We arose and packed up, leaving behind our cute tiny valley.... The second known source of water was coming up, a natural spring that apparently just spouts water out of the ground a little ways off the road. We both diligently looked for the spring, which we had heard would be noticeable by the large green circle around it, but we ended up missing it as we continued winding around the nothingness. A few cows dotted the landscape and we went up and down the rolling hills in perfect, windless weather. It was a little bit cool but this was an advantageous difference from the hot desert of New Mexico so I didn’t mind donning an extra layer. At mile 19 we passed through a large collection of oil rigs that eerily swayed up and down in synchronized silence. The only notable thing for the next few hours was the approach of a motorcycle who stopped and talked to us for a minute. He was a “dot watcher” and said that the leader of the Tour Divide was right behind him. We kept going and watched the horizon with rabid excitement, which soon spit out a man speeding down the hill. He waved and we cheered him on and then poof he was gone as fast as he had appeared - clearly he was trying to hold his lead through the flatness of the basin. We chatted with ourselves and marvelled at how light his set up had been - really only a small bag strapped behind his seat and some snacks strapped to the front handlebars. We did not envy him but we were quite impressed by his speed and how quickly they had caught up to us - they were on day 7 or something crazy and had already done more than us. We continued on and awkwardly paused to say hi to a pair of hikers who seemed to not want company so we hastily scampered off. Right outside the oasis of Atlantic City, we saw the second place tour racer who kindly paused to take a picture with us (he was on a climb and not going too fast at all). We then hauled ourselves up a curiously steep dirt road and then careened down an equally steep section into the sprawling metropolis of Atlantic City.

We struggled to find the few establishments that Google Maps said existed, pausing at the closed general store to strip a layer and figure out our next move. Following the all knowing Google, we ended up at a woman’s shed where she had an array of snacks, toiletries, and other items that might interest a bedraggled biker. Clearly hoping to take advantage of the route going through town, she had created this pop up shop to profit off the bikers and we obeyed, buying cold soda and ice cream (which were actually not too expensive at all). She then pointed us in the direction of the only restaurant/bar in town and we headed there for some real food.

Walking into the dingy bar, we spotted Dom from the day before happily sitting on his phone editing an Instagram reel. We sat at the bar and ate burgers while our phones charged, chatting with Dom and the folks from the restaurant. After a good dose of civilization, we decided to keep going to hopefully set ourselves up well to arrive in Pinedale the next day. Dom asked to join us and, prefacing that I was quite slow, we all sunscreened up and refilled our water in the bar before pushing off with our new crew (which included a dozen hard boiled eggs that Dom had just purchased and quickly reduced to 10). Dom’s bottom bracket was comically squeaky and the first few hills outside of town were filled with my heavy breathing, Ziven’s happy chatting, and the slow eek eek eek of Dom’s bike. We traversed the rolling hills, passing an old abandoned mining town and headed towards what I suspected to be the Wind River range. We quickly popped onto the highway for a few miles, cutting over to the next gravel road, and stopped at a rest station for the boys to use the bathroom.

Sitting outside, I was greeted by a cute dog who belonged to the caretaker of the rest station, Mary. The dog, a sort of Aussie mix with a heart shaped spot on her back, liked to hunt for mice in the fields behind the rest stop because she was not allowed to by the motor home where Mary lived. Dom and I chatted with her for a while as both of them hailed from San Diego, though Mary’s outlook on San Francisco and California was a little different. She complained that the concealed carry laws were ridiculous as well as the mask requirement during COVID. She and Dom were both anti-vaccine mandates and I thought it was interesting how California liberals and Wyoming conservatives sometimes held the same values.

We bid Mary goodbye after Ziven emerged from a tum-ultuous bathroom trip and continued on, turning off the highway and heading for the hills. The road was straight and flat until we reached a spot that Ziven immediately recognized as the thumbnail for the Great Divide on Bikepacking.com. A few pictures turned into a photo shoot as Dom had Ziven and I pose while he varied his angle and phone camera settings. We returned the favor and then continued down the winding road, keeping an eye out for a good campsite. A few miles later we stumbled across a cute little stream where a family with 2 RVs was camping. Figuring this would be the best spot for the foreseeable future, we passed the family and chose spots on the river bank. Dom was eager to use his fishing pole that somehow he had fit onto his fairly light setup so he set about fishing while Ziven and I tried to find a flat spot without too many of the stream’s mosquitos. We eventually located a spot and cooked dinner, adding our rain fly as the clouds to the south looked a little dark.

Dom offered us some of the boiled eggs he had acquired from the bar in Atlantic City but we were happy with our noodles and various desert snacks. This was our first time we had good company since our ragtag group from the Toaster House split up and it was lovely. Bidding Dom goodnight, we snuggled into our warm sleeping bags and drifted off to the sound of the babbling brook.