"The greatest aspect of spontaneous bicycle travel: you start at point A, the beginning, and you choose point B, as the ending. Whatever happens between those two points allows you to live creatively, vivaciously and extemporaneously. 

"A lot of times, people ask us, "Where are you camping tonight?" We answer, "Wherever we end up; usually the perfect camp-spot." How many miles do you ride in a day? We answer, "Depends on what happens. Could be 5 miles or it could be 50. We really never know." 

"Wouldn't it be easier to ride in a car?" We answer, "We're not looking for speed, ease or luxury. There's something about hardship, physical difficulty and a magnificent mountain pass that let's you know you're alive."

"Why do you cycle?" a lady asked one day. We answer, "It's a combination of body, mind and spirit. It's a sense of your legs intimately relating to the terrain, and remembering the land as if it stamped a glorious imprint on your heart. Sometimes it's good to get lost in order to find yourself. There's a lot of spiritual wisdom out there on the road. Cycling offers yet another path toward enlightenment." 

"Why do you camp out?" one tourist asked. We answered, "Nature's finest moments spring out of the good earth, down from the ink-black of space, and out from the campfire that burns its indolent beauty into our hearts. Probably nothing like the burning embers of a camp fire to sooth your soul, and that gray smoke curling up into the pine needles over-domed with stars, gives your soul a sense of connectedness with the Great Spirit. You realize that Nature teaches a powerful lesson that your life and your destiny are linked to the entire natural world and that Nature provides you with salvation for your soul." 

"That was a good sleep," Tim said in the morning. "Must have something to do with that campfire last night, the stars and the good company."
"Heck," David said. "We don't care about all the nasty stuff we heard about you from other rides; you're okay in our book."
"No question that a 18 mile climb up a heavy-duty pass lets you know you're alive," I said. "And, it makes sleep like a rock. I was dead out before I hit the pillow."
"Let's get down this mountain and into DuBois," I said. "You guys ever ride a Jackalope?"
"What the heck is that?" Tim said.

"Good," I said. "A little mystery to get you into DuBois, Wyoming. "You'll find out."

The next half hour, we coasted down the mountain along streams, a few waterfalls, and a heap of green meadows filled with wildflowers. Would hate to fly past all that beauty at the speed of a car! Also, there's something to be said for the feeling of rolling your bike with gravity-power after you busted your butt grinding up that pass yesterday. There's a yin-yang to cycling that creates terrific appreciation for each moment. You know it won't happen again.

As a matter of fact, Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise said it best, "Someone once said that time stalks all of us. It chases us down until it devours us with old age and ultimately death. I like to think of time as a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we lived."

Indeed on a bicycle adventure, time slows down. A cyclist savors each moment with a sense of a fine wine to be sipped not gulped, or a hot bath with candles to linger with your skin, or an evening dinner with friends around a fire. 

We rolled down that mountain and into the canyon. A braided river followed us, along with hawks in the sky and mountain goats on the rim of the canyon that guided us to Dubois. Just rip roarin' western wilderness that brought a smile to our faces. The mountain men rode horses and mules while we rode our steel steeds.

Within an hour, we rolled into DuBois, and old, old cowboy town. We ate brunch at the Cowboy Café where hundreds of thousands of people have eaten for over a hundred years. When you sit down in that café, you're sitting down with history. Also, the town features artists and sculptors. One guy plays a piano on the boardwalk. They feature horse parades in the summer and lots of bicycle events.

We stopped at the "Jackalope" corral where we jumped onto a 10 foot high "Jackalope" or a cross between a jack rabbit and an antelope. They featured a stuffed rendition of one of those wild critters. They slung a saddle on its back and invited tourists to mount the beast for pictures. Fable tells it that if the Jackalope bucks you off, it eats you. Good reason to hang on for dear life! We all took pictures while riding the critter.

After filling ourselves up to the brim, we filled our water bottles and headed out of town. 

For certain, riding south on Route 287 out of Dubois features incredible red-tan sandstone cliffs with extravagant shapes and colors. Especially when buttressed against a gorgeous blue sky with occasional white, puffy clouds! And, below the road, a roaring river cascading over rocks and things on its way toward the sea.

"Riding doesn't get any better than this," said David.
"You got that right," said Tim.

After a few miles out of town, Tim took Route 26 eastbound on his way to Bar Harbor, Maine.
"Been fun riding with you guys," he said. "Let's keep in touch."

In fact, two months later, he wrote us with his victorious moment on the Atlantic Ocean in Bar Harbor, Maine. Hell of a good man!

David and I turned right while we waved as Tim rode east. It's always a sad feeling to see a bicycle mate take a turn away from the group. That's the amazing aspect of bicycle adventure. You meet some exemplary individuals, and then, they take another path. I think it works back to Picard's quote, "It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again."

David and Frosty's Excellent Adventure: Bicycling the Continental Divide