I knew the best was yet to come, though, and I needed to be patient. The riding just wasn’t nearly as interesting as I was travelling through a much more densely populated area. I knew that I had miles to cover and I carried his slight look of disappointment with me when I eventually said goodbye and pedalled away.īy the time I had reached Park City, I felt like I was in a bit of a slump. He seemed eager to continue the conversation with me and I sensed that this man was perhaps a bit lonely and enjoyed the company. We chatted for a little while about the places I had been and I eventually learned that he was a widower.
#Utah uroute full
He had coolers full of ice cold water in the back of his truck and said I could take what I wanted. And on the way out of town, a man pulled up in a pickup, where I was briefly stopped on the side of the road. Outside of the Wal-Mart (yes, for shame) I met another lady who expressed her support for me and eagerly handed over her daughter’s contact when I mentioned i was headed to Moab. He was planning his first trip and looking for advice. One man spoke to me outside of McDonalds about bikepacking. Of course, I was approached by more friendly locals. I won’t say I was too good for these familiar creature comforts, though, as I headed directly for McDonalds and devoured a large fries and chicken nuggets! The majority of the towns I passed through in Montana and Idaho were for the most part absent of these features. The Western Wildlands Route briefly ducked into a section of Wyoming in Evanston, full of strip malls and fast food chains. I was still in the realm of the sagebrush – landscapes wide open and expansive. Northern Utah was largely flanked by private land, making wild camping very difficult.
It was late September and I was in a bit of a race against the colder weather at the higher elevations that could possibly bring snow.
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