July 18th. Burgess Jct., Wyoming to Paradise Valley, MT. I woke up shivering in my bag. My teeth were literally chattering. I stared at the top of my tent for a few minutes until I realized I wasn't going to warm up. I was still groggy when I slid out the tent door. It was a one-person camping tent, so it was always kind of awkward trying to figure out how to stand up and step into my boots on the way out the door. The ground was covered in frost and the water bottle I'd left on the picnic table had frozen solid. 

I had to go 14A to see the Medicine Wheel but I'd never been past the turnoff on that road. Lyle had told me it was a rapid descent on the opposite side of the Bighorns. It's so steep that the road is closed in the winter.  I had not thought about falling off the bike the day before until that cowboy mentioned how steep the road was. I had been so tired and it wasn't really a riding fall since I'd just slipped on the gravel. But I began to feel superstitious about it. Rubber side down. 

I got back on the bike feeling like something important had happened to me. I felt strong on the bike again. I cruised down the access road past two cars coming the other way. My hands weren't cold anymore and the bike sounded good. The road on the plateau up there was pretty straight and I bombed it out of there. That's the best feeling, wind in your hair, alone on a road up high, the morning sun beaming down, the smell of the trees sucking the moisture out of the air. It wasn't long before I found out what my cowboy friend had been talking about. 

I stripped down. There was no one around so I let the bathing suit be. The air tickled m skin as the sweat dried off of me. I stepped into the water. It was cold but not icy. It was the perfect moment of the year to be in that river. Late enough so that it was at its lowest and warmest and early enough that the air had not yet gotten cold. I ducked down into the eddy. It took my breath away. And came up out of it. My hamstrings relaxed and I felt the sand between my toes. Each grain of sand that high is a stone worn small and smooth by glacial force, not small pieces of dirt but venerable teachers of time, humble in their longevity but essential in quiet rest. 

Kate was the first thing I had wanted badly since I started growing my hair. The cold of the water broke my trance and I stood up. The air felt warm again. I got out and sat on the log and dripped. The vibration of the bike was gone from my body and I felt very still. The food in my belly had settled and it was enough so that I wouldn't be hungry until night. I dried myself with the bathing suit and put my clothes back on and went back to the bike. It was still sitting there by the side of the road and the cars still came by every minute or so.

I stopped to take a piss and felt like I was in an amusement park. A kid stared at me. I growled. The sun was hot and the exhilaration I had felt in the mountains had been brought low. I was tired. My friend Clay Stinson has a place in the Paradise Valley, the Yellowstone River valley north of the park that runs all the way up to Livingston, MT. I hadn't been able to reach him on the phone but I knew there was a chance he'd be out there, because he left me a message to that effect a few weeks earlier.

I was kind of limping along with the tank bag dangling around my leg and my leather jacket slung over one shoulder. I turned up their driveway. It's a long driveway cause it starts out down in the river bottom then turns and follows the water course up and over the first big hill to the place where the house is nestled in. Once I got inside their land I threw the tank bag in the tall grass with my jacket where you couldn't see it from the road and headed on up the hill. I had been wearing a tank top all day and I had put on a red bandana that Ed gave me when he said goodbye.