The wonderful county road I was traveling back in Wyoming turned into an adventure the next morning. After raining all night, and the traffic of some large logging trucks, there were some patches of mud large enough to swallow my little Nova. I managed to plow through several of them, but I fell victim to one at about 8AM, as I was just getting going for the day. There I was, miles from nowhere, up to my axles in mud and going nowhere. As usual, I got lucky. About a half-hour later, an old Pontiac with three Mexicans drove by. They stopped at the top of the next hill, and walked back to try to push me out. After succeeding in getting me stuck deeper, they invited me to ride with them to get help. A rancher a few miles away agreed to pull me out with his 4x4, and within the hour, I was on my way again, although still carrying some extra ballast. It still took several more hours to traverse the rest of the county road, and get back to pavement.

As I drove into Medicine Bow, WY., I spotted two wind turbines operating on a ridge just beyond the town. At the intersection, a sign invited me to turn down yet another county road for a closer look. Well, the image was deceiving, as the site turned out to be several miles from town, but the road was clear. When I arrived, I found a single low building, one car, and four wind turbines. The largest appeared to be damaged, and only the two newest middle-sized ones were operating. There didn't appear to be any kind of visitor's center, and as I was about to turn around and leave, a man came out of the building and beckoned me in. What followed was a personal tour and description of the entire site. Mr William Young gave me a description of the entire operation, and its history from its inception as a government research project, to it's sale to himself and a few investors. He told me of the development of the world's largest wind turbine - the 4 megawatt Hamilton-Standard which stood lifeless on the 100 meter tower outside. He told me of it's theory of operation, and the flaws which led to its destruction in a catastrophic failure of the pitch control system, resulting in destructive contact between the blades and the supporting tower. Even as it stood there, it appeared massive, with a generator nacelle the size of a railroad freight car, only twice as fat. There isn't much hope of bringing it back on-line, even though the cost of doing so would be only 60% of the cost of building new capacity. Mr Young does hope to use the tower to support a new turbine of smaller capacity.

What I write here doesn't do justice to the sights and experiences I've had. Maybe that's why I write so seldom, since I can't seem to express but a fraction of what I feel.

After finally leaving the area, I was hell-bent on making up time, so I drive the rest of the way across Wyoming, stopping only to get my exhaust system looked at, so that I can feel assured that I'm not doing my car serious damage by continued driving. It took $2.00 at a self-serve, then a full-blown $6.00 automatic car wash, to get the mud off the car and back to a reasonable appearance. Even so, I occasionally feel additional clods falling off the underside as I drive down the freeway. I spent the next night just east of Ogden UT, at the Jefferson Hunt campground, and was pleased to see the sun when I awoke. The tent dried out, and the campsite had the most comfortable table arrangement I have ever seen for the camp stove. I fixed and ate my breakfast comfortably, and was able to proceed on my way.

As I passed through Salt Lake City, I was attracted by a sign which announced a beach with showers. I drove into SaltAir III, and was met with a fairly crude field-house type building, and much historical information about the splendors of SaltAir I and II. It seems that the changing lake levels have taken their toll on beach resorts, first leaving them high and dry, then flooding them out. I chose not to swim after all, as the water was murky with brine shrimp and brine fly larvae, and the shower was a cold-water hose in a canvas-shrouded cabana. I hit the road and continue west into Nevada.

It seems that I keep doing this trip backwards. I drive all day and make camp in the last rays of sunshine, then spend the cool morning hours sightseeing, forcing me to drive through the hot afternoon and evening again.

I managed to cross the entire state of Nevada, stopping just short of Reno for the night. I managed to find a small state park in Dayton, which was comfortable but offered no shower facilities. Again, I chose to spend the morning wandering around Virginia City, learning about the history of the mining operations there in the last century. One thing I had never known before: that Samuel Clemens had first written under the name of Mark Twain there, while writing for the local newspaper. In fact his writing career began there, after striking out as a prospector.

So again it was noon or after before I hit the interstate. I thought that the desert of Nevada was hot - averaging 100 degrees in the car, but the central valley of California was even hotter, and I sweltered in 110 degree heat all day until I got to the coast. There the difference was dramatic - a 10 degree drop immediately upon reaching Richmond, and another 20 degrees as I approached the Golden Gate. I actually had to dig out a jacket before we went out to dinner.

Well, here I am in SF, with several more days of travel behind me. I seem to spend so much time driving, always trying to make a little more progress, and not stopping to see nearly as much as I would like.