Pie, and nothing else, in Wyoming
A forty-mile detour for a slice of rhubarb pie. The coffee was $2. The second cup made leaving considerably harder.
Routes
Five entries from the long way round. Some became stories. Some were mostly lunch.
Highway 1 before the fog
Seventy miles of salt air, a lighthouse before breakfast, and a turn inland when the fog finally caught up.
Read the field notes ↗
Where the pavement ends
Eleven miles of gravel, a cold lake, and mountains still wearing last winter. The odometer did very little. I approved.
Route 163 at golden hour
A straight line between red rocks. Forty-five miles, two long stops, and a fuel receipt that proved more useful than my plan.
Read the field notes ↗
A night in the high desert
A tired motel, an enthusiastic ice machine, and dinner across the road. I booked one night and stayed for the quiet.
