On May 17, a group of intrepid riders set out to retrace the history of a good portion of the American west. Our steeds were more comfortable and considerably faster than those of our forebears. We met at golden arches just east of the fort established in 1862 by members of the 9th Kansas Calvary brigade who had been dispatched from Fort Laramie in Wyoming, the ultimate destination of our day's journey.

Our band consisted of nine riders, mounted on six Connies, an FJR-1300, an ST-1100, a Vulcan 800. As we followed the trail northwards, we were joined in Cheyenne, a historic railroad and cattle-shipping center by three more riders, on a KZ-1200 and two of the big GL-1800 Goldwings.

Just in those first 50 miles, we had crossed the paths of the French trappers and fur traders who had hidden their gun powder along a river flowing from the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in 1836. The river gained the name "Cache la Poudre" from those mountain men who probed the west under the sponsorship of John Jacob Astor's American Fur Company. While still in the Fort Collins area, we crossed the Overland Trail, the route of the famous Overland Stage Company.

On a hill southeast of Cheyenne, we saw thirty or forty lazily-turning windmills generating power from what may prove to be Wyoming's most durable resource - its wind.

In Cheyenne, we saw the Union Pacific's tracks and remembered the pioneering Irishmen who laid the rails linking the east and west coasts of our nation in 1869. North of Cheyenne, little had changed since the days of the cattle drives that went from Texas to Montana, except for the double ribbon of concrete that marks the new trail known as Interstate 25.

Arriving at Wheatland, an oasis of farmland in the midst of the open Wyoming ranges populated now by cattle (and the United State's largest population of pronghorn antelope), we regrouped. While waiting for the backmarkers to arrive, we talked to a paraplegic rider on a rig that combined a platform for his wheelchair with offset steering, throttle, brake, and clutch controls with a Harley-Davidson. As the saying goes, "It doesn't matter what you ride; it matters that you ride." We admired his courage and devotion to our pastime, and some of us were more than a little humbled.

From Wheatland, our ride took most of us north and east past the Laramie River Power Plant, a giant coal-fired electrical generating facility which uses coal mined from the Thunder River basin in north east Wyoming to send power to the more-densely populated states south and east. Past the power plant, we were on Grayrocks Road curving and dipping along the southern shore of Grayrocks Reservoir. Our group was reminded to stay alert when several mule deer darted between two of our riders. When Grayrocks Road met the Guernsey Road, we had to stop while temporary repairs (with duct-tape, the force that holds the universe together) were affected to Goldwing that was shedding its auxiliary footpegs. Could it have been vibration?? Surely not!

Crossing the Laramie River found us climbing out of the basin, crossing more prairie, passing the Wyoming National Guard's rifle range and descending into the valley of the North Platte. A different river today than in 1812 when the Robert Stuart and six companions first used the route that was to become the Oregon Trail when returning to "the East" from Fort Astoria in Oregon, the Platte has been tamed by dams and the extensive use irrigation along its course from North Park in the Colorado Mountains to its union with the Mighty Missouri in eastern Nebraska.

Our first stop was at historic Register Cliff. 658 miles from the beginning of the Oregon Trail at St. Joseph, Missouri, this site was one of several along the trail where emigrants marked their progress by carving their names in the sandstone of the cliffs on the south side of the Platte. We were reminded that graffiti is nothing new. Thousands of signatures are carved into the rock, some from the days of the Miner '49ers, and many from much more recent times.

The Oregon Trail saw its first wagon train in 1841. The next year 100 emigrants followed the trail, then 900 in 1843. With the discovery of gold in California, the trickle became a flood which ran high until 1869 and the completion of the railroad. Downstream from Register Cliff, the spring floods forced the wagons to climb out of the valley and the thousands of wagons over the years cut deep ruts (some six feet deep!) that are still clearly visible.

We remembered that not everyone who passed this way made it to the promised lands of Oregon and California or to Zion (Utah was the destination of thousands of Mormon pioneers who followed this part of the trail). Some of the signatures carved into the cliff were carved by pioneers who would later succumb to cholera (which was far more dangerous than marauding Indians, who killed only a handful of all who followed the Trail).

We walked along the ruts at the second National Historic Landmark of our journey and that primed us for our journey to Guernsey, where we ate at the Burrito Brothers, sharing room with riders of an assortment of Hogs. We were even asked participate in their rally as judges of the bikes that were set aside in the parking lot. My personal favorite was the turquoise and cream '74 that was a relic of The Motor Company's captivity as part of the AMF federation (AMF is far more famous for its manufacture of pinsetters and bowling balls!).

Leaving Guernsey, some of our group headed back to Colorado by shorter routes, but a remnant pushed east along the Platte to the Fort Laramie National Monument, where some of us collected stamps in our National Parks Passport books

Fort Laramie was established in 1849 to protect the growing number of emigrants making their way to gold company. Contrary to most expectations, the fort never was enclosed by a wall, but stood in orderly rows of buildings, many of which have been restored. We toured enlisted men's barracks, officer's quarters, the Post Commander's residence, and walked the grounds. One of the more interesting things Rick Hall and I learned was that what we presumed to be partly-buried storehouses for vegetables or ammunition were ice-houses, each holding 150 tons of ice, enough to meet the needs of cooks, laundresses, officers, and enlisted men from the end of the winter through the hot Wyoming summers until ice became available again in rivers and ponds. The historic marker said that one of the post commanders most "delicate" jobs was rationing ice fairly and making it last through the summer.

Fort Laramie was the site of the signing of significant peace treaties between the United States and the Plains Indians, treaties which no doubt promised peaceful relations as long as "the sky was blue, the grass was green, and the waters ran." Needless to say, peace didn't last as more and more emigrants cut across the Indians buffalo range. By the 1890s the Indian wars were over and Fort Laramie became a genteel outpost in barren Wyoming. But by 1890, an era ended when the troops marched out, heading east for the last time.

Our visit ended as we rode east to Torrington, near the Nebraska border, gassed up, and dodged thunderstorms on our various ways home. As we rode, I suspect that all of us were grateful that our beasts of burden were of the two-wheeled rather than the four-hoofed variety and that we were able to cover in a day miles that would have taken the pioneers weeks or even months.

Phil Tarman, COG # 3547,Ft. Morgan, CO, '99 Concours "Tumbleweed", CDA #0016(a-g), IBA # 5811: SS1000, BB1500

Some folks may wonder why we tour around Wyoming. One reason is that we can avoid possible snowy or sandy roads early in the spring. The other reason is that the state of Wyoming has some great scenery. The prairie grass was green and blowing in the wind. The streams were full of water. The Laramie Mountains were, as always, an impressive site on the horizon. The skies were huge, deep blue and full of white, gray, and black clouds, depending on which direction we looked. Wyoming and its Western skies are always worth a trip.

- Randy Bishop