Day 9, Westward to eastward and still on the road

Starting point: Ely, Nevada
Ending point: ???
Miles: 216...

We left the KOA in the morning, ready for our final push. We hit the dirt, divided roads that fished all across the Nevada plains, outlined by sagebrush and dust. Sand storms erupted in the distance and often crossed paths with us. The riders and the vehicles struggled, traveling less than 20 mph at some points. We were so close...



In 1861, Abraham Lincoln addressed the country with a message of unity. He was on the east coast and with the lack of communication technology, some worried that his message wouldn’t reach the west coast in time to unify the states before infant America exploded in a conflict of interests. The message reached St. Joseph, Missouri, the birthplace of the Pony Express. Majors, Waddell and Russell (Pony Express owners/founders) stationed extra horses along the route and riders rested and geared up. The weather stayed the same, threatening them all with the possibility of disaster. Riders assumed position and raced as fast as possible. Seven days and seventeen hours, the message reached California. Shortly afterward, the sunshine state decided to support the union and helped the cause of unity during the following Civil War. Not only had Pony Express riders made a record delivery time, but they made history.






In 2009, the ALT Project challenged those riders. We raced across the country, headed westward. We faced similar weather, although we were not forced to travel through snow and dark. We met rain, sand and blistering heat. Our riders had already struggled through Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Nevada and we were ...


Seven days, seventeen hours ...

Thousands of miles from home ...

Exhaustion and excitement ...

The DVD will finish the story. Check out www.jma.duq.edu/alt for more information. Our post-production should be completed by the beginning of 2010, so if you want to find out the outcome of our journey, just hold on tight and we’ll take you for a ride.



Thanks for following our journey through the less traveled roads of this beautiful country. We are planning more productions, and if you are interesting in donating to or sponsoring our educational explorations, please contact thealtproject.us@gmail.com.

Day 8, Realizing the race

Starting point: Simpson’s Creek, Utah
Ending Point: Ely Nevada
Miles: 261

We awoke from a pleasantly comfortable sleep, despite the rocks and plants that inhabited our campsite. The rim of the Great Salt Lake Desert and the plains illuminated with the sunrise. The Great Basin laid in front of us, challenging us to try to make it. The rocks showed us their layers as the great star enhanced the red rock color composition. We made our breakfast, shared conversation and got ready to hit the trail again. The stations weren’t of vital importance anymore. None of them would be manned. They would continue to be granite markings, surrounded by expanses of flatness. The terrain was difficult, dirty and dusty. The riders seemed to be doing just fine, enjoying the scenery and the vastness of the area.


The heat wasn’t unbearable, but the riders were growing weary. More than 3,000 miles have passed between us the ‘Burgh. The original Pony Express route was nearly 2,000 miles with no engines, no GPS, no sunscreen, no shields from the harshness of the terrain. But we pressed on across the plains, completely sympathizing with the 19th Century riders.


Eventually, we made it. We hit paved roads again, although they weren’t heavily maintained. These roads were smooth nonetheless, and spread many miles in between towns. Once we finally did reach a town, it was extremely small, almost village like. Trailers seemed to be an important method of inhabitance, and yards were scattered with remnants of objects that might still yield a purpose. Broken down cars rusted in the grass, but to the townspeople, they might be seen as parts for another vehicle or even another completely different purpose. We passed on through, hoping to find gas, drinks and a restroom.

It wasn’t until we stumbled upon Ibapah, Utah that we found what we were looking for. At first we pulled into what seemed to be a private plot where sheep wandered looking freshly cut. A woman there directed us back down the road to the town store. We pulled up the unpaved driveway to the single gas pump. The store was unmanned and closed, linked with an unhooked lock. We looked around and soon two girls emerged from the house across the street. The blonde one, who we later found out was only 17, crossed the street and opened the door for us. Everything was cash. There was no bathroom. We got our drinks and filled our tanks and the desperate ones rushed to the local school to use the restroom.


We sat in the 97-degree shade for a little while before heading back onto the trail. Then we jumped in the vehicles and headed forward. Making a wrong turn, we stopped to check the map. Within a couple minutes, a federal police vehicle pulled up beside us, asking if they could help. We explained to them our situation and they explained theirs. We had stopped on the Goshute Indian Tribe Reservation, a crime punishable by the impounding of our vehicles and all of our belongings. The officers allowed us to keep what we had, told us where the road was that we missed, and warned us that if we stopped on the reservation again, he would have to follow the law to the fullest extent. We were grateful for the advice and quickly reloaded and headed back to Ibapah. They followed us to the end of the reservation.

Once we stopped outside the school, we had some deliberation. The next 15 miles of the Pony Express route cut through the reservation. We could get all of our ducks in a row and hope that the roads were correct or we could take a detour. If we got lost or made a wrong turn in those 15 miles, there was absolutely no stopping to reconvene. If we circled around the reservation, that probably wouldn’t be acceptable, either. We decided to take the detour, leaving the route and heading north and around to pick up the route later on in Nevada. So we hit a similar, lightly maintained road and hightailed it toward food. We were all hot and starving, but we couldn’t believe that we were still in competition with the riders.


We were so close to our destination, but still had quite a bit of mileage ahead of us. The clock wouldn’t stop ticking. The riders were worn down. At some point I decided to jump on the back of the bike again to help keep Jim alert. I rode with him into Nevada and a small town named Ely. There we stopped at a local diner for some grub and shortly headed toward the local KOA.

The rest of the night entailed the usual conversation, planning, reflection and an addition of jolly libations. We were ready to show the Pony Express our endurance. One more day left, a few hundred miles to go and none of us were sure of the outcome.

Day 7, From Wyoming to true wilderness

Starting point: Lyman, Wyoming
Ending point: Simpson’s Creek, Utah
Miles: 272

We left our KOA in Lyman with no real hurry because we rescheduled our goal of reaching Salt Lake City. Thus, we were able to make an extra, unexpected stop.

After we packed up our gear and jumped in the vehicles, our first stop was actually the next exit, Fort Bridger. Fort Bridger National Historic Site, according to its Web site, claims to be a ghost town. It sort of is, in the sense that no one inhabits the renovated properties that still stand from the mid-1800s. However, the town sign boasted a population of nearly 200. Nevertheless, we decided to stop to survey the area and have a quick chat with whoever was available.

I found Herbert Sampson, an employee of the National Historic Site who had been working there for 17 years. Although he knew much more about the Fort’s military connection than its Pony Express relation, he was able to provide us with an interesting perspective. Fort Bridger was just a relay station – where riders would switch horses (usually in no more than two minutes) and ride 10-15 miles to the next relay. As for the horses themselves, he boasted of their capabilities more so than that of the riders. He said that regardless of what happened, the horse would push on to the next station, using its keen sense of direction to deliver the mail if the mochila was intact. According to the National Pony Express Association, only one mochila was lost in the Pony Express' 18 months of existence.

After our discussion, we surveyed the area which was laid out similarly to that of Fort Laramie (John Bridger, the founder of Fort Bridger, had also played a role here), including checking out soldiers’ quarters and an actual Pony Express stable.

Then we pushed forward, hoping to reach The Needles aka Needle Rocks and then Hanging Rock. Unfortunately, we were following Interstate-80, which actually often coincides with the original route. However, right along the border of Wyoming and Utah, I-80 runs north of the trail, so we accidentally missed both.

We instead ended up taking a detour and stumbling upon a station. Two memorials marked Weber Station: one of granite and the other of what seemed to be an iron rod stuck in concrete surrounded by two horseshoes. Grasshoppers ran rampant here and we enjoyed the pleasant surprise. Also, Joe Ball (who was still riding the bike) decided to run up a hill just for fun. At the top he discovered a Geocache and ran back down in full riding gear, face full of excitement.

Then we headed to Salt Lake City for lunch and a meeting with our director, Jim Vota.

There we hung out for a little while, relaxing and catching up on what had occurred over the last few days. We finally decided to just head west on the route, seeing how far we could make it. We plotted out a few locations, but because of the remoteness of the area, none were manned stations and most were marked only by granite memorials.










When we reached Lookout Pass, though, we couldn’t have missed it. The view was absolutely magnificent, stretching miles in front of us across Utah desert and into distance shadows of mountains that looked like they could never be reached. The riders took a little time to play, calculating the gravel and realizing that the terrain often overcomes. We enjoyed our stop, but as we saw the sun inching toward the horizon, we decided to push on to the next stop, which was also the closest camping location.


It was about 15 miles to Simpson Springs, at least 25 to any sort of civilization. We pulled up with the sun still in the sky, lighting the hills with pinks and blues and purples. We checked out the site, which consisted of a reconstructed station and some boulders that were once a type of lodging. We headed up the hill, past dirt paths and a cave. No one was around. One lonely car passed the site, far down on the road at the bottom of the hill. We couldn’t tell when the last time anyone camped at the location. We set our tents closely to enhance our safety (hopefully).


Then we realized the lack of light. The sun was sinking and the shadows kept creeping and expanding. Firewood was quickly an absolute necessity and we slightly regretted not picking some up at a previous gas station. It was a difficult search, but I did my best, picking up small scraps and jumping at the chirping of crickets every other minute. I knew that rattlesnakes lived in the area, and I could only imagine what else could assault my ankles. I tread carefully and found the driest possible pieces of wood. I returned to the site and the fire pit, carefully arranging the pieces for optimum burning. The result was relatively pathetic.

Greg had also been riding his motorcycle through the close-by campsites, looking for wood. He came back empty handed with an idea. I hopped on the back of the bike and we headed to a local site. As we were riding, I looked down to the left, saw a slithering figure of tan scales, and slightly overreacted. I scared the crap out of Greg, causing him to slightly fishtail and realize that we closely escaped a rattlesnake. We weren’t sure of the state of the snake, but we didn’t stop to check, either.

Then we made it. Greg pointed to his find, a log dotted in spikes, approximately five-feet long. I looked at him. I looked at the log. I shrugged my shoulders with a giggle and we loaded it onto the back of the bike quickly, using only one strap. We both hopped on and I did my best to help balance the bike, but Greg’s skills overcame the task as he perfectly maneuvered his handlebars (while also keeping an eye out for more snakes) and the three of us made it back to the site in one piece – all to the amusement of the rest of the crew.


Some other crewmembers also were gathering firewood and had actually started the fire when we arrived with our find. We enjoyed the warmth and light and ate some dinner (freeze-dried Mountain House camp food).

Once we were done, we looked up. We turned off all our lights. Our pupils dilated and our minds expanded, taking in the universe. We talked of parallel universes and reality, spotted satellites and sat in awe of the live and dead twinkling stars. The Milky Way faintly spanned the eastern sky, moving higher as the night aged and the world turned. We were all in complete bliss and fell asleep with the rattlesnakes.

Day 6, Entering the "Great American Desert"

Starting point: Casper, Wyoming
Ending point: Lyman, Wyoming
Miles: 368

The reality of the difficulty of the Pony Express route finally hit our crew today. We woke up after a lovely night's rest at a campground at Fort Casper in Wyoming. We didn't get a chance to stop at the Fort because we had a long goal in front of us: Evanston, on the other side of this expansive state.

From the beginning of the day, our crew split up. A few of us, including the two riders, headed to a local motorcycle shop to switch out some tires on Jim's bike.

It took about an hour, so while we took care of that, the rest of the crew headed toward the first destination. We met up at Independence Rock, a geological landmark that is only marked by itself. The first group of the crew totally passed it up, expecting to see a sign and wondering how large Independence Rock could actually be when they passed by the real site. They found their way, though, and before most of the tourists. They had the opportunity to spend about an hour at the site filming and chilling with some sun-bathing bunnies at the top of the massive feature.


The second half of our crew had a little time to rest and enjoy the scenery, and then we all pushed forward, reunited once again.

We passed by quite a few landmarks, including Devil's Gate and Split Rock, vital geological features that help both Pony Express riders and Oregon Trail travelers navigate through the outskirts of what would soon become considered a dangerous desert.

We continued moving forward on our route, making excellent time on paved, yet less-traveled roads. Then the GPS route took us on what truly looked like the Pony Express way. We were on bumpy, rutty dirt roads in the middle of Wyoming. Nothing surrounded us but sagebrush, mosquitoes and sky.

We struggled forward, enjoying the scenery and tensions arose because of the remoteness of the area. Finally we reached a point of no return, a steep creek that only the motorcycles could cross. Plus, it was about three in the afternoon and we still had a long way to go. We all followed the advice of the videographers and returned to the pavement.

We stopped to revamp a few times, and at one gas station we ran into a local named Pete with a historical connection. He told us that on his property, just three miles down the road, he had located an old grave from 1851, nearly 10 years before the Pony Express. A few of us were intrigued and we followed him to the location. We checked out the site, which had been worn by time and weather and suffered the marking of a high-powered rifle. I surveyed the area, imagining a complete lack of civilization and what might have caused this lonely traveler to meet the other side. After a few pictures were taken and thanks were given, we returned to the gas station and reconvened with the crew.


Pushing forward, we hoped to reach Evanston. But the more we traveled, the more we recalculated. We thought about stopping at Fort Bridger to camp and check out the site, but since we had a deadline set for 10 a.m. tomorrow morning to be in Salt Lake City, Utah, our Masters (Time and Distance, once again) were looming above us and wagging their fingers.

We moved forward. The sun was setting. Temperatures were dropping slightly. One of the riders, Greg, was starting to get a headache. Since our law is the riders' safety first, we stopped. Luckily, we found a KOA (Kampground of America) at the next stop after Fort Bridger, Lyman, Wyoming. Currently, we are only 40 miles away from our ideal destination, setting us about 100 miles away from Salt Lake. There are no sites planned in between so we shouldn't have any problems making it on time.

As for our plans after that, you'll just have to wait for my next post.

Count down: Four days, nine hours

Days 4 & 5: Time out and then racing through Wyoming

Starting point: Evergreen, Co.
Ending point: Longmont, Co.
Miles: 116

Day 4 was technically a time out in our race to the west. One of our sponsors, Wolfman Motorcycle Luggage, has been extremely helpful to our riders since the day Jim started dreaming up these crazy ideas of using less traveled alternate routes to show the story of America. But with all of the help of donated luggage and support, Jim had never actually met Eric Hougen, the founder of the company. They had talked on the phone plenty of times, so when we found out that we would be traveling near Colorado this summer, Jim decided that it was imperative that we meet up with them in Longmont.


It was a wonderful idea. Eric and his partner, Heidi Stack, were some of the most pleasant people I have ever met. They seemed so excited to finally meet our crew and we spent some time discussing motorcycles and traveling and the Colorado area. Eric also showed us one of his street-legal electric bikes, which was absolutely awesome. The machine was slick, quick and so quiet that he claimed you could sneak up on hikers and scare the living crap out of them. It only reaches about 45 mph, but the power is instant. Both Jim and Greg had the opportunity to take it for a spin through the parking lot, and Jim actually said he was intimidated by its power. We stayed and talked for a while before finally deciding to resume our trip.

However, we decided to just stay the night in Longmont and resume our race on a fresh day.


Starting point: Longmont, Co.
Ending point: Casper, Wy.
Miles: 337

Day 5 followed the concept of the Pony Express and was an opportunity to switch riders. Longmont was like our home station for our trip. Jim allowed our photographer, Joe, to ride his bike. He's riding it all the way across Wyoming. But even though Joe's skills seem limitless, we thought it best to let him ride along only with Greg for a while to get acclimated to the motorcycle. So we split up and decided to meet about 150 miles away at Fort Laramie National Historical Site.


On the way there, we were trying to figure out a way to schedule an interview. Unfortunately with some government-run institutions, like Fort Laramie, press credentials are required. But since we are conducting this project for educational uses, we are usually able to get around it. Regardless, we wanted to find an outside source, a local, that could show us around and share some knowledge of the history with us.

On our way through Wyoming into Colorado the day before, we had met a gentleman at a rest stop named Dave. Jason, our field director, sparked up conversation with him and they exchanged information. Because of Dave's background in the media, Jason figured he might be able to point us in the right direction - and he couldn't have found us a more easy-going, available and knowledgeable contact than Robert Melonuk.

Robert met us at Fort Laramie American Grill where we were able to introduce ourselves and get a little background. Robert has lived in Fort Laramie for most of his life, had a career as a teacher, and even though he is now retired, was once a historian at the site. He agreed to take us to Fort Laramie for a guided tour, so after a cup of coffee and apparently "the best meal of our life", as the diner sign boasted, we headed the three miles to the site.

There, after we passed through the security with our cameras, Robert just let the information flow. He explained Fort Laramie as "the last vestige of civilization" not only for Pony Express riders but for any travelers heading into the Great American Desert that spans the west before the coast. Although Fort Laramie wasn't exactly a Pony Express station, riders found themselves in the fort because of the volume of mail coming and going from the military premises.


Fort Laramie is also home to the oldest building and the oldest post office in Wyoming. Established in 1834, the now 175-year-old site is the oldest continuous settlement in Wyoming, a state of flat lands and bluffs that suffers from the strong weather that is pushed over and down the looming mountains. It began with the fur trade business, was then bought out by the military, became the center for a community (the small town of Fort Laramie itself is home to less than 300 inhabitants). As we toured the site, we could see a storm forming, billowing clouds that darkened over a short period of time and threatened us periodically with strong gusts of chilly wind. It eventually began to rain, and Robert looked at the sky to remind us that we were in the rain just like the Pony Express riders would have been.

Weather, he claimed, was probably the biggest obstacles for riders in this region of the country. The geography of deserts and mountains and the clashes of hot and cold must have been overwhelmingly intimidating to riders who couldn't escape to the safety of a vehicle or hotel. Fort Laramie was a haven to riders traveling eastward and an encouragement to those traveling into the west.

Even more interesting than the information provided by the site, Robert added another connection to the fort. His great-grandfather was actually one of the last civil engineers of Fort Laramie. At the time, Robert explained, the military didn't have very many civil engineers to help with forts and other locations like this one, so his great-grandfather probably played a huge role in helping to shape the community of Fort Laramie. How much he contributed, I am not sure, but the personal connection to the history of this area was a pleasant surprise that added character to Robert's stories and information.

We left the Fort kind of late and did our best to head as far west as possible. We didn't make too many stops and set a goal at Fort Casper in Casper, Wyoming. Unfortunately, we arrived five minutes after the museum closed, so we decided to eat and camp right there. Hopefully we might gain some valuable information from this location before pushing onward.


Tomorrow's goal: Evanston, Wyoming.

Count down: Five days, three hours

Day 3, From the heat of Nebraska and into the Rockies

Starting point: Ogallala, Nebraska
Ending point: Evergreen, Colorado
Miles: Approx. 350

Even though we hightailed it to Ogallala last night and arrived late - during a thunderstorm nonetheless - we made it a priority to visit the lake. The three veteran crew members, Bill Lyon, Jim Vota and myself, enjoyed a night of nostalgia as we stayed at the same Super 8 we stayed at on last year's trip. The hotel even had the same greeting posted to passers-by: "It's gr8 to see you." We were elated that we made the destination and headed to Lake McConaughy.

For those who hadn't visited the lake before, it was a pleasant surprise. I believe this lake to be one of America's greatest kept secrets. There are no ads. There are no PR stints. It's just an absolutely beautiful man-made lake in the middle of Nebraska that Jim happened to stumble upon. As for the crew members, we are just lucky enough to be a part of the ALT Project to get to experience it.


We probably spent about two hours at the lake, dipping our feet and playing with native toads. A few crew members jumped in completely to get the full effect. The water was perfect - lukewarm and slightly cooler than my ideal bath. We simply reveled in the beauty of the area and enjoyed each other's company until our Masters (Time and Distance, of course) forced us back to the vehicles.

Onward we pushed along the Pony Express Route. We only had three stops planned for the day: Chimney Rock, Scotts Bluff National Monument and Fort Laramie National Historic Site. First along the route was Chimney Rock, a 325-foot-tall landmark approximately 2 miles off of the route. The formation was impressive, jutting high into the sky. We stayed for a little while, surveying the museum and viewing the rock from a nearby settler's cemetery, where the unfortunate travelers just couldn't make it through the terrain.


Another 20 miles westward, we hit Scotts Bluff, another landmark used by Pony Express riders and old-time travelers. Here is where a few of the trails converge, right along the Wyoming border. From the top of the bluff, we could see Chimney Rock sitting in the distance, and impressive testament to mother nature's aid in helping these traveler's find their way. We took some photos, staged some shots and headed back out on the road.


Unfortunately, by the time we left this location, we had to hurry to reach our destination: Evergreen. There we would be meeting up with some friend's of one of the riders, Greg, who had agreed to allow us to camp out in their backyard. We arrived late due to some construction and traffic issues along the way. It was a warm welcome, and a warm house. The temperatures had dropped from more than 90 degrees in Scotts Bluff to about 56 and it felt absolutely splendid. We wouldn't have minded camping out, but when Dave and his wife invited us into their home, we didn't refuse. We spent a little time with our hosts and each other, reveling in our accomplishments thus far. This crew is amazing and everyone seems genuinely thrilled to have the opportunity to travel these beautiful lands.

Today we will travel to Longmont, Co., to visit our sponsor from Wolfman Motorcycle Luggage and then head back out on the route.

Count down: Five days, 14 hours

Day 2, racing the Pony Express

Starting point: Marysville, KS
Ending point: Ogallala, NE
Miles: Approx. 460

After leaving the Thunderbird Motel this morning we headed into Marysville to check out one of the Pony Express Barns. Unfortunately it was closed, but we got a good peek inside the dirty, relatively authentic building. By 9 a.m. the temperature was already climbing the 80s. We decided it would be best to hit the trail and get the air flowing through the riders' heavy gear.

We hit some substantial dirt. We were able to make good time even though the trucks often fishtailed across small areas of dirt and gravel. The bikes held up well and kept their pace, the riders pushing harder to keep balance. It was an awesome feeling to look around the path and acknowledge that we were witnessing a similar scene as Pony Express Riders would have nearly 150 years ago.

After passing through a few small Kansas towns we found the Hollenberg Pony Express Home Station. Even though it is closed on Tuesdays, we happened to run into the site administrator, Duane Durst, who was tending to the small garden. He was more than happy to open up the museum and ward of the swarms of hornets that buzzed by its doors.

Mr. Durst invited us in after turning on the air conditioner (an open window in the front room) and gave us an extremely informative view of the building. Hollenberg Station is one of the most original PE stations left. Built in 1857, the premises housed the weary riders on their westward journey. Mr. and Mrs. Hollenberg manned the station, living with about seven other people. The small second floor, which looked more like an attic, was where the riders would rest - most likely right on the floor. With temperatures reaching more than 100 degrees by this point, it was difficult to imagine how these men were able to sleep at all.


After the interview tour and a group photo with Mr. Durst, we hit the dirt again, crossing the Nebraska state line. It was hard to keep up with the riders in our 1996 Chevy, but we did our best. Until the muffler fell off. Driving across a dirt intersection, the truck erupted with sound and I shortly pulled over to survey the damage. It didn't seem to be too bad, but the pipe was not stable and had somehow come loose. We had to fix it right away, so we caught up with the rest of the crew and redirected to Beatrice, Nebraska. The other vehicle suffered a small crack in the windshield as well.

Once we found a shop to weld the muffler back on, we decided to choose our battles and hightail it to our ideal destination: Ogallala, Nebraska, about 313 miles away. The riders were ready for it.

Even during lunch, before we hit the road, the clouds were conspiring. They balled up in fluffy menacing figures, expanding and threatening storms. I checked the forecast - severe thunderstorms. We looked at the sky. It wasn't quite dark and didn't seem to really have the capacity to produce any serious tornadoes or other dangers, so I asked to ride.

Jim and Greg (the two riders) thought that would be fine. I laced up my boots, threw on a helmet and jumped on the back of Jim's BMW. Being in Nebraska was just as exciting as following the Pony Express route. The idea of real people on a real mission following the same path under completely different circumstances was nearly overwhelming. I spent the rest of the day surveying the landscapes from the back of the bike, secretly wishing that the horsepower beneath me was an actual horse.

Regardless, it was a beautiful ride. The clouds weren't exactly inviting, though. Lighting streaked across the sky, threatening to close in on us. We beat the rain and made it into town around 10 p.m., Mountain Time.

Tomorrow we plan to follow the route to Chimney Rock, Scott's Bluff and Fort Laramie in Wyoming. Then we hope that we'll be able to make it down Route 25 into Colorado to meet one of our sponsors from Wolfman. Tomorrow's forecast: Thunderstorms. I think I'll stay in the truck.

Count down: Six days, five hours left