I packed the tent up wet that morning and fully donned my rain gear since the grey clouds still hovered. Getting over the hill the wind picked up pretty good as I made my way to Daniel Junction where I’d heard there was a gas station with a small heat lamp display of road side chicken baskets. About three miles into it I went for some water and discovered my rain cover had blown off and away. Immediately I dropped my pack and started heading back to find it. I walked about half a mile with old Rommelton left behind before I realized it was silly to go all the way back leaving everything I have to survive on by the side of the road for anyone to run over, pilfer, or whatever. I turned back and carried on.
Of course, that was when the drizzle began. Only in little drops, but of course it made me nervous about what I was to do now with no rain cover if the sky really opens up. Trash bag, make shift poncho? I figured I’d get to Daniel and see if I could hitch back and try to find it. About half a mile from the gas station a truck pulled up along the side of the road, and on a second glance I recognized it. He’d passed me three miles back or so and had been the only car to honk and wave that morning. It turns out it was because he saw the cover fly off and on his return from Pinedale stopped and retrieved it for me. My relief was so overwhelmed I could only continue to stammer out “thank you, so much”.
At the Junction the place was quite nice. It had the roadside gas station eatery feel with the hominess of a hunter’s lodge as people came in out of the cold and hung out chatting up the local gossip. I got a good breakfast of fried chicken and coffee for an hour or two before deciding to suit up proper and tie everything on for the impending rain. I even bought a pair of work gloves to keep my hands a bit warmer.
The rain didn’t come and as the sun emerged in full force I took my next break six miles down the road and skinned down to my shorts and t-shirt again. As I walked along in my sunny day, coming up on the Tetons, I engrossed my thoughts with fun filled picnics and rafting trips I want to organize when I return to Denver and begin to fully establish a home for myself for the first time in my life.
After another six miles the clouds re-gathered their strength and this time promised a good show. I dropped my bag and prepared my defense. I donned my wet pants and hoody, slicked over my parka and rain cover tightly securing the ties to the frame so it couldn’t blow off again. I broke out the yellow rubber rain hat of Gilligan’s Island fame and put on the new gloves. The rain then came and I was ready. For three or four miles down the road people would pull over offering rides wondering if I was miserable in the drenching showers that opened up. With a beaming smile, proud that for the first time I really was fully prepared for the immense volume of water that came down, I told them nope I was having the time of my life. And I was.
By the sixth or seventh mile, as the day came to a close, my joy had been worn a bit as the cold set in, but I still was proud of my get up. As a reward the flats finally entered into the mountain gateway I’d been approaching as snowcapped scenery and the road wrapped around a corner opening up an incredible vista to the northwest regions of Wyoming. At the precise mile marker I wanted to stop walking at I found a little hideaway off the road that gave a perfect view of this expanse of mountainous woodland. Numb to the bone I struggled with pitching the tent, but once I was in I had a great view and an inspirational day behind me. I read my Kavalier and Clay into the night then dropped off for a good nights sleep.