We sat in the corner of the crowded little bar in Daniel, slowly enjoying our hard earned beer while we talked over the events of the mud-bog, the bentanite farting bike, the rain, the newly acquired bruises, and the caution in which we seemed to be employing during the trip to Daniel. We talked about the angels that must be following us, the road gremlins that kept trying to get us and how it all started with a bad intake, flat tire and a dead guy on the highway. Nearly a thousand miles under our leathers in the past few days. It felt more like a million. The beer went down smooth, the conversation was cathartic for all of us. The rain had slowed back to a mist so we paid our tab, left our tip and headed to Bonduraunt. The road to Bonduraunt was slow going. The group was still a bit skiddish from the earlier events. The drivers might have pushed it harder had we been riding solo but we all knew that our passengers would have none of that at this point. The sun sets quickly when you're riding in the valley's of the Rocky Mountain range and before we knew it we were riding in to the night. The worries had gone from mud to animals. Deep in the mountain ranges miles from anyplace larger than a ranch house the game was sure to be running free and wild. Our pace reflected our concern over the possibilities of wandering deer and antelope, slow but sure. As the sun set the temperatures dropped quickly adding to our riding pleasure - damp clothes and leathers, cold temperatures and a self generated 55 mph wind.We pulled in to Bonduraunt, not much more than a small vacation spot on the highway with a general store, a bait shop and some fly-fishing cabins. It must have been near 10:30--I don't remember exactly, and didn't write it in my journal, but I do know it was late enough that we pulled in to the fishing cabins to see what the price of a room would be for the night. The shop keep was just getting ready to close for the day when we walked in, tired, hungry and just wanting a place to crash.We checked on availability and found there were two cabins available that would sleep all of us for about a hundred dollars a couple. I'm not certain, and I didn't care at the time, but I think that the room rates increased two fold when we walked through the office door. We agreed to the rate, got our cabin keys, unloaded and then went back to the office to grab something to eat. The sign out front said Snacks, Beer & Bait--we assumed that there would be something we could build a sandwich from, or microwave or... nope, nothing, nada. So we asked the shop keeper if there was a place around that may still be open for a meal. The closest place was about 25 miles on the north end of Bonduraunt Canyon, but if we were lucky... Obviously This Guy Hasn't Read Our Story...The General Store might still be open and they had pizza and a microwave.Bonduraunt, Bonduraunt Wyoming, Cabins, Motorcycles, Bikers, Motorcycle Travel
