Into Wyoming
Around five pm I stopped for gas in Newcastle and got on highway 85 south. Just out of town it was pronghorn city. Pronghorns by the road, pronghorns crossing the road, pronghorns in the fields. Since everything was treeless and relatively flat, you could see pronghorns a good ways off. I was thrilled. I had hoped to see pronghorns, these near mythical remnants from the Pleistocene, during my cross continent expedition, and here they were.
Also along the road were these curious wooden structures. I suspect they're snow fences.
I crossed the Cheyenne river. At least I think that's what it is. Looks more like a creek.
Near a rest area lurked the black beef of Lusk.
Same rest area. "Blue Star" highway.
Rolling along the green gums of the earth, passing a few teeth. Here a flat-topped molar.
The green flesh writhes, restless and muscular, sprouts a lone bush.
Another tooth, jagged and white, bites the air.
Also along the road were these curious wooden structures. I suspect they're snow fences.
I crossed the Cheyenne river. At least I think that's what it is. Looks more like a creek.
Near a rest area lurked the black beef of Lusk.
Same rest area. "Blue Star" highway.
Rolling along the green gums of the earth, passing a few teeth. Here a flat-topped molar.
The green flesh writhes, restless and muscular, sprouts a lone bush.
Another tooth, jagged and white, bites the air.