Wyoming . . .

. . .  short on populace, but long on friendliness.  Seems that the folks who reside there (they mostly like the winters, they told me) compensate for the dearth of denizens by going overboard with the welcome mat.

We met up with smiles and conversation everywhere.  Maybe the glorious landscapes contribute to the general aura of satisfaction; whatever the reason, we liked it a lot.

Arriving in Saratoga on a Sunday, we mistakenly thought the town was deadsville, but discovered that to be a misrepresentation of rolling up the sidewalks.  As we cast around another day, we found the place bustling - at least as much as a town of 1,700 can bustle.

One gallery we visited contained many marvelous art pieces; the owner was very cordial, so we spent quite a bit of time chatting with her (Trish), ending with a promise to return for a guided fishing trip with her husband.

A second gallery we entered was startlingly barren.  The owner there, Laura M, came right over to explain that she had just completed liquidating everything in preparation for moving away.  Her story included details about a 50th high school reunion after which one thing led to another until she was “just married” and ecstatic about the changes in her life.

After a good bit of jawing and congratulating, we moved on in our exploration of the miniscule downtown, not a very time-consuming endeavor.

I did stop to photograph a gathering that belongs in the category of “I have no idea what’s happening here, but they were having a lot of fun, whatever it was”.

 
Amidst the bustle, if it could be correctly called that, we discovered two excellent eateries.  One was a hamburger/malt joint that served by far the best burger ever.  The second was Bella’s Bistro, so in demand that one must have a reservation to be seated.

Bella’s seemed like a fine place to begin my birthday indulgences a bit early.  As we arrived at our appointed time, I noticed something amiss with my blouse, a run or some such.  It was not fixable at the time, so I uttered the prophetic words, “Oh well, what are the chances we’ll see anyone we know”.

Immediately upon entry, the first face I saw was the first gallery owner.  Of course we stopped for a brief “hello” and then were taken to our table.  Immediately upon being seated, in walked the second gallery owner with new husband in tow.

Of course there was nothing to be done except a bow to serendipity by photographing our “What are the chances” group.

My special day was duly noted with flowers and a card from the staff at Bella’s.

Battle Pass, Encampment . . .

The unintended mountain man theme of the trip continued when we drove up to the continental divide in the Sierra Madre Mountains with a stop at Battle Pass.

That moniker was applied after a small group of fur trappers were attacked in 1841 by a much larger bunch of Arapahoe warriors over a trading dispute, resulting in casualties on both sides.  The most dire toll was in horses, said to have been one hundred or more.

The exact location of the battle has been lost to time, although at one time, a farmer said his plow turned up numerous horse bones, but even that location is now unknown.

 

The views from that location were beautiful, but not spectacular.  Granted I didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time taking it in; an approaching storm was gracing us with frigid winds, but I was also interested in the ruins of a mining camp.

Museums, eagles, fishing . . .

At one point, we were overlooking the burg of Encampment; it has turned out to be a “must return” location.  The town is quaint, the setting is peaceful, and surprisingly, it boasts one of the most astounding historical museums ever.  Its name derives from a 19th century fur trapper & traders rendezvous near there.

We arrived in time for a tour of the museum; however, the collections are so extensive that a tour can take hours.  I would like to spend a day or more perusing the lot.  The museum houses a number of antique dwellings & business establishments, along with an incredible amount of interesting and unique furnishings, tools, clothing, horse-drawn & motor vehicles, mining equipment, vintage photographs and so much more.  It was incredible, and all was well-displayed and explained, especially concerning the people whose homes & handiwork we were seeing.

This bed appears to be about as comfortable as the bed in the Wolf Pup, which is not saying a lot.

This is a true work of art; it belongs in a gallery.

At a display of lumbering tools, the señor (with permission) offered a brief but informative explanation about saws, educating the group and the tour leader.

When we expressed interest in a piano, the director asked us if we'd ever seen a piano that had been shot.  Of course we had not, so he took us to another building to show us exactly that . . . seems that in 1908 or thereabouts, someone sprayed the Masonic building with bullets, a number of which hit the piano. . .

. . . nevertheless, it remains playable, even with some of the bullets still lodged inside.

During our explorations into Wyoming's myriad majestic landscapes, we were impressed with the road conditions, both paved and non.  Their worst are better than Arizona's best, sad to say.  It was lovely that we were seldom on anything more than small two-lane byways, also made it a simple matter to turn around for a better look at something we'd just passed.

At one juncture, I thought I'd spotted a bald eagle, so back we went to check it out.  Turned out it was two bald eagles perched high up in a tree; backlit and unfortunately, rather farther than my camera could do justice to a photo, but I did my best.

Oddly, immediately after that, we saw another bald eagle, then another and another until they became too commonplace to even point out, but never did we spot them in any other area.

It was fun to have licenses that allowed us to fish whenever we had the notion.  In Wyoming, the rivers flow through private land, and access for shore fishing is limited to specific places unless one is boating on the water.  We had our kayaks with us, but never used them; there was so much to see and to do that it would have just been a distraction.

We certainly fished various lakes, streams & rivers; however, our focus was much more broad, as we took in whatever sights & experiences were in front of us.

At one spot we fished, we were even unsure if we were on the Platte or on the Encampment, but it was grand and gorgeous, whatever the name.

This is exactly the kind of road that I find irresistible.  It calls my name and I must follow it to wherever it leads.  I have no conception that everyone does not feel the same compulsion.  Those who do are my people.

 

Meanwhile, back in Saratoga . . .

The town is known for its hot springs, and of course we were anxious to check those out, especially because it is wholly public: a municipal hot spring completely free of charge and open 24/7.  What could be better!

The bad news is that the three pools registered 107, 111 & 115.  We managed the largest coolest pool for a very short while - about as long as it took to walk from one corner to another.  It was fascinating with a sandy bottom: you could feel spring water coming up through the sand in places, making it almost hot enough to burn your feet.

Warming up to a another trip around the sun . . .

In contrast to the rural laid-back Wyoming vibe, we moved to Glenwood Springs, Colorado, as we worked our way homeward, returning to that other world where traffic is heavy & the pace frenetic - a shock to the senses.  We chose Glenwood for its hot springs: we opted to dunk ourselves at Iron Mountain as an indulgence on my birthday - the 77th!

Now there's something that causes the mind to reel.  I don't feel any different, but how quickly the time has passed!  I have now lived 30 years longer than my mother was given, and 25 years more than my son was allotted.  I cherish each day and revel in the opportunities and experiences that are mine, although I admit to the frailty of not always appreciating the miracle that is life.

To illustrate just how oddly the señor's mind works, I'll tell about something he came up with at breakfast.  It went like this: he knows that the number 222 has some kind of significance for me.  From that, he conjured the following computations.

I was 33 when we wed: 3 + 3  = 6.  6 ÷ 3 = 2.

We've been married for 44 years: 4 + 4 = 8.  8 ÷ 4 = 2.

I'm 77 years of age: 7 + 7 = 14.  14 ÷ 7 = 2.

Voila: 222!

Now perhaps it becomes more clear why I often just shake my head and wander around in circles!

That was quite a birthday digression from the subject of the hot springs, so I return to the subject of Iron Mountain.

Numerous pools there overlook the Colorado River, and one can wander from one to another at will.  While we tried on several for size, or temperature, we settled on a particular one for its temperate temperatures and for its compatible company.  

 

We engaged a couple visiting from Kansas in conversation, which was enjoyable enough that we all overindulged in the sun's rays.  Luckily, the soaks there are limited in time; otherwise, we four would be even more lobstereque than we are.

Eventually we timed out there, so to continue the birthday indulgence, we availed ourselves of the Yampah vapor caves.  What an experience that was, and one that I would love to repeat!

Historically, there were (or may still be) 50 hot springs on both sides of the Colorado River in Glenwood Canyon.  Things have changed over the years, but it felt a bit like going back in time when we descended those steep stairs into the darkness.

After allowing my eyes time to adjust to the very dim lighting, I wandered from chamber to chamber, getting the lay of the land, finally finding a rock slab on which to sit & sweat.  After all, it was 117 degrees in there with 100% humidity, so that's a fair amount of sweating.

Helpful staff had advised that we remain in the depths for shortish stints interspersed with cool-downs in the solarium.  Once I had groped my way to the cave shower, I found that it enhanced the experience.

Because I couldn't take my phone down there, I borrowed some pics off the internet to give an idea of the place, although it's kinda one of those things that require you to be there to get it.

As I relaxed (The experience reminded me of what a woman remarked to me after indulging in the baths at Hot Springs, Arkansas, years ago, "It kinda take the starch out of you"), I closed my eyes and surrendered to the release of toxins or whatever might have been occurring in such a bizarre situation.  I also closed my eyes to prevent the sweat from running into them and stinging.  

Just think: I could have had the same experience by sitting in the sun in Phoenix during monsoons, but that certainly wouldn't have been as exotic as the cave time.  At any rate, one of us reveled in the oddity of it all, and one of us shortened his stay in the depths.

It was surreal to be there hearing the hot springs water dripping, gurgling and running through the cave.  If given the opportunity, I would definitely do the vapor caves again. 

During one of our cooling-off stints, we met a friendly & charming young couple - Ari & Cody.  They invited us to sit in on Cody's music gig later in the day, and we were happy to have more time with them.  

Meeting good folks: an awesome birthday gift!

With satisfaction at our explores of incredible Wyoming, the joy of spending time with some of those we love, and the fun of meeting new and interesting folks, home still called, and so we turned back toward Prescott, our comfortable environs and dear friends, also my gardens that were well-tended but that I needed to tend myself.