I was miles out from anything, following a double track that twist and wound through sage brush to the horizon. I'd been able to filter water from cattle ponds so I just pressed on and on into the beautiful nothingness of Wyoming's Great Basin. The storms swirled around me and I knew if one of them hit me I could be in for a long slogging, mud fest.
My luck with the weather held. The track stayed solid and I had the breeze at my back.
Out there to be found is a sweet, soft spoken solitude that is a bit hard to find in the world these days. The territorial immencity was incredible and a feeling of settling traquility seemed to blow in the wind.
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