OMD Travelogue | Day 384 – Mallory Paige

Slowing to the town limit of 25 mph, I note the crowds of people. Wonder why the streets are lined with lawn chairs and gaggles of small children. Giggling in my helmet, I remember. It’s 4th of July and the town parade clearly just ended. It’s a bit absurd, but we spend the next couple miles driving slowly. Waving and smiling. Unintentionally becoming an odd parade follow up.

Rolling through western Wyoming the alfalfa fields stretch for as far as the eye can see. Sway gently in the breeze. Cresting a hill, the mountains loom large in the background, belie a coming change of scenery and climate.

Weaving along slowly we gain elevation. Make our way into Big Horn National Forest. Twisting and turning, I pull off at every available turn out. The speedometer is out, so I don’t precisely know how fast I’m going, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve learned it’s best to just go on feel anyways. It doesn’t matter what the posted speed limit is, I can only go as fast or slow as comfortable. It’s not about what other people want, but what feels right to me.

More than just related to slow speeds, it’s a lesson I’ve learned again and again over the past year. The fact is people will always have an opinion about what you’re doing. Some will love it, some will hate. Some will send notes of encouragement, others will write to tell you how lame you are. The kindness might buoy you momentarily and the negativity might bring a few tears, but as long as deep down your motivations are pure and inline with who you want to become, it doesn’t matter. The good or the bad. For it’s equally important not to get wrapped up in the praise as it is to be taken down by the haters.

As Marcus Aurelius reminded himself, “Ambition means tying your well-being to what other people say or do . . . Sanity means tying it to your own actions.”

Reaching the top of the mountain, I swing off the road. Snap a picture of Baylor, zip my jacket tight against the elevated chill and hop back on the bike. Unsure of vacancies during this holiday weekend, I’ve made a camp reservation and it’s just on the other side of the mountain.

Dark clouds rolling in, I hastily set up the tent, secure everything against wind and rain. Watch as the clouds blow right past and the sun peeks out. There really is no better way to chase off bad weather than to be prepared for it. I swear there must be some sort of hobo Murphy’s Law at work there.

Walking around the site I notice the previous tenants spilled an entire bag of dog food, just left it scattered across the tent space. Not wanting my tent mate to awake sick in the night, I pull Baylor away as he tries to scarf down every old morsel. Not wanting to be eaten by a bear in the night, I go looking for the host.

Shovel in hand, Ron cleans up the dog food. Shakes his head, There have been bears around here and it’s no wonder with stuff like this. I wish they would just tell me when they left so I could clean it up right away. Then it would be no big deal.

I ask Ron about where he came from, how long he’s been here. Learn that prior to a stint on a dude ranch in Texas, he hailed from my homestate of Colorado. We talk about favorite places, what his dog thinks of their second year, where he’ll go next. Blue skies shining, stream trickling through emerald green underbrush, I look around. Well, you certainly picked a beautiful place here.

He looks around. I guess. It’s easier to see how beautiful it is when you’re not working here. But you’re right. It’s just the people sometimes. I have to remind myself that people will be people.

Wading across the stream I think about this. Laugh as Baylor tries for some reason to hop from rock to rock and instead plops unceremoniously into the water. Looks up at me grinning. Breaking free of the forest, I squint against the sudden change in light. Walk around the lake’s edge to find an ideal spot.

Pulling out my pocket fisherman, I cast. Drag in lake grass. From the boats bobbing in the distance it’s clear the best fishing happens much farther out. Regardless I cast out again and again. Just for the fun of it.

Lounging in the sun, I pull out my book. Baylor walks over. Stands close, looks right at me and shakes enthusiastically. Rolling my eyes, I pat his head. Sometimes a dog’s just gotta be a dog.

384 days down. Many to come.