In any case this is clearly a more modern relic. I'm going to have to write it off as unrelated.


So far I've just been pondering that gigantic pole thing, which is confusing enough on its own. But now let's consider the decrepit 50' long metal shed, and more alarmingly, that there's not only a four-story tall, utterly bizarre hexagonal contraption, but also foundations for three more of them to the north!

The internal structure of this hexagonal apparatus is most perplexing. At first it looks like something you'd associate with microwave communications, or... I don't know, some sort of radar voodoo. But that would make no sense unless it was elevated above the adjacent metal structures. The corrugated metalwork also hints at a purpose unrelated to high-frequency radio. The shading in your photo suggests that there's an internal vertical rotor with staggered fins.

So, Dan, I'm at a loss. My best guess is that this is some sort of early wind-energy development, and that the hexagonal structure is some sort of experimental ducted vertical wind turbine. I can't find a shred of support for this hypothesis online, and I wouldn't normally post such wild speculation. But dude, the curiosity is killing me!



I have to ask, did you encounter any additional clues? Do the various signs, indistinguishable on street view, offer any further hints as to the nature of this conspiracy? Why are the fences so tall? WHAT ARE THEY HIDING FROM US??? THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE.

 

The "perplexing structure to the west" is likely some kind of electronics for a buried copper/fiber optic cable(s). There are 5 structures and likely the facility serves four or five separate carriers (the cable would be separated into strands serving each carrier).

Can't help but wonder what the other structure is. Looks like there were at least three other hexagonal structures. I wonder if they are some kind of RADAR calibration devices?

edit: I wonder if this structure is a part of the old AT&T longline network? When you look at the hexagonal structure, there's a possibility the feed horns have been removed. There are some hints in the other pads on at the site. Like the small "driveway" like shapes. I found this image which is similar in appearance.

WY longline routes. AT&T Longline places.

 

I feel like I need to put some weird photo in every story and then force you to read them all, just so I can have the joy of reading replies like this more often. Such a fun read, as you walk us all through the same thing we're thinking, but conveyed better.

There were no other clues around this thing. Frankly, it's the second time we've wussed out and not gone to investigate a strange structure more closely. We really need to learn to just go look, since it's a long way back. I'm sure we'll do the same thing next time though - the driver on these excursions is pretty smooth-brained.

 

I gotta admit, that structure had me searching around as well. It almost seems like some kind of wind trap, maybe to look for particles in the air? Or listening station, funneling sound? Baffled.

 

Alcova to Atlantic City - Disappointment - WYBDR 4
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

Heading out of Alcova, we were driving into the sun. I'm never a huge fan of this, since it makes it harder to enjoy the landscape into which we are adventuring, and I hoped that we'd find somewhere to camp quickly, or that we'd turn north so that the sun would at least be to the side. Not that I'd looked at the route and known that neither of those things were in the cards.

When the sun is in your face and everything out the windshield is all shadows, remember - there's always a side view mirror!​

Before we could find camp, our first order of business was to visit a rock that wanderers of the west have been visiting for centuries - Independence Rock. We had high expectations of this short side-trip off of the main route, hoping it'd be similar to El Morro, which we'd visited on the New Mexico BDR the previous summer.

​

Independence Rock was formed by a process called exfoliation, similar to Half Dome in Yosemite National Park, and you can see where a layer is in the process of sluffing off in the upper left.​

A one-mile trail exists around the rock, and despite having recently removed the sweat from our bodies, we decided that we'd brave the still-in-the-low-90s °F temps to check out some of the signatures.

B.W. and L.H, 1930​

D. Harveys, 1856​

R.E. Vanvleet​

A popular place, apparently.​

S. Lean, B Lean, 1850​

A. Maynes of Massachusetts, July 21, 1849​

In the end, I don't think either of us were all that impressed by what we found at Independence Rock - compared, at least, to what we'd seen at El Morro National Monument. Looking back, this is likely more a reflection on the fantastic nature of El Morro than anything - it really is a place to check out if you're ever in the area.

Our trek completed - and our bodies now slightly sweatier than when we'd started - we traced a few miles back to the BDR route in search of a place to call home for the evening. By this point we'd both admitted to having looked at the map and acknowledged that our best bet - to escape the heat - was going to be finding something in the shade of a mountain, as we wouldn't be gaining any elevation for quite some time.

With some careful position of the truck to not end up parked on an ant hill, we ended up finding a nice little place in the shadow of some granite outcroppings. Certainly, the clouds were cooperating.​

Having eaten only taco-rittoes for dinner to this point in our journey, we decided that this would be a nice night to switch things up a little bit. Before leaving, I'd made a cold pasta salad, and @mrs.turbodb had prepared a Spanish tortilla and some roast cauliflower, so we pulled those out of the fridge and set about stuffing our faces.

We had our best sunset of the trip on this evening, the glow morphing before our eyes.​

Besides still being very warm after dinner, the mosquitoes decided it was time to eat, so we had no choice but to retreat to the tent. Luckily, with all the windows and doors screened over, we had some nice airflow and the little bloodsuckers were kept at bay.

Reading of Kindles - and a bit of photo processing to clear up space on the camera - were all that stood between us and some shut eye. Another great day on the BDR.

The Following Morning...

We awoke to a sunrise almost as nice as the sunset just 9-hours earlier.​

Up early - about 15 minutes or so before the sun broke the horizon - we decided to get an early start to the day in order to take advantage of the cooler temperatures while we could. It wasn't cold by any stretch of the imagination - it was still more than 75°F - but it was a heck of a lot better than what we'd gone to sleep to the previous evening.

I always love it when the sun just hits the hilltops and they glow.​

Good morning, sunstar.​

Our camp turned out to be at the end of an old mining road, two diggings still apparent on the hillside. For what, we have no idea.​

By 6:15am we were already on the road, the long rays of the morning sun beginning the process of warming the air around us. Elements of the landscape reminded us of Alabama Hills in California or Idaho's City of Rocks, the stacked granite boulders rising from the surrounding desert.

We retraced our path just a little bit, to snap a photo of the mountains in which our camp site was nestled.​

Lone Mountain, a little further on.​

Soon, we found ourselves on Beaver Rim, our view of the badlands to the north, spectacular. We'd stop several times as we made our way along the undulating two-track as it followed the fence line, each time sure that the view couldn't get any better. Each time, proving ourselves wrong.

We are somewhere.​

An interesting pillar.​

Intricate folds.​

A playground of pockets.​

Oh look, we're somewhere else now.​

Along the way - as we'd experienced along the entire route so far, and would until the end - the primary hoofed inhabitants were pronghorn. Far outnumbering deer and even cows, this guy decided that he'd escort us for a mile or so at 30mph. It was a fun couple of minutes, for both of us!

Follow me!​

Besides the view over the edge, the up-and-down nature of the plateau we were on meant that we could see the twists and turns of the road before as it wound its way through the green grass and sage. Up one rise and down another, we slalomed across the hillsides, the morning air still cool enough for our windows to be open.

Up we go.​

Down we come.​

Out to the point at the Beaver Rim Overlook.​

A good place to enjoy the last of our cherries.​

Eventually the road turned away from Beaver Rim as we passed the halfway point of this stage and turned southeast towards the town of Atlantic City. Only one of us remembers this part of the route, as the curvy nature of the road and sweet smell of wildflowers pushing into the cab was apparently just right for rocking a passenger to sleep.

Beautiful specimen.​

Here and there, we crossed paved roads. Nearly all of them were protected by these fences that assisted in arresting blowing snow during the winter months.​

Onward.​

Even in the desert basins, it was spring! I think this is a Bitterroot Lewisia.​

It was here - as we were perhaps 15 miles away from Atlantic City - that we noticed a BLM sign along the side of the road, marking one of the many offshoots from the BDR route: Gillespie Place. No distance nor direction beyond the sign was mentioned, but a line recommending a high clearance 4x4 was enough to get our attention. A quick look at our GPS showed that - even if we never found the Gillespie Place - we'd meet up with the Oregon Trail if we took the detour, so I turned the front wheels and we set off in a new direction.

I think this is the largest grouse we've ever seen.​

As we stopped to photograph the grouse (?), I happened to spot a roof nestled behind a rise a little to our left. Not knowing for sure, but suspecting that it could be what we were after, I stealthily navigated us in that direction, despite direction from my copilot that, "The Oregon Trail is to the right [the other way]."

We've arrived at the Gillespie Place.​

A woman and her daughters settled Gillespie Place in the early 20th Century as a spa that touted radium's alleged health benefits. Probably not such a good idea, looking back on it now. ​

Soon, we did join up with the Oregon Trail.​

Apparently - through this section of the west - the Oregon Trail is also the Mormon Pioneer Trail and Overland Trail, and we followed markers for a few miles to the ghost town of Lewiston, where several old ruins and a single new(er) cabin dotted the landscape.

We first passed by this (more) modern day mining cabin, an open pit visible a few hundred feet behind it.​

More interesting was this old mill foundation across the creek, perhaps the mill from the old Bullion Mine.​

Remnants of an old settling tank.​

Not wanting to stray too far from the primary BDR route, we took a quick look at the GPS to ensure that our next couple of turns would dump us back out onto the trail. From there, it was only a few miles to Atlantic City, a "ghost town" that is anything but.

Welcome to Atlantic City. No metal sign for us.​

Atlantic City was bustling - to say the least - its claim of 57 residents a stretch for just the main town square. ATVs, side-by-sides, and street legal vehicles of all kinds clogged the streets. We'd been hoping to find a place to stop for lunch - a nice shady spot like the one we'd run across in Medicine Bow - but one thing was for certain: we weren't going to find that here. We needed to push on.

Luckily for us - we thought - the ghost town of South Pass was only a few miles down the road. We'd planned to stop there to explore some of the old mines and buildings, so we figured we might was well eat lunch there as well.

Yeah, right.

 

There's lot's of interesting stuff in that area if you know where to look.

 

Atlantic City to Shoshoni - Through the Wind River Basin - WYBDR 5
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

Heading out of Atlantic City, we were both looking forward to a leisurely stroll around the ghost town of South Pass and the nearby Carissa Mine. I actually envisioned them as similar to - but perhaps better than - the amazing ghost town of Bodie, California, which I'd visited the previous fall.

As we approached, it was immediately clear that SOMETHING WASN'T RIGHT.

We'd felt that Atlantic City had been crowded, but South Pass was something else entirely. Above the town, an entire hillside had been converted into a parking lot, and hundreds of vehicles - of all types - were lined up in neat rows, attendants in orange vests directing new arrivals into position. Glancing to my left - and several hundred feet before the stadium-sized parking lot - I noticed that the parking area for the Carrisa Mine was nearly empty. Perfect, I thought, as I started to pull in the driveway.

The Carrisa Mine.​

It was just then that @mrs.turbodb mentioned it was closed, and we saw an orange-vested-man jogging over from his UTV he'd been sitting in nearby. Getting so close to my open window that I felt as though he was Dukes of Hazzard-ing it into the Tacoma, he let us know that only volunteers could park at the mine. As such, we would need to make our way down to the lot and then either walk back over or ride one of the busses that left every 15 minutes.

As I saw @mrs.turbodb nervously grabbing at her door handle to give herself a bit of room from this overly-friendly fellow, I agreed as quickly as possible so as to get him out of both our personal space.

On reaching the parking lot - and with a bit more breathing room - another orange-vested volunteer asked us if we were here for "Gold Rush Days." We must have looked confused as we said no, because he launched into a spiel about transportation to/from the lot, the fact that there were food trucks in town, and most importantly, that a 70lb anvil was launched 70-feet into the air every hour, on the hour.

We thanked him, and then made a sweeping u-turn in the lot. This was not our cup of tea. We never did get to see South Pass, and we were going to need to find somewhere else to eat.

Luckily, we found a shady powerline road not far out of town, and after enjoying our sandwiches in the shade, we turned north into beauty of the Wind River Mountains.

After driving across high desert in the previous stage, it was so nice to get into the mountains again!​

The mix of rock and vegetation was just perfect.​

As we crested the first set of foothills, the higher elevation - and increased water - were immediately apparent.​

Winding our way along the graded gravel road, we remarked to each other how much traffic there was on this section of the trail. Initially we chalked it up to the Gold Rush Days, but then @mrs.turbodb started wondering, "Where is everyone coming from?" She couldn't believe that they'd travelled some 40-miles from Lander, but sure enough, that's where they'd started!

Shortly, we passed the sign for Christina Lake - a place I'd hoped to camp when I'd planned this trip, but we ultimately decided to hold off on until a later time.​

Despite the traffic we pushed on, and only later did we discover that this part of the route is always busy, the BDR site even warning riders that, "This section on Forest Road 300 is one of the highest trafficked sections of the WYBDR so go slow and watch for vehicles on every corner, and Ride Right." Boy, they aren't kidding.

Even with all the traffic, we did find some spots here and there where we just couldn't resist stopping.​

Louis Lake, not to be confused with Louis Lane.​

Along this route, Blue Ridge Lookout - built by the USFS in 1938 sits at the crest of the ridge, and is accessible via a half-mile hike or a three-quarter-mile 4WD road. Even with slightly lower temperatures at these higher elevations, we knew better than to set off on foot, and soon we found ourselves as the sole vehicle parked at the lookout.

Probably not suitable for the Tesla.​

I must admit to getting a kick out of seeing the look on hiker's faces as they saw our truck parked in the meadow after they had hiked up the hillside.​

There are two granite outcroppings perched along the ridge, and with the old lookout full of people, we quickly decided that it would be fun to boulder our way up the other. This turned out to be a great decision, as it allowed us to get a better view of the lookout - and its fabulous staircase - than if we'd climbed the same way that everyone else had.

Stairway to heaven(ly views).​

Living pictograph. Lichen on granite.​

It was so windy at the top of the outcropping - understandable I suppose given our location in the Wind River Range - that I asked my companion if the rocks themselves were moving. She assured me - with perhaps the same chuckle as those reading this story - that they were not. Still, with such strong gusts, there wasn't much we could do up there, so we made our way down - first to the truck, then to the main road - and continued along our way, the road eventually turning to pavement.

Down we go, toward Lander.​

Before reaching Lander, we had one more stop to make: Sinks Canyon. This is a place where the Middle Popo Agie River disappears into a cave in the mountainside, only to emerge again a quarter-mile further down the canyon at a spot known as The Rise. Interestingly, the water takes two hours to make the journey, and more water surfaces at The Rise than disappears at The Sink. Where the water goes for those two hours is still a mystery, but we do know that the sinks are likely an ice-aged feature that were created when channels in the soft Madison Limestone formation eroded away.

It is rather disconcerting to see water flowing at 100 cubic feet per second, just disappear.​

Our final push to into town.​

In Lander, we had a few things to take care of. The first was fuel. Our last fill-up had been in Alcova - more than a stage and a half earlier. With 15 gallons in the Scepter military jerry cans, we still had plenty of gas, but the main tank was getting pretty low. Additionally, @mrs.turbodb hadn't been feeling 100% for the last 24 hours or so, and though she wasn't sure how she might have caught it, she wanted to pick up a COVID-19 test to make sure that wasn't the issue. Lastly, we wanted to grab a pair of gloves to replace those that had been lost somewhere earlier in the trip, since taking boxes out of the truck bed in camp can be tough on bare hands. Oh, and we wanted to pick up some mustard, which we'd run out of the previous day.

Luckily for us, all of this was relatively easily done at a combination of Safeway and Mr. D's Food Center, and soon we were on our way out of town.

Good news!​

More Wyoming hay. Rectangular this time.​

Pretty sure that we wouldn't make it all the way to Shoshoni before needing to find camp - it was just after 6:00pm when we were pulling out of Lander - we soon realized that we were in much the same predicament as the previous evening; perhaps slightly worse. Our elevation here was just over 5,000-feet, and once again there were few-to-none trees to be found. Knowing we could cover a lot of ground in two hours - depending on the roads - we pressed forward, hoping for the best.

Headed into the Wind River Basin on our way to Shoshoni.​

We made our first stop at the Rainbow Cliffs. Striped sandstone reminiscent of similar geology in Utah, the road wove in and out of the slowly eroding spires, each rainy season sure to bring new views never before seen.

Rainbow Cliff sunstar.​

Suspended stone.​

Rainbow badlands.​

Leaving the cliffs behind us, we knew that the next section of trail was not going to be a place we wanted to stop for the evening. In fact, even if we hadn't ready the BDR description - "...this section and goes right through a gas plant on the public road... It feels strange but ride on through (if the lights aren’t flashing)." - I think the sign warning us of toxic gas release was probably enough to keep us moving. In fact, I could tell that @mrs.turbodb was even a bit nervous as I stopped to snap a few photos.

Move along, nothing to see here. And move quickly if the lights are flashing.​

One of the few gas plants bisected by a public road.​

Extraction enabler.​

For a moment, things turned a little greener once we exited the gas facility and joined WY-135 for a few miles. Still rising and falling in the 5.500-foot range, it was still toasty warm - though a nice breeze was blowing across the valley, and we knew we had to start looking for somewhere to camp. Luckily, I realized I might have just the place.

Open road.​

Prior to leaving on any BDR, I always try to inspect the route for nearby attractions, and in this case I'd found an old Uranium mine that I thought would be cool to check out. It was just off the route, and at the very least I hoped that whatever hillside it was carved into would provide shade from the evening sun. Assuming that is, it was carved into a hillside.

Even if we didn't find the **** Mine, these bluffs sure looked like an interesting spot to camp - and explore!​

Well look what we have here....​

It turns out that like many Uranium mines, this one had been sealed off with concrete after the extraction was complete. Even inside the steel door, a second concrete wall made exploration of the shaft impossible.

That didn't matter to us though, as we found a shady spot to set up the tent and get going on dinner. The sandstone into which the mine had been bored provided plenty of shade and a bit of shelter from the 30mph winds - something we'd be thankful for once we climbed into the tent. And with that, it was time for taco-rittoes!

As we were setting up camp, I noticed this absolutely perfect little succulent. It was the only one around!​

After dinner, the breeze helped to keep the mosquitoes away, and we were able to enjoy the mellowing of the sky around us before climbing into the tent for some shut eye.​

The Following Morning...

To our dismay - and this isn't something I say very often - the wind died down as soon as we climbed into the tent. It was strange, really, though perhaps it's normal in Wyoming, even on the Wind River Plain. At any rate, it made for a warm night, one where @mrs.turbodb resorted to a damp bandana laid over her body in order to keep her cool. I - on the other hand - wasn't so smart!

Still, by the time we awoke, temps had dropped into the low 70s °F, and it was quite pleasant outside the tent. I took some time to look around and snap a few pictures of the area - things we'd looked at the night before, just after I found that my camera battery was dead.

An old loading structure that was once anchored into the sandstone, the sun rising behind.​

A sandstone outcropping, caught by the morning rays.​

Our favorite camp site so far.​

Nestled in the sandstone, we'd been shielded from the sun - even after it'd risen over the horizon - but we were still out of camp early to take advantage of the cooler morning temperatures. Exiting our spur, the warm golden glow over the green grass on the hills was a great way to get going and soon we were headed towards Shoshoni.

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again - we timed this trip perfectly.​

Back on the trail, we made good time on the well-groomed gravel.​

We'd covered most of the stage as we looked for a camp site the prior evening, leaving us only about 20 miles to cover before being one step closer to the Montana border. Through an oil and gas field - the second of this segment - those miles ticked away uneventfully, and soon we were searching for Shoshoni's water-jet-cut welcome sign.

An old derrick, abandoned in the field, its generator and storage tanks pilfered for a well that is still producing.​

Welcome to Shoshoni, where we never did find the prototypical metal sign. (I like this one better!)​

We hadn't expected much from this stage, as it made its way through the Wind River Basin. We'd figured it took one of only a couple paths from west to east - around the Wind River Reservation, setting us up for a run to the Bighorn Mountains. Still, besides the surprise at South Pass, I think the route had surprised us both. Be it the toxic gas warning signs or our fantastic camp at the uranium mine, this stage had certainly left an impression on us.

And, we had no idea at the time, but we'd soon feel as though we'd left Wyoming entirely!

 

Shoshoni to Ten Sleep - Wyoming's Utah - WYBDR 6
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

Having arrived in Shoshoni extremely early in the morning, and with no refueling necessary, we rolled out of town as soon as we'd snapped a photo of the "Welcome to Shoshoni" sign on the edge of town. As we did, a couple dual-sport riders passed us in the opposite direction, and we wondered aloud if they were riding the BDR from north-to-south.

Making our way along Badwater Road, toward the little town of Lost Cabin, a familiar theme appeared along the side of the route. There was no gas plant lining the public road, but there were plenty of wells visible into the distance.

The early morning light - even if we were driving into it, added a warm tone to the landscape.​

For those who live in Wyoming - have you ever encountered flashing lights?​

A little further on, as we neared Lost Cabin, we discovered these thermal vents. They seemed to be lined and capped (loosely), and we weren't quite sure why.​

Through the town of Lost Cabin - a mostly abandoned town that's got a single famous house (the Big Teepee) and an oil-and-gas yard - we turned north as we transitioned from the Wind River Plain toward the Bighorn Mountains - the playground of the final two stages of the BDR.

Initially, this transition appeared similar to the other's we'd experienced along the way - sage slowly giving way to juniper and pine, old cabins slowly being reclaimed by nature, and of course, increased elevation.

Into the foothills.​

This old cabin once boasted a fantastic view back down into the valley. Today, cows inhabit the immediate vicinity.​

​

We didn't see many riders on the trail, but my guess is that it's going to be a busy summer!

(Know who this is? Contact me.)​

Unbeknownst to us, the granite and red rock of this hillside foreshadowed much of what was to come.​

Following the Nowood River, we didn't end up gaining all that much elevation as we worked our way north, the well-graded road gently winding its way to the 6,700' Cottonwood Pass before dropping into - and through - Nowood Canyon.

Fluttering around in the sunlight, this little guy was having a blast in and amongst the spring flowers.​

Last one, I promise. Large rectangular bales of Wyoming hay.​

It was here - in Nowood Canyon - that we got our real surprise for this leg of the journey. Initially, we thought the first red hillside we passed was just a random occurrence. But then - another. Rising so bright above the green grass, and so striking against the blue sky, it was almost as though we'd driven into Utah. On a short stage with a smooth road - ample opportunity to finish the stage quickly - we did our best to do the opposite, slowing down to admire what the landscape had to offer.

Wyoming's... Utah?​

I only promised no more stacks of hay. ​

As we wound our way down Nowood Canyon, each turn brought more color.​

The canyon chokes down - but only momentarily - at Mahogany Butte.​

Just as we squeezed through the narrow passage at Mahogany Butte, we spotted the work of a local artisan along the side of the road. Similarly themed to a faux-bronze statue we'd seen on a similarly early morning between Ruidoso and Truth or Consequences on the New Mexico BDR, we were most definitely going to stop to admire it. I have to admit to making several 360° turns in the road in order to shoot this shot out the driver side window.

Anyone need a ring gear? Leaf spring or two? Perhaps a railroad spike?​

Ready to charge.​

A few minutes later we were back on track and immersed in the colors we associate places much further south, albeit with some much brighter greens than we tend to see there. And then, in a finale of color, the road dove into Red Gulch on Otter Creek, and we found ourselves smack in the middle of it all.

Fingers and buttes reaching into the canyon.​

Irrigated farmland, a brilliant contrast of saturation.​

Into Red Gulch.​

Picturesque paddock.​

It was only 11:00am when we reached the bottom of the canyon. From there, pavement would take us to Ten Sleep, and the end of the stage. We'd covered 100 miles in record time and now we were looking for a good place to eat lunch. Ultimately, we'd find a nice little park with a little bit of shade, and we'd enjoy tuna sandwiches and potato chips as we watched a group of van-lifers practice yoga and post their stories to the gram.

After six stages of some of the most remote roads in the country, it seemed we'd found the hippest place around.

 

every time i visit, its takes a long while to load all this content. every. single. time. LOVE IT

 

Ten Sleep to Burgess Jct - Beauty of the Bighorns - WYBDR 7
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

We didn't stick around in Ten Sleep any longer than necessary - mostly for the same reason that we scurried from Atlantic City and South Pass the day before - people. I'm sure that all these places would be super fun to wander around mid-week, but on a warm summer weekend they were just a little too crowded for our liking.

It was on our way out of town that we realized why it was so crowded. Sure, the road we'd traveled into town may have been beautifully reminiscent of Utah, but it certainly hadn't warranted a quadrupling of the population. But as we headed into Ten Sleep Canyon, it was clear where the real attraction was.

We were so distracted by the towering walls of the canyon that we missed our turn off the highway!​

Once we snapped out of our drooling daze at the canyon around us, we found a pull-out where we could turn around. But not before snapping some more pictures.​

Back on the right track, we were soon winding up the eastern side of the canyon - either on the old highway or on an old rail grade. Whatever it was, it was unpaved but not at all uncrowded. There were vehicles everywhere, and we soon discovered why.

No matter how you climb up through Ten Sleep Canyon, the views are fantastic.​

Of course, some climbs/views are harder/fantastic-er than others, I suppose.​

Still had a long way to go.​

Yep, the canyon walls had been discovered by the climbers, and the popularity of Ten Sleep was immediately apparent to us both. After a bit of glassing with the binoculars, we were back in the truck and on our way through a single gate, re-joining the highway for a moment before diving off onto dirt again, as we began our first big ascent into the Bighorn Mountains.

Looking back down towards Ten Sleep.​

Gaining elevation quickly as we exited the canyon, the hillsides greened up, the juniper giving way to pine and fir.​

Make a gigantic wish.​

Before we knew it, we'd climbed from 5200' to 9300' and found ourselves at our first dramatic overlook of the snowy Bighorns to our north and east. Getting out of the truck here was like stepping into a candy factory - the smell of the wildflowers, sweet in the air. Given our route, I knew we'd get even closer to the mountains, but we still hung around for a while, soaking in the visual and olfactory stimulation.

We'd spend the next two days in the Bighorns - a grand finale as it were!​

A living bouquet.​

So happy with the smells.​

Eventually pulling ourselves away, I mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that - if possible - we should camp in a spot that Monte @Blackdawg had taken me a couple of times before - once on The De-Tour and again on The Re-Tour. We still had quite a bit of ground to cover in order to get there - and several stops in-between - but I hoped that with the long days, we could make it by sunset. She was game, and I'd say we made it a full quarter mile up the road before we just had to stop again.

Into the high mountain meadows, purple rivers stretched through fields.​

So. Many. Lupine.​

Stands of trees broke up the purple hillsides, audible gasps and finger pointing sure to resume as we exited the narrow passages to new stunning vistas.​

At this point, the route wound its way out of the mountains and down toward Hyattville. I'm not exactly sure why the BDR planners chose this path - rather than maintaining elevation in the Bighorns - but it would give us an opportunity to check out some rock art that I hoped @mrs.turbodb would appreciate, so down the mountain we dove.

A little hazy, but still - I don't think most people would attribute a view like this to Wyoming.​

Unfortunately, our dive down the mountain turned into a bellyflop when we found ourselves behind a couple of Jeep Rubicons that had a top speed somewhere in the 4-7mph range. It's not that the roads were difficult or that the Jeeps were underbuilt. In fact, quite the contrary, they were motoring along on aired-down 35" tires and top-of-the-line suspension. Initially, I thought they might not be looking in their mirrors; then that perhaps they were simply looking for a place to let us by. But, after passing several large pullouts, it seemed something else was going on. Surely a couple short flashes of my bright-as-the-sun Diode Dynamics SS5s and a friendly toot of the horn would get them out of our way in a jiffy.

Nope.​

It was painful to be stuck behind such capable vehicles.​

Eventually - as in 20 minutes later - we finally came to a gate. As both Jeep drivers got out of their vehicles, it was immediately apparent that it was a couple - each in their own toy. With no way to communicate with each other on the trail, the wife hadn't wanted to be separated from her expedition leader, and he'd had no way to signal her to pull over behind him. Radios: they are important.

Hoping to make up time, but knowing that we had to stay ahead of the Jeeps, very little braking was used as gravity pulled us down the hill. It turns out we had nothing to worry about from a "catch up" perspective, as even with several stops for photos, we never even saw their dust trails in the distance.

It was amazing how varied the color of the dirt had been in this area; here, nearly white.​

Just moments later, a deep red.​

Nearing the bottom, we spotted an old homestead in the distance. At first, we were both convinced that it was still occupied - a bit of a relief in that we'd not be tempted to explore. But the closer we got, the more apparent it became that we would be looking around - for a few minutes anyway - as the homestead had been abandoned for a couple decades or so.

Homesteaders definitely had an eye for picking the picturesque spots.​

The front house was an addition to the back, and clearly in better shape.​

Left in a hurry? Thought they were coming back?​

Whatever the reason the homesteaders had left, the proximity to the road and several open doors meant that rodents had gotten into the place, and it was now beyond repair; unfortunate, as it seemed like a pretty nice place in its time. And so, content to climb back into the air conditioned Tacoma, we soon found ourselves rolling into - and out of - Hyattville, on our way to Medicine Lodge.

Happy man.​

This combination petroglyph-pictograph reminded me of the sundials I've seen at other sites.​

Fat family.​

Horned lady.​

Insect guy.​

Native Americans weren't the only ones to make their mark on this wall, Burgess and Martin passed through here many times and left several axle-grease marks.​

Having made it to Medicine Lodge, we were making good progress - we'd covered 57 miles since lunch - but were still some 50 dirt miles from camp, a five-mile spur off of the BDR route. It was 4:00pm and hot at our current 4,700-foot elevation; we hoped that camp in the Bighorns would bring cooler temperatures.

With that, we set off. It wasn't long before the 5,000-foot climb began, all of our elevation achieved over the course of 15 miles at a relatively consistent 10° incline. The weight of the Tacoma meant we were between second and third gear for most of that time, as the landscape alternated between trees and meadows. With each passing mile, the temps moderating. Pure bliss.

Dappled light filtering onto the roadway as we once again climb into the Bighorns.​

At a second overlook of the highest peaks in the range, the Tacoma perched at the edge.​

A river runs through it.​

Out on the edge.​

At Upper Medicine Lodge Lake, one of several we passed along the way.​

This part of the BDR - and, really, everything that remained - was some of the most beautiful road we've traveled on any of the discovery routes that we've done. I suspected that would be the case, as I've spent a week or so in the Bighorns on other trips, but with the last of those being in 2019, I'd forgotten how special this range really is. The views go on and on, with ample variety of terrain to providing endless enjoyment for those passing through.

The mix of rock, trees, wildflowers, and meadows was mesmerizing.​

Racing along ridgelines, the condition of the road varied, but we were able to keep relatively reasonable rates of travel.​

In the end, we made great time through the Bighorn Mountains, reaching a road I remembered fondly as our "exit route" from both the De-Tour and Re-Tour years before. Climbing up though the Aspen, I glanced over at my dozing co-pilot, hoping that she'd find our camp site - now only 10 minutes away - as lovely as I remembered it.

The final climb, a single ridge between us and a relaxing hideaway for the next 12 hours.​

Popping over the summit, the view before us opened up to a peaceful meadow, ******* Creek meandering through the tall grass. It appeared - and would turn out to be the case - that we had the whole place to ourselves, as we made our way down to camp on the edge of the meadow.

The clouds were looking dramatic as we pulled into camp.​

Pretty soon, we were set up in my favorite spot, the temperature much more pleasant than it'd been at lower elevations.​

Unfortunately for us, the lush, spring green grass and plentiful water nearby meant that summer's first wave of mosquitoes were in full swing. We'd brought along our goofy-looking bug net jackets for just such a situation, and broke them out for the preparation and consumption of dinner.

Looking netty.​

They may seem like a cop out, but hot dogs are always a treat when we do end up eating them!​

Of course, to eat, we had to remove our hoods. Miraculously, at exactly the same time we sat down, the wind picked up and our mosquito problem became a non-issue. The wind would mean a bit noisier night in the tent, but if one thing is for certain - it is that wind is better than bugs.

The Following Morning...

It was, I think, the best night of sleep we got all trip. The wind died down just as we climbed into the tent, and with a calm breeze and temperatures in the high 40s °F, the camp site I'd been looking forward to showing off to @mrs.turbodb was delivering. The only drawback was that our position out in the meadow meant dew, and so the tent was a little damp when we woke up in the morning.

I always love when the colors smoothly morph across the sky before the sun comes up in the morning.​

Knowing that we'd easily finish the route by the end of the day, we lazed around a bit on this - our final morning on the trail - before getting up around 7:30am.

I'd hoped that our two-hour delay in climbing down the ladder would completely dry the tent, but alas, some high clouds meant that it could have used another hour.​

Wandering around camp, I followed the path of ******* Creek for a while, enjoying the gurgle as it passed on by.​

Even the trees were happy.​

Headed back to camp to find my compatriot.​

The wind that'd pushed the mosquitoes away the night before hadn't returned, so with netting over our torsos, we packed up the tent and got ready to go. Luckily - even though bits of the fly were still damp, I knew we'd have to deploy the tent one more time - on our way home - which would allow it to dry out.

Before leaving the area entirely, I showed off a second primo camp site to @mrs.turbodb, just across the meadow (and creek).​

Climbing out of the valley, we once again found ourselves skirting along a broad ridge, this time working our way past Antelope Butte. We didn't notice as we approached, but as we skirted through the grass below the rocky outcropping, we suddenly noticed movement. Lots of movement. A herd of Elk more than 200 strong - by far the largest we've seen - covered the upper reaches of the butte like a swarm of bees.

As we approached, the grandeur of the butte itself is what caught our attention.​

Then, our surroundings had us marveling at the morning.​

Flowers for the lady.​

Only as I was out picking my arrangement did @mrs.turbodb spot the Elk. And my, were there a lot of those guys!​

Noticing that there was a road that climbed at least part way up Antelope Butte - and wondering if we could find a way closer to the herd - we worked our way up and around it became clear that we'd be in a different position, but not all that much closer to our ultimate goal.

Even though we didn't get any closer to the Elk, it was interesting to see the butte from another perspective. A much greener one.​

And so, we retraced our tracks to the main route - now headed towards Woodchuck Pass - more high meadows, rocky granite outcroppings, and even a cow and baby moose grazing in the distance below. We hadn't been on the trail more than half-an-hour, and the day was already turning out to one of the best!

Retracing our detour to join the herd on the hill.​

The clouds, light, and rock play so well together in the Bighorn Mountains.​

Our second set of moose on this trip. And, a baby!​

Past Bruce Mountain and through Woodchuck Pass.​

We had only a single stop planned between Woodchuck Pass and the end of the stage at Burgess Junction - for a splash dam I've wandered by previously. It's not marked at all on the BDR route, but is marked by an information sign on the roadside, and I highly recommend checking it out for anyone else travelling the route.

As usual, we got sidetracked before the splash dam, an unknown tower catching our attention. Perhaps an old weather station? Ham radio repeater?​

What remains of the splash dam. The water was much lower here the last time I visited.​

As we admired the splash dam, a caravan of semi-trucks loaded with cattle came rumbling up the main road. Five of them, each with a dozen or more cows mooing and pooing away, we counted ourselves lucky that we'd completed our stay in ******* Creek. I've been there before when the cattle have been grazing, and it was a tense morning as one trapped me in my tent.

A whole new understanding of "cattle drive."​

A standoff at dawn, 2019.​

It was nearly 11:00am by the time we started the final stretch - some 15 miles - to Burgess Junction. Our speed was a quarter of what it had been on every other morning of the trip, a testament to our surroundings. Even this last little bit would take us longer than normal, as we enjoyed one of the bumpier sections of trail, and of course, views to go along with it.

There's nothing on the route that's even moderately complex for a 4-wheeled vehicle; this was about as extreme as it got.​

The views - on the other hand - were second to none.​

Only a lodge - and this warning sign - marked the beginning of the end of the WYBDR.​

As we pulled out of Burgess Junction, we weren't quite sure what was in store for the final leg of our journey. Upon reaching the border with Montana, would we go north or return south? Would this final segment - as with so many other BDRs - be a weak point full of pavement or as splendid as the last? And, perhaps most importantly, since we were getting hungry - where were we going to eat lunch?