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My mornings here in Wyoming have become much like every other morning. I awake at 5:30. My mind begins to buzz with the expectation and excitement of a new day. What will I see? Who will I meet? The skies are blue, the sun is just beginning to come up. I realize it is Fathers Day. I am fortunate. I am still here. Alive. I will receive a gift from my daughter, a framed quote she wrote:”My Father didn’t tell me how to live; He lived and let me watch him do it”……..My son calls. I am lucky. I can still hear his voice. He is a young father now and makes me proud. My day of running  begins. 30 miles, 30 flags. Some of the flags today bear the names of sons. Some of fathers. We move down the highway together. For the briefest time there is no wind. Crickets chirp. Birds sing methodically. The sun warms my skin. I smell sage.  On the hills of sage I see numerous antelope and they snort and run as I draw near. Sons and fathers. I think that somewhere a family is sad. Today there will be no sadness on this road. There is to much beauty in this place. Enough, today that I share it with each name. What I see, they see. What I hear, they hear. Our senses are one, joined in a way I can’t explain. The prairie has power. Immense power and it pulls me down the road to another day done. The sun sinks low. The antelope seek their beds for the night. I dream and await tomorrow…………

It is a long, desolate stretch of highway, this ribbon of asphalt called 287 which goes from south of Lander to Rawlins, WY. As I trot along I often think about what I can write about at night. Often there is to much. Sweetwater Junction is one of those stops in the middle of these high plains with views of the Wind River Range. It is the home of the Mormon Handcarts in this area. I thought pushing a stroller loaded with 50lbs. of gear was a chore. It pales in comparison to what Mormon Settlers did 150 years ago. They actually pulled handcarts that weighed 60 lbs. from Iowa to Salt Lake City loaded with provisions and clothing. I was told it was cheaper than rail travel to get them to their final destination. They had basically 12 oz. of flour a day. The equivalent of 2 to 4 slices of bread in addition to whatever else they could muster up. When these supplies ran low the men would give their portions to the women and children. I was astounded by their efforts. A few miles up from this camp the settlers would dig down about 2 feet in the sloughs to find ice even in June and this would help preserve their meat. The California Trail, Orgeon Trail, Mormon Trail and the Pony Express Trail all traveled this route I was on today. In an area I had secret reservations about crossing, I saw tremendous beauty and solitude. I discovered when I stopped in Jeffery City that it at one time had 5000 residents and a uranium mine which, when it closed in the early 80s took most of the residents with it. Now, vacant gas stations are next to the highway along with long ago, boarded up buildings. The wind creaks the sign from an old Sinclair Station, sage blows across the asphalt, the sun beats down, the sky is blue. In such space, freedom is magnified. Further up the road I spot a young ranch mother and her two children. They had raced their four-wheeler through the field to get ahead of me. I stop and meet the little ones. They are pure, Wyoming. Dressed in jeans, long sleeve shirts, cowboy hats and each with huge belt buckles. The little girl wears her grandmothers Miss Wyoming buckle. Mom is as pleasant as her children and just as beautiful in her own quiet way. It is obvious she has done great things with them and felt it was important for them to meet me. I was flattered by their sudden appearance and so thankful for it. Thats what Wyoming has been like. Intense, open space with chance encounters that brighten my day.

The Wind River Range flows like a wave off to my right. Snow covered in June and yet down this low there are shades of green and brown as summer fills the mountain air of thes wide open plains. I have been fortunate to see the Tetons and now the Winds. Today I experienced the Winds in a new form. In my face, 35 mph for 10 miles….oooookkkayyyy. This isn’t quite fun. Did I say that? My speed pushing the stroller drops to a turtle-like 3 mph and I wonder if I will make my pickup time. Lander has been a nice town to visit. Pummeled by rain and floodwaters a week ago I see a town come together. Neighbors helping each other sandbag the rising river. I would not expect such weather in an area such as this but Mother Nature is not choosy. Rolling through town I take a picture of the 1905 Coulter building and spy my barber shop, Crazy Beautiful. Okay I admit it was at one time a barbershop and now a salon but for a shaghead like me passing through it would do. Coincidentally Army Sergeant Major Michael Millette flag would have been placed out front but now sits in a vase in the window of that salon, out of the elements. As I leave town I look at my small medicine bag dangling in the wind from my stroller. Given to me a few nights ago it contains a rattlesnake rattle for protection, an eyes stone to watch over me, a travel stone to get me from ocean to ocean and a healing stone. I feel secure and safe in a deep way. Running into the wind the gusts push the stroller side to side and nearly bring me to a standstill. What do I do? I keep my head down and ask for a little help and recieve from the previous 1305 flags a push from 1305 hands….

The road is forgiving. It rises and falls, dips and sways, shady and often barren. It is ever changing.Time is not.  When I see the weather change, the wind rise and the rain fall, temperatures drop, I cannot hesitate. My day must begin. Each movement is directed forward. Awake at 5:30. Brush teeth, clear the eyes.Eat breakfast, pack stroller, load, drive, unload, goodbyes. Start beacon, check flags, food, water, begin. Walk, run, breathe, dream….check flag on phone, stop, read name, think, thank you, place, salute, move on. Run. Drink, Eat, Run….do it again and again and again. I love these days. They are each unique and new and refreshing.

As I left the shadow of the Tetons behind I headed up over Togwatee Pass. At just over 9600 it climbs steadily at a 6 percent grade for 17 miles. Imposing? Yes, and even more as the rain and winds move in. My rain gear gets put on and the Snickers bars come out. Chocolate does amazing things at this altitude, it is the great equalizer. Snow comes and how cool is this!!! June 12th almost on top of the Continental Divide and snow! The fog grows. Motor homes and travel trailers move slowly by. I need coffee. Pretty much always, when it gets to be 2 p.m. Hmmmm nothing up here so over the top and down, down, down I roll. Often I forget what I am doing. I feel little below the waist and I look around as if I am in a slowwwwwww moving car….

The Tie Hackers logged this area of Wyoming over 75 years ago. Trees were felled then given to the Hackers who squared them up in exact dimensions and the “ties” were then sent down a flume on the side of the hill into the Wind River and floated down to Riverton, WY. Backbreaking work for low pay. Paid only so much for the ties that you did. I can only imagine the harshness of the comditions. At the Triangle C Dude Ranch I am greeted by the staff and enjoy beef brisket and potatoes and sauteed veggies, salad and cake and ice cream. Above the bar are various boots nailed to the crossbeam of the ceiling. These are boots of prior employees or someone who had died there. Nice. I am encouraged by the outlook on life the young staff has. They are intelligent and in or recently graduated from college. They are positive and energetic and it is contagious. As  I leave the rain continues. The road forgives and time continues to relentlessly move me forward towards that landmark in Dubois……………..the giant Jackelope!! …….

I am now but a few miles from leaving Idaho and I do not expect my experience with the rain and the snakes to end anytime soon. Two days ago as I was somewhere between I-15 and Rexburg, ID I began the count…..1 rattlesnake….dead….2…3….4….5……time out…..I have to make a detour off the road. The rain is  coming down, the stroller wheels sink into the mud, my shoes follow…for the love of God!!! I just have to go to the bathroom!!! To top it off the mosquitoes are out….way to early for here…and devour chunks of my bare skin….more mud and back to the pavement….6….wow, that was a big one………7………….jiminy geezuz what is with the snakes???? The smell of sage permeates the air, the dampness and rain take me back to the days of youth when my brothers and I would play in the street and pop tar bubbles filled with rain….Illinois seems so far away…….I still have remnants of a mocha from 3 days ago in my veins and to tell that story I must set the stage. I was lucky enough to have one night of camping along Birch Creek. A wonderful soak for the legs in cool waters followed by beef bbq, cole slaw and beans and of course chocolate milk and then a fire. My friend Hope brought his expresso maker and the next morning was going to make me a mocha…..butttttttt no electricity. So we zip up the road to Lone Pine. All 13 inhabitants are sleeping, hungover, I assume based on the amount of beer bottles lying around. Hope unplugs the ice machine on the porch of the store and plugs in his expresso maker and proceeds to whip me up the most delicious mocha without stirring up a single slumbering soul….ahhhh the magic of the road, snakes to dance around and coffee to dream about up ahead in Driggs….