Day 43: Rook, Bonesy, and the Sundance Kid

You Guys. There is so much to write about. We've been in the Black Hills of South Dakota and it has been breathtaking. Right now we're in the Crook County Public Library in Sundance, Wyoming, and I'm going to try to get some of this down before they close.
First of all, we're in Wyoming! That means we're no longer in Vermont, New York, Ontario, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, or South Dakota. I meant to remark on this earlier, but the MN/SD border was the first one we crossed on dry land, and Wyoming's was the second: I guess that's a prettty good indicator of how the land was settled. The eponymous "Sundance Kid" is actually named Mike, and he's from Ohio. We met him at the Subway (they're like biker bars for touring cyclists) in town here and are hoping to bump into him later on in the campground. He's biking to Gillette, so this was his penultimate day of riding -- something kind of strange to think about for us, as we still have about 1,500 miles to ride. I am of course looking forward to reacing California, but not necessarily as it represents the end of the trip. How strange it will be to go to bed knowing what we're going to do the next day.
So yesterday was Independence Day, and we were tired, so we declared Independence from cycling and hung out at the campsite all day. What a campsite it was, readers! We pitched our tent right beside a winding little stream; ate watermelon and corn on the cob and BLT's; read books in the shade; read books in the sun; went for a short bike ride through town before we decided that, if we weren't going to ride, we might as well really not ride; made a fire and ate s'mores. We made boats out of the watermelon eighths and raced them between the little bridges over the stream. There were no fireworks, but we slept very well anyway and it was a day well spent.
Today we meant to ride to Moorcroft, WY but then we got here and the weather was looking just impressively foreboding, and there's literally no shelter to be had between here and there, so we thought we'd wait a bit in the library and see if it would blow over or what. Then I'm looking at google maps and it turns out that -- and there is some math here, so follow me if you will -- we're 32 mi from Moorcroft, which is 30 mi from Gillette, which is 70 mi from Buffalo, and there's nothing in between these towns. So what would have happened, arithmetic readers, is that we'd've woken up in Moorcroft tomorrow and ridden 30 miles to Gillette only to be confronted with 70 barren miles to Buffalo and a forecast calling for thunderstorms. No thank you, readers: we've not ridden over 80 miles in a day yet, let alone 100 with no services for the last 70 and a very good chance of dying high-voltage (though, to be fair, also near-instantaneous) deaths with no witnesses but the rain and the antelope. Point being, we're just hanging out here tonight. At least it has encouraged me to update this consarned blogograph.
So July 2nd and 3rd were far and away the best riding to date. On the third we rode the norther half of the Mickleson Trail (a 100 and something mile rail trail maintained by the state) from Hill City to Spearfish, SD. Actually, the last portion of that consisted of a 3 miles up and 3 miles down a 7% grade, which was a hoot, and then about 20 miles from the top to the bottom of Spearfish Canyon. Oh, photophillic readers, await these pictures with that special excitement you reserve for the most stunning of artistic achievement, like for example HARRY POTTER 7: THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PART 2, which comes out on July 15th. Neverminde that we'll probably be in Yellowstone National Park -- I can't wait to see that movie.
In fact, from now until the fifteenth, I'm going to stop writing about cycling across the country and start chronicling my feelings and emotions relating to the imminent rapture (the opening of HP7:tDHp2). Once that moment has come and gone, and I have spent several posts describing my experience thereat, then we may return to the humdrum events of days on the road. Oh, including the time we stayed with John of the Prairie Dog Cycling Club. That's a good story, but not at good as HP7:tDHp2.
Ride on.