After leaving Mt. Rushmore, we had a one night stop in Casper, Wyoming. Feeling refreshed from a restful, air-conditioned sleep, we take a scenic drive heading toward Yellowstone. Actually, we head toward the first of what my husband had termed “questionable stays.” He had carefully researched our entire journey and made all the reservations. Our night’s lodging was to be an old ranger’s station that is no longer in use. The location was undisclosed, meaning I had no idea where we were going. I had no idea how long it was going to take to get there. I could not consult a map to ensure we, were in fact, headed in the correct direction and could not offer optional routes. In retrospect, I believe my husband perhaps did this on purpose.
While playing 20 questions of where we were spending the night, almost out of nowhere, we drove into Sinks Canyon State . I am not sure how much area this state park actually covers, but the visitors center perched above rushing water and surrounded by a towering canyon, was worth a stop. The fish, the canyons, the small waterfall all was the gateway into the low mountains of Wyoming.
We drove and drove and drove. Stopping only to take pictures of mountains, rocks, flowers, lakes, and more mountains. Even though we were surrounded by serenity, my angst was getting the better of me. Every time I would ask my dear husband how much further, the answer was always I don’t know. Now, in my mind if you don’t know where we are and we have not seen other human life in what seems like days, that means we are either lost in the middle of nowhere and we were going to be mauled to death by rabid grizzly bears or be “rescued” by some nice “mountain folk” and live out our days in some twisted version of Stephen King’s Misery. I admit I immediately go to worse case scenario.
We live in Arkansas. I am familiar with the middle of nowhere. Ninety-five percent of Arkansas is the middle of nowhere. This middle of nowhere was different. We had changed terrain about 6 times. I was becoming increasingly concerned we had illegally crossed into Canada because you know, how close Canada and Wyoming are, right? Additionally, the horrors of Canadian Border prisons we’ve all heard about was nothing to joke about. We had left the beautiful mountains, gone through flat valleys, highway, dirt road, and gravel roads. We drove through someone’s cattle farm. Either this or cows just appear willy nilly in Wyoming. Over the bridge and through the woods to unknown places we go…
No sign of life other than the Temple travel gang, save an occasional cow and an unsubstantiated claim of Bigfoot, have been seen for a few hours. Down a long, dusty (highway) gravel road we finally (FINALLY) approach the evenings sleeping quarters. Everything is picturesque until the final turn and we (slowly) pass a very suspicious looking camper that is open and completely filled with objects and material I could not readily identify. I was really looking. Standing in the field across from the suspicious camper was a suspicious man with a suspicious beautiful blonde…horse. I don’t know why the horse was suspicious, it just was, standing there in a field, eating grass next to suspicious camper, with a suspicious man. The trailer filled with some unknown horrors, the horse and the man, in all their collective suspiciousness were right across from the place we were staying. Oh goodie.
The initial inspection of the cabin did momentarily distract my mind on how we were all going to die a horrible death that night. This cabin, in its previously life served as a ranger station. A worn path led to the cabin and another to the picnic table. Tall grass and wildflowers filled in the rest of the yard. Buildings on the periphery of the property were locked with faded signs of “Do Not Enter” dangling from chains. Since we left the chain cutters at home, that was not much of a worry. The original outhouse sat behind the cabin and was filled with “something”, but I did not want our vacation to be delayed with an interrogation by the state police, so I did not investigate.
Walking in the cabin, we were greeted with a distinct smell of mothballs and possibly Raid. Furnishings were sparse, but were mostly “clean”. Four bunkbeds complete with mattresses that appeared to be new around the time Manifest Destiny kicked off lined the walls . In the center of the room was a table with an eclectic collection of chairs. A kitchen complete with sink and refrigerator was adjacent to the bathroom. The cabin may have been a bit musty but the cordiality of the spiders on the mattresses were quite accommodating, so balance. The stains on the mattresses were intentionally ignored as we had sleeping bags to protect us from the unknown biohazards of whatever fluid produced those stains. The brown, stained, poofy squares that I think were supposed to be pillows were stacked neatly in the corner and watched closely. With no air conditioning, outside would be the place to loiter until bed time. We had many cans of Off and we had a grill, and hamburgers were waiting to be cooked.
The lone man with his horse was still in the field as the burgers were grilling. Just standing there. Why would he just be standing there if his intent was not to kill us all, chop us into many pieces and then hide our various body parts in all those chained buildings? Perhaps I should not read quite as much Stephen King prior to going on vacation. Were we supposed to offer food in exchange for safety? I had read how to distract bears, not how not to get chopped up by a mountain serial killer. My family was less convinced of his murderous intentions and were not helping (at all) to come up with an escape plan. They went on about their evening. I however, decided to secretly get his picture and then hide my camera in the cabin, but not too well, so the police could find my pictures and have the suspect on camera. Complete stealth was the objective, lest I be seen and send him into a murderous rage. With this thought in mind, I appeared to be taking pictures of the property any time he turned around. As it turned out, I needed a longer lens. While hiding in the flowers, he was moving toward the horse. Adrenaline filled my body. Was this it? He looked toward the cabin, mounted his horse. Even though he was acting completely natural, this did not fool me. I was on watch all night.
To say sleep was elusive would be an understatement. When I was not straining to hear the return of the serial killer, evident by the ever so quiet opening of a door or window, I was in mortal combat with several Navy Seal mosquitos. Around 2 am a motorcycle gang was roaring about. Seriously. 2am. The middle of nowhere. Apparently the serial killer had stashed the horse and returned with quicker escape and back up. After waking my husband to tell him I had been right all along, it turned out, it was not motor cycles, but dirt bikes, but it was still 2 am. My husband can be really cranky sometimes, especially at 2am.
As sunlight slowly broke the horizon, the night at murder cabin had come to an end. We made it out alive. Packed up and rolling, a new day was ahead of us. No more talk and fear of dying in a cabin. I may have overreacted just a titch. The first stop was to be the Grand Tetons and then on to Yellowstone. More of our country’s natural artwork passes as I allow my mind to wander. I did not hear my husband at first. I did catch the word virus. Virus talk?!?! Without me???? I am the conversation leader on viruses… Apparently he had asked a question as he was expecting an answer. He had to repeat the question.
“How is hantavirus transmitted?”
Being married for 20+ years I knew this was not a random question. My immediate fear was is this question related to the cabin we just left and not the cabin in which we were to stay that night. He knew this conversation was not going to end well. Before I told him what I know about hantavirus, he was going to tell me why virology was suddenly in his conversation repertoire. Long argument short, our cabin, which was very close to Yellowstone, had a Hantavirus warning listed as a safety bulletin. I work in a lab. I have worked for multiple years in both Microbiology and Virology. This information was intentionally kept from me until the day of our stay. That cabin was non-negotiable. No. Nope. Not going to happen. He had bought me the previous Christmas, Twelve Diseases That Changed Our World. He knew the Hantavirus was going to be a deal breaker. But… what is a vacation without a little drama? That left us trying to find a hotel in proximity to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons in July. We did eventually find one. The cost was a bit much, but on the bright side, we did not all die of Hantavirus… or by being chopped up and shoved in buildings by a serial killer. Life was good.
We spent the remainder of that day making a very quick drive through the Grand Tetons. Mountains and lakes dotted the main thoroughfare. A photographer’s heaven. The drive through the Grand Tetons was just that, a drive. We just took a detour before heading to the oldest, most beautiful, stinky state park of Yellowstone. (Click the link for interesting history of Yellowstone).
Stay tuned as the Temple Family Epic Road Trip continues…
