This was one of those less mountainous transition days where
big distance could be covered if a few things went your way. Peter and I
headed out quite late by Divide standards, not hitting the road till about
6:30. Although many consider The Basin proper not to start till Atlantic
City, much of the terrain already felt pretty "out there". Typically,
although riding as a pair, we spent most hours leap frogging each other and
riding big chunks out of sight and effectively alone. I met some
interesting parties riding in the opposite direction including a pair of Aussie
chicks who were doing the trail at a more relaxed pace and had endured head
winds for three consecutive days, and a party on horseback from Montana in
traditional western cowboy garb who had their own adventure well under
way. Another terrific way to see the country I reckon.
Pete and I came together again just before Atlantic City, an
historic town consisting of just a handful of remaining buildings, including
the saloon, with an interior lined with enough animal busts to keep a
taxidermist happy for some time. We lunched and ordered sandwiches to go
for the flight across the basin, topping up with ice cream at Wild Bill's gun
and knife shop at the other end of town where I also dumped my bear
spray. Pete had already dispensed his, which I thought a good
experiment. Safety off, I simply lacked the thumb strength to depress the
lever, which wouldn't have been particularly useful had I actually needed
it. I had so little opposed-thumb grip strength at this stage that I had
to use mini pliers to engage and zip up my jersey. I feared that if my
left thumb progressed to the same extent I'd be stuffed.
The Basin has a bit of a reputation with regards water, so
for the first time on the Tour I filled the 3 L bladder I'd been carrying on my
back, as well as the one in my frame bag. From here till the end I'd
always fill both. The grind out of Atlantic City in the heat of the day
was tough, but as vistas of The Basin unfolded, with a gentle tail-cross wind
in assistance, much of the hardship of the last handful of days vanished.
The silhouette of the Yellowstone massif i was leaving behind shrunk as I
drifted south into the nothing. This was why I was doing the Tour
Divide. I found The Basin mesmerising. Many parts reminded me of
the undulating velvet expanses of central Australia. Vistas of the
Painted Desert and Oodnadatta track came to mind. Peter had earlier discussed a
possible bivvy spot on a ridge of note somewhere in the middle, but given
favourable winds I quickly decided that this was an opportunity to make up time
on that already lost, so forged ahead.
About halfway through the emptyness the terrain slowly
climbs and man-made objects appear suddenly appear; old oil
pumps and other signs of industry. Hence commenced the Wamsutter re-route
sector, involving vague double track up and along the edge of an ancient angled slab of crumbling strata. Pronghorn antelope scattered as I moved along
its rim, with different views folding away on either side. Magical stuff,
if not a tough grind in places. Eventually a more conventional dirt track
was gained with the sun aiming for the horizon over my right shoulder. I
was over 200 km for the day and kept pushing although the wind was
starting to wain as spectacular pink hues lit the sky in front of me. The
calling cards of animals told me that considerable numbers of cattle and horses
inhabited these paddocks so I pushed on, not wanting to get trampled during the
night. A dozen cattle grids later the horse and cow pats disappeared,
replaced by more evidence of industry - dozens if not hundreds of coal-seam gas
enterprises humming in the distance, some marked by the occasional light on a
stalk.
By this stage I was at about 270 km for the day.
Wamsutter was another few hours ahead as by this stage the wind had definitely
changed from cross to head, so rather than bust my chops I started looking for
a flat place to kip. There were no large animals worry to about, given
the clean track, but the sound of pumps and compressors was almost impossible
to avoid. How's the serenity? Ironic given I was theoretically in
the middle of nowhere. In the end tiredness won and I threw down camp
just off the road and slept pretty soundly after what was a pretty satisfying
day, despite the background hum, awaking with a start to the alarm, which was
shortly followed by the rumblings of a large truck heralding that the basin
wasn't done with yet.
(272 km, 2119 m)
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