Wyoming, wide open skies

So, ten days after entering Wyoming from South Dakota’s Black Hills, we left it via the southwestern corner bordering Utah.
What a state. It’s a massive area (365 miles by 265 miles), holding a population of just 500,000. Pictured on its license plate is a bucking bronco, which does seem to sum up the state’s sentiment: wild, open and solitary.
A lot of the housing is trailer based, with the odd nonsensical, misplaced McMansion. But that’s not the point, you don’t go to Wyoming for the lodging, but for the ravishing, endless landscapes which form the background and foreground of life there. It certainly leaves you with a sense of your own smallness.

Here are a few of the characters we met:

Mikel, the horse-driving life coach born and bred in Powell, who told us, “we Wyoming people like lots of space with no one around”. Lest we think she might be lonely, she listed the tourist events she offered as well as the number of trips she has made to the UK (four).

The LA-born lady who had left London after some 40 years, in search of a new, exciting start. Her main job these days is tending to the Charles J Belden Museum in Meeteetse. This free museum, named after the eponymous photographer, documented the life and times of this Wild West town starting from its founding in the 1890s. It included a sampling from the town’s Mercantile Exchange of goods such as clothing, shoes, food and measurements, a photo-history documenting how the effort to save the much-hunted antelope not only revived herd numbers but also yielded an international pet antelope craze. Also on display were the requisite firearms, cowboy boots and animal taxidermy (the crown jewel of which is the largest grizzly bear caught in the mainland US), as well as Belden’s famous photographs, taken locally, of the original Marlboro man.

Rex, a Kansas native who chuckled wryly at the name of this blog, saying that he too had skipped town. He, like us, has been on the road as a full-time RVer for just over a month. A kind man, we last saw him on Wyoming Route 28, as his party and ours ascended the state’s South Pass over the Rockies.

Ron Foote, the owner of RV camp Fountain of Youth in hot springs town Thermopolis. A minister preaching love, acceptance, generosity and trust as part of his own brand of what he describes as multi-denominational faith, he and his guitar perform Sunday services before a swimsuit-clad congregation of hot spring bathers. On Friday and Saturdays, he entertains swimmers with country and cowboy songs – famous ones as well as those he’s penned himself.

We’ll miss Wyoming - its wide-open spaces, helpful people, bountiful wildlife and cowboy accessories.

The buffalo do roam

One of the things I didn’t know about the West is that the men there really do wear cowboy hats. In fact, as soon as we traversed the Missouri River in South Dakota, we started seeing them on big men, sometimes with flowing handlebar mustaches, who looked solitary, wistful and strong.

And people here also really say “howdy”!

During my time living abroad, I’ve heard America derided as a land with no culture, or at the very best, one with a homogenous culture. This couldn’t be further from the truth. As an East Coast native, I feel like a complete foreigner out here.

First of all, I am nowhere near as tough and self-reliant as the women, especially those of Wyoming. They drive monster trucks, ride horses, work in construction…and have the most amazing legs.

One lady we met, Mikel, told us that for a living she drives a team of horses, teaches horse riding, runs a business showing Conestoga wagons and hosting chuckwagon dinners, while also having time to provide life counseling using horse psychology. Not to mention that since last January, she has been living – alone - in a 23-foot trailer. She said she’s much happier since she lightened up on possessions, and that if she travels, she just parks in a truck stop and uses a candle for light AND heat.

It was Mikel who saved us when our GMC Yukon’s engine started smoking and making increasingly more distressing h-r-r-r-m sounds as we attempted to make our first climb, along a 7-mile stretch of road at a 10% gradient, into the Big Horn Mountains. Stopping to see why we had pulled over, she joined Daniel in having a look under the car’s hood (bonnet) and said we were fine, that all we needed to do was shift into third gear (duh). A nice lesson in automatic transmission.

Thanks, Mikel, for saving us a trip to the mechanic – and probably a lot of money. She was to be the first of our Wyoming guardian angels, who fell kindly from the sky.

[Responding to our email thanking her for her trouble, she recommended that we “Take the odd road, the road less traveled as they say and the Universe will surprise and delight you”. She also cited Cecil Beaton: "Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary."]

Second, as a city dweller, I have no appreciation for wild animals. Notwithstanding the odd fox or raccoon, my experience with serious, large wildlife is nil.

We are now coexisting with wildlife. Camping at the Badlands, a man told us we had gotten up too late to see the coyote outside our trailer. And we thought coyotes were only in the cartoons! Then, at Mount Rushmore, we encountered longhorn sheep. And in the Black Hills, the buffalo do indeed roam, echoing the lyrics of that old song ‘Home on the Range’ – which was performed by a band playing at Custer State Park’s annual Western Art Fair. These beasts are not scared of people, and graze nonchalantly along the roads. And of course at Yellowstone, one hears warning after warning about bears – both grizzly and black.

Third, I assume that everyone thinks New York City is the Best Place Ever. Not so.
And even the handful of people we’ve met who’ve approached us expectantly – having seen our New York State license plate - have walked away in disappointment after finding out we were not from upstate.

Finally, people here are really patriotic, with each stars-and-stripes flag larger than the last. They love America, and also fight for it, as evidenced by the large number of servicemen and servicewomen we’ve met. I saw a bumper sticker proclaiming, “Freedom is not free – thank a veteran”. It’s true, we don’t appreciate this enough.

Before breaking off, I should mention that Daniel is embracing the culture of the West – sporting not only a leather hat inspired by the region, but also a flashy new pair of beige and brown stitched leather cowboy boots.