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.
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