Wyoming Weekend

On Thursday, I heard about some hot springs near Saratoga, Wyoming. My explorer's interest piqued, a road trip was in order!

The plan was to kick off of work at two on Friday, despite the grading-monkey riding on my back. With only 30 small assignments left to grade, it wouldn't take long...maybe just a couple of hours.

With the sun shining and temps approaching the upper 50s, I couldn't wait. Quickly packing the minivan, I pulled out of Craig around one and headed north.

The scenery north out of Craig is blanketed with yellowed grasses and sagebrush upon the rolling hills.

With all the open space, Interstate 80 came into view in the distance. Long semis sped like bullets, moving east and west. With interstate speeds, it didn't take long before I arrived in Rawlins and booked a room with some hotel credits I'd been saving for a few months.

After dropping stuff off at the hotel, I made my way back into town to see what local shops were open on a Friday afternoon. I spent all of my time inside a downtown thrift store looking at things. I overheard the woman at the counter talking with some locals about a rare find that she had researched. With a piqued interest, I moved closer to the counter and watched as she showed them a small box. "See? It's even got the braided wire," she said. One of the guys asked if it worked. "Yes, it works. It's from 1929. I looked it up. It's made by GE. Even the little light inside works." I asked what it was as I approached the counter. "It's a clock," she said, turning it around so I could see the front face. The clock was a pre-cursor to the digital clocks as the numbers were on a type of rotating roll inside the clock. The little light lit up the front side of the numbers. "Can you believe it came in with a pile of clothes?" the woman asked incredulously. One of the men suggested she auction it off. "I'm going to hold onto it for a while, maybe keep it on display," she said. It was then that I decided to make this a thrift-store trip and stop at every little town's thrift store as I passed through. There's cool old stuff to be found out here!

Since it was dinner time, I made my way to a local restaurant: Buck's Sports Grill. I ordered the BLT sandwich with a side of sweet potato fries. The sandwich and fries did not disappoint. Only...the fries were served with a side cup of butter and cinnamon. When I asked the server what this was about, she replied that the owner likes to eat the sweet potato fries like this, so that's how they're served. I tried it. It was actually good, but that's a lot of extra fat calories (fried food and butter!) that I am trying to avoid, so I only ate about half the fries and didn't go overboard on the butter concoction.

With a full tummy, I made my way back to the hotel. Thirty papers needed grading, and I wanted to get it done so I didn't have work hanging over my head the rest of the weekend.

Frost had formed on the windshield overnight, so I left the vehicle running while loading up my basket of clothes, computer, Buena's stuff, and other odds and ends. A slight, continuous wind made me hurry along, and soon I drove away.

I had to go east before I could head south to Saratoga. The digital highway signs cautioned "40+ MPH WINDS" in the area.

Some cool, historic-looking buildings were at the next exit, so I pulled onto the exit ramp and headed toward the town of Sinclair. Yes, the Sinclair (dinosaur) oil refinery is there. And, yes, there's a Simclair gas station at the other end of the business loop. ($3.38 for a gallon of 85 octane!) The historic-looking buildings were pretty, and if the wind wasn't blowing so much in the morning chill, I might have gotten out to inspect. Maybe on another trip someday.

Finally heading southward toward Saratoga, I pulled off on dirt roads twice to let Buena run and to look at rocks.

I finally arrived in Saratoga, so I got out to look at the Hobo Hot Springs before committing myself to them. Essentially, it is a bath house with male/female locker rooms and two pools. There's also a gate that leads out to the river where the hot water seeps out from beneath. People have build little rings to keep the hot water in while minimizing the cold river water from overtaking the warmth. The pools and river rings weren't crowded, but I didn't get in.

Despite having my swimsuit on underneath my clothes, the chill wind made me reconsider. Instead, I decided to find the town's thrift shop while waiting for it to warm up.

The thrift store in Saratoga did not disappoint. The woman at the counter called it an "upscale thrift store." The prices were reasonable, despite the clothing labels being from pricey designers. I bought a few things there: a black sweater made in Russia; a sweater vest made in Macau; a 3/4 sleeve Wyoming t-shirt with a moon, mountains, and buffalo on it; and, a black hat similar to the one someone stole from me back in 2013. (The theft was a car break-in. They also nabbed my Pendelton bag with my schoolbooks and notes inside.)

Loading my finds into the car, I decided to check out the "other hot spring" at the resort. The two ladies at the front desk were both on the phone, so I made my way to the ladies restroom where I fell in love with the wallpaper.

When I returned to the front desk, one of the women was off the phone. "I'm sorry ma'am," she said. "We don't offer hot spring day passes. You have to have a reservation here."

"What would a room cost for the evening?" I asked, mentally figuring how much I'd be willing to spend (and could afford).

"We have one room left," she said, looking up from the computer. "It's $229 for the night."

I thanked her for checking and said that this was an impromptu weekend trip. I'd be back another time when I was better prepared.

She smiled and gave me some tips for budget months that are still pleasant. "If you book three months in advance, you'll usually get the best rate," she added.

On the way to the minivan, I took some pics with the cellphone to remember this place. A petite blond lady struck up a conversation with me and asked if I was staying here.

"I'm just checking the place out because I think I want to come back here for visit."

"Have you seen the pools?" she asked.

As she led me out to look at the pools, she explained that she talks to everyone and that she's a local realtor. She gave me her card.

One large hot springs pool sat in the center of a courtyard.

"You've got to see the teepees," she said. "See? There's private little pools inside!"

With the pools, the ambiance, the on-site restaurant, and the pool table, I decided this is a bucket-list place.

Back on the road, I headed south, trying to decide whether I should make this a really long trip and head over a mountain pass the women at the thrift store described. "We call it the little Tetons," one of the women had said. It's a dirt road, 130, that leads to Laramie. As I approached the turnoff, I decided against an extra-long trip because the rock formations toward Encampment intrigued me more. In addition, I had only budgeted a short, inexpensive weekend. If I went to Laramie, I'd need more fuel and possibly another night at a hotel. At this point, I determined to make it back to Craig by the evening.

The thrift store in Encampment, Wyoming, is a small building on a side street. I only saw it because the road sign promised an RV park down the road, and I wanted to check that out. I never did find the RV park, but my rule for this trip was such that if I saw a thrift store, I'd have to stop.

The older lady at the counter looked to be in her mid 70s. She smiled, greeted me, and then returned to her conversation with two other women who looked to be in their 60s.

While the other women and I looked at the clothes racks, the counter woman said to one of the other ladies, "You know Stella just turned 62. She asked why everything was hurting her these days."

The two other women clucked a chuckle, while I listened in and examined a rack of skirts.

The counter woman laughed. "I told her to wait. If she thinks 62 is bad, wait until she gets my age!"

It reminded me of something my dad said along those same lines. The bodily aches and pains of old age must be a real thing. When I worked at the health food store, the older clientele usually sought natural supplements to manage pain. (It was around that time when I discovered willow bark and still use it.)

The women started discussing one of the counter lady's relatives. His little family bought some land up north, 400 acres to run cattle. They built the barn and we'll first, then added electric. "They're going to live inside the RV inside the barn this winter and start on the house next year "

The women clucked about how difficult that must be as I approached the counter with an armload of skirts. "It sounds like your relative is living the good life," I said as the woman added up my total.

She smiled, "Yes, he is. He's having the time of his life and enjoys the hard work."

I stopped at another thrift store in Encampment, but it was more like an antique store, and the items were a little pricier. I just looked at items and treated it like a museum. There were a few pieces of furniture and other items that I'd love to include in my collection of things, but they'd have to wait. The woman at the counter told me the thrift store in Walden, Colorado, is a good one. "But you'll have to hurry. They close at three," she said.

I thanked her and continued my journey.

The temperatures had warmed considerably, and it was time to take Buena (and myself) out on a little hike. Spying some BLM land near an interesting rock formation, I decided that Buena and I could hike around on the rocks. Of course, I collected a few specimens and put them in the car.

We continued down the road for a while when a sign for Platte River access came into view. Impulsively, I turned onto that dirt road. In two-and-a-half miles, we were in a small parking lot with a trail leading down to the river.

The Walden thrift store was closed by the time I arrived, so it was on to Steamboat Springs, and then back to Craig. We pulled into town just as the sun set at the horizon.