Arriving in Wyoming felt like a reset.
The sun was out. We were warm. And for approximately two days, the plan was to just take it easy. Play frisbee along the trail. Pretend we were normal.
My fingers were crossed we’d run into people. We didn’t. But we did see bears. Not from a distance. Up close.
I knew they were big before I encountered one in the wilderness, but when one walked past and I saw its footprint next to mine, the concept became very, very real.
When something is roughly four times my weight… and oozing primal murder vibes, real-life trumps books.
So I paused my audio book (tears from the story instantaneously evaporating from my flush of fear), and Wombat and I started moving more intentionally. #makenoise #eyesopen #bearsprayready
You’ll be happy to hear, we survived.
Not by accident either. Since arriving to The States, my research into managing safety in the wilderness (namely hassling subject matter experts) has been relentless. If you’re as clueless at all this as I was (Aussies, Kiwis, and Irish friends), I’d strongly recommend starting with this podcast to ease you in. They cover all the scary things in their series. They’re also hilarious if you can take humour with tragedy.
The middle of nowhere, Wyoming
As the snow melted, the trail got harder to follow. A lazy, sunny descent turned into slow, squinting navigation – which is fine, love a good challenge, and I had the energy because I’d found signal and received a message from my friends Chloe and Liam.
They were nearby. In the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. People I’d first met in Panama, materialising in the high desert like a beautiful mirage.
I was so excited to see them I nearly ran. Nearly. But right before I reached the trailhead, I was ambushed.
Trail magic. A massive food locker of it. Unfortunately, it’s the end of the hiker season so it was full of empty snack cartons, water and condiments.
Pessimistically I moved a discarded box, and low and behold there was a lonely, sole surviving can of spam beer!
I stood there laughing at nothing, completely mystified. It seemed fitting that I, the only hiker still out here, would stumble across this gift of happiness. The bar for joy out here is genuinely on the floor, and I am so grateful for it!
Chloe, Liam and I reunite
We hit a restaurant. Visited (free!) hot springs in Saratoga. Camped by a river. Felt like regular humans for approximately 36 hours. Wombat felt like a regular pooch (which for him means sleeping on a bed), and Liam, who is a genuinely talented storyteller, has been helping me make better videos for social media. So if you’ve enjoyed them lately, some of that credit belongs to him.
Speeding fines and a roadside delivery of BBQ ribs
Back on trail, Chloe and Liam connected me to my resupply parcel and a real outdoor store. After weeks of making do, I finally had a warmer sleeping mat, a fresh pair of rain pants (the old ones had fully surrendered to the trail), and gloves (XL, because apparently that’s the only size they stock in hunting territory).
Then came a truly random surprise no one would ask for: an infringement notice from back home.
Apparently, I was speeding in Australia on the exact same day I was walking across the border from Mexico into the US. A six-month saga of explaining physics ensued and despite being able to show I’m not in the country (DFAT international movement records) my rebuttal was deemed “insufficient”.
No words.
Ultimately the solution involved requesting a payment extension until I could return home with a signed affidavit promising it wasn’t me — so much more convincing than the physical impossibility or, possibly a demonstration of the weakness of privatising speeding fine disputes.
In the meantime, snow had dumped down and after an encouraged extended stay, I said reluctant goodbyes to my new friends/hosts Dan and Nancy, before Wombat and I headed back out into it. Slowly. Because thigh deep snow is slow!
Every time I spotted a trail marker I celebrated, slightly worried my declining pace would run me out of food.
That worry turned out to be useful, because it pushed me toward a road, and the road delivered Will, Gina, and their dad, Clay. A total legend because Clay found me freezing on the roadside, warmed me up with a coffee in their family shared camper and insisted Wombat and I sleep in the spare bed… on the coldest night yet!!
The next day, they left little food surprises hung on fence posts for us along the way into town. Ribs, among them. RIBS.
Then, because Wyoming wasn’t done with us: I watched a mountain lion cross the road. Right in front of me. Casual as anything.
I walked sideways, bear spray in hand, for about 1km.
That night, I slept in a culvert. It’s dry, snug, and out of the snow. Honestly, I’ve slept worse… much much worse It wouldn’t have looked out of place in a survivalist reality show, except those people are pushed to the point of panic and I was mostly just relieved…
We stayed warm. Made it to Rawlins… And officially crossed the 20,000 km mark!!
Here’s a photo in case the significance doesn’t register…
Mustangs and burritos
The next stretch was through the Red Desert toward Lander. Less snow, warmer clothes, I was looking forward to finally feeling something close to comfortable.
The wind, however, made its presence known, and cold burn became a thing.
And then, wild mustangs. They came close enough for me to simultaneously be in awe, and wonder if I was safe. Then they disappeared like they’d never been there.
That’s also how I met Steph and JR, whose timing was similarly magical. One minute I was standing in the desert watching horses vanish into the backdrop; the next I was in a church with a fully stocked freezer and an open invitation to eat whatever I wanted.
I walked an extra 7km to reach their community’s hiker/biker retreat, set up specifically for people making this crossing, which in peak season is apparently perilously hot (I was hiking it in near-freezing wind so I will take their word for it).
At 5am Steph called insisting I stay an extra day. She was worried. The windchill was forecast to be approx. -20°C.
I stayed.
I was already sporting cold burns on the back of my thighs and bum bad enough that I couldn’t have anything warmer than a cold shower. So only a whisper of encouragement was needed.
A day later JR dropped me back to the trailhead and saying goodbye was hard. It feels like I’m on an existential loop. I find people, feel held by them as they take on all my worries, and then the trail takes me back, out of reach from people who care.
I wanted to promise I’d be okay… but figured my words would be lost.
Not long after I left, I rang Steff to see how they were going, and she told me JR had died suddenly and unexpectedly in his sleep. I felt a fracturing. In the conversations I’ve grown used to having, the worry never falls that way – it doesn’t feel allowed.
The man who had taken on a fatherly role, tried to gift me a gun, took me out spotting wildlife, and told me stories only shared with their closest family members, was gone. I felt wronged and immediately questioned my last words to him. Did I say the right things? Did he know how genuinely I cared?
Carrying questions that can never be answered, my hope is that was as generous with my gratitude, as Steff and JR were to a stranger who simply passed them by.
Lucy + Wombat 👩🌾🐶
If you want to follow along properly — speeding fines across two continents, culvert accommodation, and burritos that carry you 220km — join Entangled. It's my inner circle and it's where a genuine community lives. Or if you just want to shout me a warm-up-coffee or a self-pity-hot-chocolate to keep me moving: same link.
