I arrive in Casper. Stage 8 complete.

The tiny “bergs”, really small little places sparingly dot the long desert by way. There are virtually no services out here. I eat peanut butter on crackers to keep me content. Once these towns were more vibrant like when uranium was discovered. Now the mine is closed. Gas fields still adorn the landscape. But like Powder River Moneta, Hiland and other places have seeped through the cracks of history. I feel honored to have had the opportunityof roaming their land before they are gone forever.

I am from New York but here is how I remember Gene Autry [1950’s correct?] “Home, home n the range where the deer and the antelope roam…” Now I know firsthand what the venerable Gene meant by the word “range”. Wow! It is the very desert prairie I am crossing.

I know this place is dry, hot desolate, dreary, withering and despondent. But, now I am used to her. “….And never was heard a discouraging word and the sky is not cloudy above”
You got it right Gene!

I left the safety of the road, walked onto the prairie, and I nearly ran after the small heard of Pronhorn Antelope before I stopped myself remembering that I am only a race walker. The elegant creatures are swift and need the open plain to roam. She resembles a cross between a gazelle and a deer. Antelopes spook easily. When they saw me approach from 100 yards away they took off sprinting. The heard never looked back. They flew across the prairie as fast as a horse and as cunning as a jackrabbit.

OK, all day I succeeded in not dwelling on those horrid events of 2001. I was in New York City on that evil day. I am still saddened by the massive loss of the innocent and still deeply angry at the cowards who perpetrated this act and at every one of their present day sympathizers. Life for the living goes on, of course, and I keep walking hoping to do some good for mankind and perhaps off set the evil created by the radical Islamic Devils.

Day 13, non-stop, on my quest to complete Stage 8 of the Dream Walk. The drabness west of Shoshoni wears on. A gentle breeze offset somewhat the 82 degrees temperature. I saw a bird, a crow, I think. Oddly, I haven’t seen birds in the desert for three days.

A highway patrol officer buzzed up and down the road pulling over Sunday speeders. I am moving so slowly that I get to catch all of the action. I wanted to warn the oncoming drivers but also did not want them to mistake my arm waving as a sign of a walker in distress.

Late in the afternoon weary and ready to relax I encountered a trike, a low to the ground three wheeled bicycle. “The bag lady 07” had just completed a 2500 mile cycling adventure and was headed home to Riverton. “I have driven through Wind River Canyon before but I never really experienced it until today when I biked it”, she remarked. Bravo Bag lady!

P.S. This intrepid traveler apparently got her nick name because tow elegant saddle bags, securing all of her meager belongings, hung majestically from the rear of her shiny black trike.

The guide book was right. The 100 mile stretch of Highway 20 between Shoshoni and Casper, Wyoming is desolate. It weaves through a high altitude dry desert deprived of the color green. There is one joy amidst the bleak, pronghorn antelope. Occasionally, you can spot these fleet footed mammals darting across the open range. Their grey coloring blends nicely with the terrain so look closely.

“I’m from Tennessee and this is my dog pebble”, the man in the pick-up told me. “Saw you walking. You need help?” When I told him I was an honorary citizen of Tennessee we became instant friends.

“Governor Frank Clements’s daughter saved my life [The same Governor made me the citizen].”I went to Vanderbilt. My daddy was a big man in Nashville. He owned Sloan’s, the department store’, he continued. “The Governors daughter arranged for me to join the National Guard”, that way I avoided going to Vietnam” [I told him that I was not as lucky]

“Watch out for the rattlesnakes”, we reminded each other. Tom and Pebble went fishing. This Tom continued walking up the mountain.

There is one spectacular, gently windblown, sun dipped, peak towering, majestic river canyon that every adventurer, and sane folks too, must walk, bicycle, horseback, or if all else fails, even drive. This place of desire is Wyoming’s Wind River Canyon in the heart of an Indian Reservation of the same name. It is a joy to experience.