The Thunderhead Basin National Grasslands paint a swath of washed green across eastern Wyoming. The KLR 650s rose and fell over the rolling, treeless landscape more like waverunners than motorcycles. We were making great time- as if it mattered- and were eager to pitch camp. The Big Horn Mountain Range slowly lifted its head to get a glimpse of us, as if to say, AH..I HEARD ABOUT THESE TWO.

Ascending a 50 hairpin mountain road on a motorcycle is exhilerating. Introducing a few new factors however, such as: large, loose gravel; absurdly overloaded bikes and being a little rusty in the saddle of a very large motorcycle, tips the scale of the experience into something more like brink-of-tolerable terror. Nonetheless we crested the Big Horns and made camp. According to our coordinates and calculations we were positioned directly in the center of..well..nowhere. I love it when a plan comes together.

In this story I will not go deeply into each campsite, as camping is a lot like a sunset: if you werent there, it just doesnt sound like that big of a deal. However, I am going to discuss THIS camp- not because it overlooked the entire Thunderhead Grasslands, not because it was barrelled in a 75 foot wave-like rock formation, not because the only sound was the whistle of pine needles & crackle of fire, and not because the only lightbulbs visible were from Gods front porch. What was special about this camp is that it was the first. It was the adventures inaugural evening. It was the camp that said, GUYS YOU DID IT. YOU DESIRED, PLANNED AND EXECUTED ONCE AGAIN, 20 YEARS RUNNING! The purpose of life is to live it.
Another really great thing about this camp was that I was the first one to think of a Brokeback Mountain joke- it helped cut the tension..ha.

There is a recommended protocol for food storage in bear country. After dinner we cleaned up, organized the crude kitchen and prepared for a proper-sitting around the fire, I.E. sitting, staring, throwing twigs into it and discussing the select debacles of the last 20 years adventures until our sides hurt. But first, we had a PROTOCOL to contend with. The theory is that if you pack your food, hike it 100 yards away from camp and suspend it in a tree you are as good as bear proof. Sounds sensible right? Well, standing there with the packed food, we we ran into one little hitch: Which boy from Florida was going to hike 100 yards across the side of a mountain into the pitch-darkness of bear country with a bagful of food?

I survived, but I swear that coin he uses is loaded.

PART 3 coming soon: A town of characters, virtually seething with sulfur springs, called THERMOPOLIS!..no kidding