Speaking of economics, if you’re looking to do the Tour on the cheap, you can camp outside on school grounds, camp inside in the schools’ gyms (or hallways under trophy cases, as we’ll see), or anywhere else you can find a spot. Those with a little more cash can opt for hotels or indulge in services like Shuttle Guy, who lugs all your crap and provides a tent for you. Shuttle Guy also does cool things like have shade tents and treats set up at the end of the day, and you might be surprised by just how valuable a patch of shade can be during the Tour.
This year’s Tour route began and ended in Worland, a town of 5,000 or so in the Big Horn Basin. If the words “Big Horn Basin” instill romantic images of the West, think again. Oh sure, you can see the Big Horn Mountains to the east, but Worland is notorious for its awful summer weather. The Basin often claims statewide record highs.
Kathryn and I had headed to Casper on Friday night to see my dad and stepmom, who were in town for a friend’s memorial service. Chad, Melissa, and Parker came down from Sheridan and we all had dinner at a steakhouse that used to be a fancy-pants Casper dining experience.
A note here about Casper.
I shudder every time I go there. Passing landmarks from my adolescence and young adulthood is very strange, and although it’s not unpleasant, whenever I drive by Smith’s Food and Drug, cruise downtown, or go to Eastridge Mall, a flash of something funny and tragic and slightly pathetic pierces me. I think it’s my youth.
And there’s a new note to these feelings. Casper’s always had an element of terrestrial and social grit to it, thanks largely to wind and energy jobs respectively, but a more malicious edge is evident now. Tough-looking dudes in black baseball caps lurk in every restaurant, and huge, loud diesel pickups are everywhere. I’ve never thought cops have an easy job, but in Casper it must be especially awful.
We spent the night at a hotel on the east side of town, had breakfast, watched my nephew swim and got Vicki on Facebook, and then it was time to head out. After lunch at Hardee’s (another old haunt), we were finally on our way to Worland. That’s not a particularly pretty drive unless you like high deserts and gas wells.
At Shoshoni, however, the drive does get nice as you turn north and head into Wind River Canyon. That place blows my mind every time.
We rolled into Worland around 2:30, far too early for the 4:00 check in, so we scoped the Worland Community Center (formerly Worland High) and decided to set up camp on the old football field. It was broiling hot – somewhere in the upper 90’s – and once the tent was up, we headed back inside, where other cyclists trickled in.
Registration was easy: you went to a table and found a bag with your name on it. Inside the bag were some maps, wristbands if you bought meal plans, a t-shirt, and a jersey if you bought one. In February, when I’d first registered, I purchased an extra large because I’d heard that bike jerseys fit notoriously snugly. I’d since lost 10 pounds or so, or at least shifted some fat to muscle, and the extra large was going to look like a parasail. One of the Tour volunteers very kindly let me trade down a size.
At that point we had some time to kill, so Kathryn took off in the car to find wireless somewhere – anywhere – in town, and I just hung around inside the building. A few hours later Kathryn returned, having successfully parked in front of the public library and borrowed their wireless, and then it was time for an orientation session. All 400 of us crammed into the old, non-air conditioned gym, and after some safety instructions and demonstrations, we were done for the night.
The meal plan didn’t include dinner on that first night, so Kathryn and I went to Arby’s. As the sun set lower, it was finally starting to cool off on the field, so we hung around the tent. Night finally arrived. We left the rainfly off, enjoying the stars and a huge moon, and I had one of the most restless nights of my life.
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