July 10 - Kamping is Kool

[Adele]

Have you ever camped at a KOA? For the uninitiated, that's Kampgrounds of America. We don't make a habit of it, but tonight we've pitched our tent on a grassy field in the middle of Dubois, Wyoming under the sanction of the nationwide vacation chain. Although I find the price borderline outrageous---$25 for a humble tent spot---I justify the cost as it includes showers and swimming pool, and we're close to the town's attractions.

Or, should I say, we're klose.

We're living it up today in all sorts of style (yes, it's amazing how things that seem like luxuries now would be trivial back home). Our day began with an all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast at Colter Bay, our rest day's last big hurrah.

Buffet breakfasts. These gorge-fests were a childhood festive ritual of both Brock and my families, and while I haven't treated myself to one in years, today the time had come.

We were joined by Kyle, who'd just finished grad school and was taking the interim between school and work to bike the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. This trail traces the Continental Divide from Canada down to New Mexico and it requires a certain breed of crazy to attempt it.

While I'm envious of the solitude and beauty that the route must dole out in bucketfulls, after listening to Kyle's experiences of filtering water from cow ponds, fighting off clouds of flies and mosquitoes, and pushing his rig up a 30% grade for miles, I'm happy sticking to my road bike for now.

Our stomachs stretched to full capacity with pancakes, biscuits and gravy, sausage, bacon, and everything else that constitutes a classic American breakfast buffet, we amble over to our bikes, bid Kyle goodbye and good luck, and pedal eastward.

The Teton range grows smaller with each glance that I cast over my right shoulder. I hope that we can come back to this amazing place someday and explore the hiking trails. For now, I need to content myself by filling my vision with them as often as possible.

Togwotee Pass gives us our dose of uphlll medicine for the day. At 9,600 feet, it promises to train us for Colorado's elevations. We wind up through the mountains for about 5 miles until the road turns to gravel and a flagger stops us---a pilot truck needs to take us 2 1/2 miles up the pass through a construction zone. While the flagger informs me that one staunch cyclist insisted on pedaling himself through the hazardous construction stretch, I am not so stubborn.

While it must have been about 90 degrees in the full sun and Brock and I were both pouring sweat by the time we once again reached the Continental Divide, our rest day had given new vigor to our legs and spirits. 25 miles of downhill led us through forests, past dramatic mountain pinnacles, and beside broad verdant meadows.

So far, Wyoming is treating us well.