Across desert in search of our next camp in the Wind River Range, Wyoming

Sunday, July 27

1-DSC05846One of the sunrises during our camp at Anvil Draw, Flaming Gorge Reservoir, Wyoming

Today the crew and I move to a new camp!

I carefully drive the Perfect Tow Vehicle on narrow spur roads beyond the tamarisk and across the sagebrush plain.

1-DSC05957The Best Little Trailer bobs along behind us. 

The dirt roads cross each other and they all look alike.  Gee, I barely remember how to get back to the main road!

1-DSC05958I’m relieved to see fellow campers leaving. 

Well, that’s obviously the road out of here.  It’s Sunday and they probably have obligations waiting for them.

1-DSC05959These folks ahead of us turn left onto Highway 530; the crew and I turn right.

It’s good to be on the road again! 

Traffic is light on the two lane road (with frequent passing lanes) as we motor northward toward Green River, Wyoming.

1-DSC05966The drive is through barren land of tan and grey low hills of rock, sage, and sparse bunches of grass.

1-DSC05964I spot a mother pronghorn antelope and her two youngsters grazing near the roadside.  Although they are the fastest hoofed animal in North America, they move slowly and gracefully to a more comfortable distance from my camera.

1-DSC05963At last we arrive at Green River.

I drive through town on the main street and see no grocery.  As I’m turning around to make another drive through, I spy a young man leaning against a concrete wall to remove a stone from his shoe.  I pull alongside.

“Hello!  Could you help me please?” I call out over Bridget’s head and through the open passenger window.

1-DSC05962He looks up as he slides his foot into the shoe.  “Sure.  Whatcha’ need?” he asks, trotting over to the window.

“Do you live around here?” I ask.  “I need to find a grocery store.”

“I grew up here,” he responds, smiling.  “I’m back for a visit.”

He proceeds to give me directions to the grocery consisting of a left, a right, and another left turn.

“Gee, that’s an odd place for a grocery.  Usually they’re near the main street,”  I remark.  “How do they expect people driving through to find it?”

“Oh, that’s Green River for ya.’  They don’t care about that.  They don’t want new industry or nothin.’  They’re kinda’ . . .  They want everything to . . . .”

He pauses, searching for the right way to say it.

“They want everything to stay the same?” I suggest.  Hmm . . . Restless youth seeking something better than what the home town can offer.  A likeable guy, sincere face . . .

“Yeah, that’s it.  Hey, do you mind doing me a favor?  Would you give me a ride back over the bridge?”

“Sure, hop in!”

Bridget jumps into her bed as he slides into the passenger seat.  On the way across the bridge he introduces himself as Mike.  I tell him I’m Sue.  We shake hands.

Mike asks where I’m from and I explain my vagabond life.

“Wow!  Isn’t this something.  I meet another free spirit like myself,” he says with a grin.  “I left Green River and I’ve traveled around.  I live in northern California now.” He says this with fondness in his voice.  “Have you ever been there?”

Soon it’s time to let him out.  We exchange well wishes for each other’s travels.  Mike closes the door to the PTV, walks away, turns and waves.  Nice guy . . . .

It’s mid-morning and will become hot soon. 

I park at Smith’s Grocery, give the crew a quick walk-about, toss them back inside the PTV, refill their water dish, and rush inside the store.

After packing the groceries inside the BLT, we board Interstate 80 going east.

It isn’t long before we reach Rock Springs which is a good thing since the speed limit is 75 mph and everyone is passing us as we mosey along at 60 mph.  I’m relieved to head northward on two-lane Route 191.

We have 90 miles of desert to cross.

We pass through the town of Eden which is located at the confluence of the Big Sandy River and the Little Sandy River.  Not my idea of Eden, but I suppose if I crossed the desert in a covered wagon, I’d think differently.

I pull over about halfway to our destination at a “picnic area” which is the last place on earth I’d ever want to have a picnic…  broken down table, weeds everywhere, trash . . .

On the other side of a barbed wire fence, nature adds some cheer to this hot and dismal place.


Beeplant, sometimes referred to as “stinking clover”

We don’t linger.

1-DSC05968The crew is happy to get back into the PTV after their potty break.   It’s actually cooler inside with air blowing in the windows than it is outside.

We approach the ghost town of New Fork, established in 1888 by Danish immigrants.  Diptheria and scarlet fever hit in 1915.

I notice a few log buildings as we pass.

 Finally we reach Boulder, Wyoming.

A gas station sits at the intersection of a road marked with a sign for “Boulder Lake.”  At the pumps I ask a guy on the other side of the island if this road is the best way to get to the lake.  He says it is.  “It’s cooler up there.  I was just up there, but watch out for the mosquitoes.”

I groan.

“Stay away from the grassy areas.  That’s where they are.”

We cross farmland on our way toward the mountains.  The sight of green after hours of brown is a welcome change.

Then the refreshing color of blue appears!  And the white bark of aspens!

1-DSC05981Seven miles of twisty dirt road follows the eastern shore of Boulder Lake all the way to the campground on the north end.

At the entrance to the campground we cross Boulder Creek which feeds the lake.

1-DSC05984The campground is a disappointment.

Tall grass was recently cut down and lies drying along the loop road and at the edges of campsites.  Hmm . . . Grass means mosquitoes.

It’s shady but the thick vegetation defeats the cooling effect one would expect.  You can’t get to the river from the campsites.  The fee is $7.00 regular/$3.50 with senior pass.  Except for a campground host and one RV, the campground is empty.

I drive out of the campground to search the east side of the lake.

I wouldn’t stay at that campground if it were free.  There must be a good boondock along the lake somewhere.


“Don’t worry,” I say, glancing back at the crew.  “I’ll find something and then we’ll be home.”

To be continued . . .



I appreciate every order.

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