"Stomp, Stomp, Stomp, Stomp. We Don't Want Snakes in Our Garden!"

Casper, WY is actually a pretty big and happening place... especially compared to some of the places I've been in the past few days.  Not that I took advantage of that fact though.  As usual, I was drained from the road, so it was a simple dinner, the pre-purchased Coors lights, and some phone chats with the outside world as I uploaded the pictures of the day to facebook.  Little did I know that so many people were following my little journey.  People were excited to see where I was, and to know what I was doing.  And it wasn't even just my mom.

I had some communication with an ex of mine that night.  Not the ex but, my first love, actually.  That felt good.  I didn't realize how dejected I felt by the ex fiance and men in general, (and by myself, to be truthful,) until he and I re-connected.  But it wasn't a love affair kind of thing.  It was more of a well rounded friendship... with sexual undertones.  It was a good feeling.  And I didn't realize that people were actually checking out my posted pictures and status updates until our conversation.  He made the age old hitch hiker joke of "Gas, grass, or ass.  Nobody rides for free" and I felt scolded when my response ("Have you seen my pictures of the 'stranger dangers' that I've met?") was met with "That's not even a funny joke.  Be careful out there."

I had felt no reason to be scared at all during this journey...save the Thunder Mountain trip... and just went about my business like I had 3 bodyguards surrounding me.  I realize that even though I felt weak and vulnerable emotionally, I had a healthy respect for, and attention to my surroundings.  It was as if my physical safety was something that didn't cross my mind because I had taken precautions.  It was kind of like when I was super little, in Africa and my mom taught me to be loud when I walked so that snakes would know that I was coming, and wouldn't be surprised and strike at me.  I felt like I was being loud enough not to be stricken.  (hmmmm... maybe that's been my problem in the past.  I just wasn't being loud enough not to be stricken.  I was wallpaper until I had something to say, and then it startled the snake.)

"Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.  We don't want snakes in our gar-den!"

But with this conversation, I realized that there are people out there expecting me to come home.  People who do give a shit.  And I owe it to them, and to myself, to make sure that I finish this story and on a positive note.  It had just been 'moment to moment', 'day to day' for me up until this point.  The bubble of my car needed to expand.  What gave me the right to be reckless in any regard, when I was out there alone?  I couldn't imagine how horrible it would feel for my loved ones if something happened to me out here, when some of them were literally pacing and checking the clock while I was on the road.  Sometimes we can be really selfish.

This song is not specific to Wyoming, but it's pretty.  And it is a love song.  This was perfect as I rode through the swells and dips of the landscape and my heart.  Ultimately, I suppose it was sent from my heart to "the Boy" but also to my family and friends because they are my world and I love them.  And they are my home.  It is a love song about being 'home.'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbKX0mb8MGo

I spoke to my Godfather the next morning because he has some property out in Nothingsville, WY where he has an old, one room school house and has erected a small log cabin.  He's been working on them for years.  There's no electricity in his buildings and no running water.  I've been wanting to go see the property forever, but have never had the chance.  And here is my chance.

  

So taking the cell phone reception opportunity that I had, I got directions to the school house: 

"Once you get to Gillette, turn left at the intersection.  Go 8 miles and you will see a mailbox inside a mailbox that has bullet holes in it.    Go up the dirt road, over a hill,  through a bunch of trailers.  Go through a gate and at the fork, go left.  Go through another gate....." And I was informed, by both my mother and my Godfather, that it was molting season for snakes... whatever the Hell that means...

The only problem with these directions was that this could be anywhere!  I didn't see the mailbox, but I had gone the correct amount of miles, so I just started following the directions... and it took me somewhere, but not where I was supposed to be.  But I could see where I was supposed to be, I just couldn't figure out how to get there.  Eventually, after a family of antelope, many gates/ trailers/ hills/ dirt roads, and multiple texts to my mother (who knows Wyoming well,) I realized that I was in the wrong place and wouldn't be able to get there from here.  I turned around.  Once back on the main road, I found my way and it was exactly the way he had described it... starting with the bullet filled mailbox.

He told me that I could stay there for the night if I wanted to.  Ummm.... no thank you.  Maybe I'm a priss, maybe I'm spoiled.  I'll take it, but I'm not hanging out in a snake ridden, no water or electricity having, only an outhouse for a bathroom, place overnight.  Nope.  No way.  No how.

But driving up, my heart swelled once again.  Even out here, where it hasn't been inhabited for months, there are molting snakes, and no plumbing, I felt such joy.  I know how much time and energy my Godfather has put into that place.  And I know how pure it felt. A simpler and harder time is out here.  It's raw and beautiful and natural.  It's perfect.  This is America, right here, right now.  This is sweat, sunburned necks, working from dawn til dusk, honest living.  When he comes out here, he stays on the property, uses the outhouse and buys water in town for bathing and cooking.  Hell, he dug the damn hole for the outhouse and came into contact with a rattlesnake while doing so.  Oh Helllllls no!  I respect it, but I can't do it.  They made them stronger out there.  I'm grateful for all that I have.

I hopped the fence (it was stuck due to lack of use) and gave a wide berth to the hole dug under the schoolhouse by an unknown creature.  I walked with a heavy foot and had the cast iron gnome in case I had to beat down a reptile (Yup that's me, the tree hugger).  I peered into windows as much as I could and gazed out at the prairies that surrounded the property.  I took breaths that filled my lungs and soul.  You have to be there to feel the sounds out there.  It really is nature at it's finest.  You know you are being watched by everyone around you, but you know that it's not humans.  Out there, it's snakes, antelope, bugs, and foliage that examine your every move and breath.   I felt at peace... even though I was sort of like a peeping Tom.

"Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.  We don't want snakes in our gar-den"

I wanted to live "off the grid" for a while.  visiting this property made me realize how romantic/ not-for-me it was.  I can't look into the eyes of Little Bunny Foo Foo before I kill, skin and clean him for my dinner.  I can't live without a hot shower.  I don't want to smell myself without Lady Mitchum.

So way later, I found out why I was warned about snake molting season:  When rattlesnakes molt, they lose their rattles, so you don't get the fair warning before they strike.  Good to know.

After I got a fill of the ol' homestead, I kept trucking northeast towards my next destination.  When hearing that I was going back through Wyoming, my mother told me that I should go see Devils Tower.  Personally, I had never heard of it, but I was game for anything.  She just told me the roads to take and that I would know when I got there.

"N'ok."

Here I go again, on my own.... But she wasn't kidding.  

So, Devils Tower literally rises out of nowhere and it's the most bizarre natural sight I've ever seen.  You may know of it if you've ever seen "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" (Steven Spielberg, 1977) which features the monument.  I had never seen the movie and still have only seen parts.  Upon later research, I found out that Devils Tower is our first National monument and has amazing folklore attached to it.  There are stories of bears, girls, American Indians, God's intervention and the Devil attached to the tower.  Had I known, I would have gone as close to it as I possibly could, but I thought it would have been restricted for some reason, so I didn't pursue as far as I should have.  But I kid you not when I say that all of a sudden, it's just there.  And it's astonishing!  Breath-caught-in-your-throat type astonishing.  Next time, I'm going up as close as I can.  If I can handle Thunder Mountain, Devils Tower should be a piece of cake!

"When you call me that, SMILE"

I love traveling.  And driving, if I have the time and opportunity to do it right, is divine.  I like to do things on my own timetable, pop out and take pictures wherever I want and, take in my surroundings.  Unfortunately, at this point in my whole trip and for the day, I'm excited and anxious, lonely and tired, and losing interest in the scenery, gorgeous as it is.  I mean it's beautiful but, damn, I'm bored.  I want a base for the night and for my home life.  Neither of which is visible right now.

Nevada drained me for the day, but I was also itching to get to the next spot.  The last few road hours were long and flat.  And though the mountains in the distance were majestic, there's not much out here.  Get gas where you can!  I eased over the Utah ("Where Ideas Connect") line close to sunset a found a rest area in the salt flats to stretch my legs a little.

Salt Flats, UT

Back on the road, I realized that I should probably find a place to stop for the night.  All along the highway, they warn you that there are multiple miles between services, so keep your eye out for that.  Stop when you can for food and gas.  And if you need to stop for the night in Utah, call ahead!  Just a word to the wise.  There is NOTHING out there pretty much until you get to Salt Lake City.  At night, you can see it for miles, but it feels like forever to get there.

Once I saw a Gas-Food-Lodging sign, I squeeled off the exit in hot pursuit of a meal and a bed!  Alas, I was thwarted here.  I was in a town just outside of Salt lake and there were No Vacancy signs on even the most derelict looking motels.  No room at the Inn.  Anywhere.  I refueled (because you just never know out here) and continued on to Salt Lake City.  I visited 3 hotels before I found one with any availability and I got the last room.  Apparently, even in off season, you have to call ahead because this is a nightly thing out here.  Why?  Because, as I said before,  there is NOTHING out here!  It was about 9PM and I was so beat that I was seeing pink elephants dancing along the road.  After I had my key card in my hot, little hand, I had only enough energy to pop over to a gas station and grab a sandwich for dinner.  I'm eatin' well out here!

The next morning, I greeted the new day with new vigor.  That's the way it goes most mornings of this trip:  I go to bed beat from the road and my own emotions, but get a night of rest and I'm ready to conquer the world again the next day, excited for what I might see, learn or find.  And this morning was beautiful!  The colors were starting to change on the mountains and it warmed my being.

Okay, I'll admit it: Utah is stunning.

And now I'm back in Wyoming ("Like No Place on Earth.")  Last time I was here, I wasn't able to get into the old house or find my grandparent's graves.  By the time I rolled back into Elk Mountain, WY, I had to pee so bad, my eyes where yellow.  For as much as I have to pee on a regular basis, I can't believe that I have yet to pull over and squat on the side of the road on this trip.  But here you have it, it's time!  At least I did it on the family property... which is a corner lot ... and I couldn't even make it to the back of the house, so it was right there out front.  Oma (my grandmother,) please forgive me.  But this is why I always have provisions in my car and know how to pee in a bottle.

After another attempt to get into the house, I'm thoroughly disheartened when I can't budge the old lock.  Even though the house is deserted, at least the local animals have found it a good pass through for wherever they are headed.  I wasn't the only one to relieve myself at the ol' house.  I snapped a few shots around town, letting the memories of my childhood wash over me, and headed to the "Trading Post" to see if someone could tell me how to get ol' the old cemetery.

The Trading post used to be the old general store.  I remember the old days when the aisles were filled with dusty cans, bottles, and anything that you may ever need to feed or take care of your family.  The taste of cherry chapstick always takes me right back to that store, in my mind.  Eventually, they added a little cafe onto the side of the store to bring in a little more money.  A few years later, the shelves were all removed and it turned into a museum attached to the cafe.  Now, it's a strange building with maybe a table or two in a large open room and a hodgepodge of  pictures/ artifacts from days of old and more recent years.

As the Trading Post had been through so many changes, I hoped that there was at least some sort of store back in there.  I needed to buy a trowel to dig up some sage.  My favorite smudge stick is made up of sage that I cut at my grandparents grave site years ago and tied with thread that I found among my grandmother's things.  I wanted to dig up a plant and bring it with me to help start my herb garden.  Maybe that sounds strange to you, but, as mentioned before, I have a bond with my ancestors and what better way to honor them than to be able to grow it and be reminded of them every time I use that sage? Well, that wasn't meant to be anyway.

Something that I need to mention about Elk Mountain is that there isn't much life there anymore.  And being the smallest of towns that I've ever seen means that I am an outsider that they can see coming from 12 states away.  And I'm not really what you would commonly think of as the right age around here for being single.  Lets put it this way, if I lived here, I would either have been married for the past 15 years and have at least 3 denim clad offspring, or I would be the town spinster.  So right now, with my clean fingernails, nose ring, and lack of flannel shirt, I'm being looked at as a mixture between "fresh meat" and "a damn fur-ner." 

I walked into the main building that seems to still be a strange little restaurant.  After being ignored by the sole person working there and the 2 patrons that were the lunch rush, I walked directly up to the waiter/owner/cashier/chef/... and asked if there was anywhere that I might be able to find a trowel and where the cemetery is.  This probably sounded strange to the guy, and his facial expression confirmed that.  I then introduced myself as so-n-so's granddaughter and was informed that it would be an hours drive back the way I came to get a trowel.  So that's out.  But he pointed me in the direction of the cemetery anyway.

 That's what small towns are all about.

I found the cemetery with no problems, after following directions that sent me on dirt roads and through multiple cow gates.  The view from up there is really awe inspiring.  Elk Mountain is in the distance, and there are creeks (pronounced 'cricks' to the locals.  Something that drives me batty) and cows doing all of their creek- and cow-like things.  It's the "old cemetery" so it's pretty deserted and Wyoming weather can be pretty harsh.  It doesn't seem to have regular maintenance so it's wildly overgrown with sage and weeds.  The soil is not moist and fertile.  There are no rolling hills of lush, groomed grass.  There are very little adornments on the graves and what there is, is faded and wind-torn.  But the smell is sweet, delicate sage and the feel is peaceful and respectful.  Something about the harshness of the terrain, the spectacular view, the high altitude air, and the slight breeze carrying the aroma of herbs, makes it a comforting resting place.  But deserted and sad at the same time.

The ground was too hard to pull out a sage plant.  And my knife could barely cut the pieces that I got.  But even the handful of leaves that I took, filled my car with a rich, earthy scent that carried me through many more miles.

Once the family affairs were done, I stopped to fill up on my way out of town (at a gas station that used to employ my only Wyoming crush of many moons ago) and grab a 6-pack of the 'local' flavor.  My choices were Bud or Coors products.  From here on out for a little while, I'm off of the highway.  AKA very little cell service and few passing cars.  Destination: Casper, WY.

The little road took me through Medicine Bow, WY which should be mentioned as it is the setting for the book "The Virginian"  by Owen Wister.  Aaaaand that's pretty much all there is to say about Medicine Bow.  There is a little museum dedicated to this fact, an old timey hotel that makes plate sized pancakes, and a plaque with the famous quote: "When you say that, SMILE"  which makes more sense if you've read the book or have at least read the Wikipedia description.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Virginian_%28novel%29

But as I entered into Medicine Bow, there was a great shot of an antelope silhouetted with the town welcome sign.  Of course, by the time I had stopped the car and grabbed my camera, the antelope had moved and I was at a horrible angle, so this is what I got.  Just pretend that this was the perfect picture, with the nothingness in the background, the fact that there is no one around, and in my mind, there are more sunset-y colors.  It was actually pretty cool in person.  You feel like you are the only person in the world out here.  And you might be... at least in Medicine Bow.

And so I continued on towards another hotel, alone, for the night.  To the booming metropolis of Casper, WY.

Dear God, I come in peace, I mean no disrespect.

Roughly twelve minutes after leaving my family at Donner Lake, I entered into Nevada ("Wide Open" or "Battle Born" Either one works for me) and soon found myself in "The Biggest Little City In The World:" Reno.  I think there is a $1 a minute cover for Reno, because I dropped $30 in just as many minutes while there.  And it wasn't on gas or food.

That being done, I continued east

Somewhere on the 166 mile stretch of I-80 between Reno and Winnemucca, there is a little known gem called Thunder Mountain.  Trust me when I say this, folks.  There is pretty much nothingness surrounding me here.  But as I was tootin' along, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a building, looking sad and in disrepair and surrounded by a high wire fence.  Now, I've seen some things in my life, but this was one of those that takes you off guard.  There were tall white dome-ish things on top and statues all around.  And some sort of sign on the fence that I couldn't read at 75+mph.  Of course, this is something that I can't just pass up, so I resolved to pull off at the next exit and turn around.

Fifteen minutes later, I get to the next exit... which isn't looking too promising if I'm seeking large populations of safe looking people.  So I pull into to the gas station/cafe/general store looking place, complete with some sort of animal skull painted on the sign, and go on in to ask what the Hell that place was back there. 

"It's a strange little place, that is.  There's a brochure 'round here somewhere"

And popular too, it seems?

The brochure didn't tell me much so I just headed back towards it.  It stated that it was some sort of American Indian memorial, but that's about all I got from it.  Once off of the exit, all you see is little dirt roads.  What they are leading to, I have no clue.  But a rusted little sign directed me to follow one of them onto some property with a ramshackle structure or two, and led me through another gate.  Every inch that you struggle down, you feel that you are trespassing even though this is where you have been guided to go.  I started feeling unsettled, but ignored it and went on.  I parked in a dirt parking area and made sure to lock my car.  There is not a human in sight as far as I can see.  I really was starting to feel strange.  The building area, if I may call it that, was surrounded by a fence made out of random wood posts and wire, complete with a sign that stated "Enter At Your Own Risk."

Yup.  Feeling REALLY good right now.

The wooden gate was somewhat closed when I walked up, but as I got closer, 

*creeeeeeeeeeek* 

it opened up for me.  Weird.  I walked through and (I kid you not)  

*creeeeeeeeeeek* 

it closed behind me.  At this point, I'm in rapid prayer mode. "Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect. Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect.  Dear God, I come in peace.  I mean no disrespect."  This coming from a girl driving a gas guzzling SUV, and carrying a gnome prop for pictures.  

But I stopped by the Visitor Center,  AKA four posts in the ground covered by a corrugated tin roof with some yellowing pages on a cork-board and a donation box.  I deposited my measly offering in the box as I continued to pray and headed towards the building.... which is surrounded by yet another tall, barbed wire fence.


The lack of any sound whatsoever, besides my footsteps (and prayers, of course) in the dry climate is unnerving.  But not as unnerving as how palpable the air is.  There is someone here.  I know it and can feel it.  He is male and I don't know if he means me harm or not, but he's watching my every move.  There may even be more than one.

The building is a hodgepodge of stone and bottles and other materials held together by cement.  It's truly astonishing, but I couldn't take the time to take it all in because I was so rattled.  How I didn't wet myself, I'll never know.  Besides the main building there are statues and brik-a-brak all around the area.  Pieces of automobiles, animal skulls, dolls and a smaller building to the side that I couldn't go near.  I've never toured any place so quickly in my life.   There was one part of the compound that caused me so much anxiety, that I turned around and went back the way I came, quickly.  I mean, I was damn near running to get out of there.  I peeled out on the dirt road as I flew back towards the highway.  I was left reeling for a good half hour after leaving there.  Maybe it was just a very powerful place and in my state, I couldn't handle it.  I hope that's the case, I really do.  Maybe it was just so forgotten and crude that it made me feel that way.  I found a link to the site once I was stationary.  It looks more welcoming in their pictures and I understand it a bit better.  It's worth a look-see if you have time.  Maybe you can get a better feel for the place through their words and photos.

http://www.thundermountainmonument.com/ 

Dear God, I mean no disrespect.  I come in peace.

Onward-Ho!  Winnemucca is calling my name!  

Or not.

All I'll say is the city welcome sign is on the same plot of ground that the cemetery is on.  The entire place is run down and long ago left to die.  But it won't, it seems.  Poor little Winnemucca.  Seriously, from what I saw, all that's there is ancient casinos, fried food and drag races.  But it's where you stop on your road trip because there isn't much out there in Nowheresville.