"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.