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Around the World on a Bicycle - Volume 1 - From San Francisco to Teheran by Thomas Stevens
page 71 of 572 (12%)

Tuesday morning I pull out to scale the last range that separates me
from "the plains" - popularly known as such - and, upon arriving at the
summit, I pause to take a farewell view of the great and wonderful inter-
mountain country, across whose mountains, plains, and deserts I have
been travelling in so novel a manner for the last month. The view from
where I stand is magnificent - ay, sublime beyond human power to describe -
and well calculated to make an indelible impression on the mind of one gazing
upon it, perhaps for the last time. The Laramie Plains extend northward
and westward, like a billowy green sea. Emerging from a black canon
behind Jelm Mountain, the Laramie River winds its serpentine course in
a northeast direction until lost to view behind the abutting mountains
of the range, on which I now stand, receiving tribute in its course from
the Little Laramie and numbers of smaller streams that emerge from the
mountainous bulwarks forming the western border of the marvellous picture
now before me. The unusual rains have filled the numberless depressions
of the plains with ponds and lakelets that in their green setting glisten
and glimmer in the bright morning sunshine like gems. A train is coming
from the west, winding around among them as if searching out the most
beautiful, and finally halts at Laramie City, which nestles in their
midst - the fairest gem of them all - the "Gem of the Rockies." Sheep
Mountain, the embodiment of all that is massive and indestructible, juts boldly
and defiantly forward as though its mission were to stand guard over all
that lies to the west. The Medicine Bow Eange is now seen to greater
advantage, and a bald mountain-top here and there protrudes above the
dark forests, timidly, as if ashamed of its nakedness. Our old friend,
Elk Mountain, is still in view, a stately and magnificent pile, serving
as a land-mark for a hundred miles around. Beyond all this, to the west
and south - a good hundred miles away - are the snowy ranges; their hoary
peaks of glistening purity penetrating the vast blue dome above, like
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