catching up: august 4th, 2023. the great basin

it is a geologic bowl where water never leaves. there are no outlets or drainages and no meandering stream to course its way to the atlantic or pacific oceans, as directed by the continental divide.

what falls in the basin, stays in the basin.

anyone who undertakes the divide knows the great basin looms like a bouncer, eager to dash your hopes for an uneventful 120-mile sprint from atlantic city to rawlins.

the basin’s winds are fickle and if it rains, it turns the roadway into a slippery mix of clay and silt known as “peanut butter.”

if you are lucky, you can make it from atlantic city to rawlins in two days. those representing the youthful guild, and pushed by northwest winds, can make it in one.

the ride is monotonous and you can see the road 10-miles ahead as it cuts through a rise or drifts towards a valley.

you pedal as though on a treadmill. no end, just the beginning.

when i left atlantic city, the goal was to make it to the a and m reservoir, an “unofficial” divide campsite that is nestled on the shoreline of a created trout pond. the reservoir is about 78-miles from the bowels of atlantic city and if reached, leaves only a 54-mile trek to the blighted city of rawlins.

reading about the divide came with all sorts of warnings regarding the basin. “don’t run out of water”, “make sure you tell people you are riding the basin”, “check the forecast”, “plan ahead”.

old man angry at clouds.

i can tell you now, it wasn’t that bad and we were lucky. conditions were close to ideal, save for a couple sections of peanut butter. i watched a couple of prairie falcons tail-chase; likely young of the year honing their mad flight skills.

there was little other wildlife, which was surprising. a tally by the group at the a and m camp revealed some antelope and a wild horse, but mostly a long-ass ride into the middle of nowhere.