Thursday, September 14 (continued)
“Okay, you’ve had your walk,” I point out to Reggie and Roger who ride next to me in the Perfect Tow Vehicle as we drive through Thermopolis.
“Lie down and take a snooze while we go through Wind River Canyon.”
Reggie circles his doggie bed until he reaches the perfect orientation. Then he lies down and rests his chin on the bumper of the bed.
One down, one to go.
Roger puts his front paws on the sill of the passenger window, looks at the passing scenery, and whines. This isn’t something new; he does this every time we go somewhere.
“Yeah, I’m feeling a bit grumpy, too, Rog. This drive through Wind River Canyon will be good for me. The sun is shining, blue skies up above. Lie down and relax. ”
We enter the canyon and drift past a few turn-outs. I’m not in the mood for photography. After a while, however, the scenery pulls me out of my funk.
The canyon is stupendous!
The winding road is above Wind River. On the other side of the river, railroad tracks hug the cliffs. The three strands of road, river, and railroad tracks weave through tremendous canyon walls.
My mood lightened, I pull into a turn-out and get out with my camera.
(I’m not sure the order of the photos and I don’t have many, as several did not turn out well.)
This next photo gives scale. It’s a view to the north, from whence we came. See the tiny red truck?
In the center of the turn-out stands a stone memorial.
Engraved on the stone I read the name, Reverend William Barrow Pugh.
I don’t intend to mention this in my blog. I take the photo only so that I’ll have the name to research later on the web.
Before I return to the PTV, I take a moment to stand in this magnificent setting of Wind River Canyon and wonder about this man who was so loved and respected that people placed a memorial monument here.
That’s when it hits me.
September 14, 1950? Today is September 14! Out of 365 days in a year there is only one September 14 and that’s when I park at this memorial. Wow. And I skipped those other turn-outs, yet stopped at this one.
I’m reminded of a similar incident.
While camped at Clark Canyon Reservoir south of Dillon, Montana, a few years ago, the original crew and I venture to the other side of the reservoir.
On an interpretive sign I read that Sacajawea was reunited with her Lemhi Shoshoni people after guiding Lewis and Clarke. The date was August 17, 1805.
I’m reading that sign about 200 years later and the date?
(You can read the blog post by following this link: “Camp Fortunate”.)
We emerge from Wind River Canyon.
We pass Boysen Reservoir and the state park. Determined to put miles behind us, I push on.
I’m concerned about the weather. Early morning lows are dipping into the low 30s and even the high 20s.
I could’ve ordered a new Wave 3 heater from Amazon and arranged for it to be sent to the Riverton UPS customer center for pick-up today. However, my last experience with this particular UPS facility deterred me.
As we approach Riverton, I recall driving through this town in 2014.
I remember how Bridget sat quietly on the passenger seat beside me, the bench seat terribly empty without our Spike. Both of us broken-hearted.
Previously I thought, whenever in this part of Wyoming again I’ll visit Spike’s grave. I’ve come to the realization that I shouldn’t do that. Camping there and reliving that terrible week would be too sad and difficult and serve no good purpose.
Besides, Spike’s spot will be covered in snow by morning.
Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I keep us moving, moving, moving toward Lander. We will stay at Sinks Canyon State Park and continue our run from the cold in the morning.
Campsite at Sinks Canyon State Park, Lander, Wyoming
After the sun goes down, so does the air temperature . . . .
Windows and vents closed, I heat up a can of chicken and rice soup for supper. I share with the crew, of course. They gobble up the warm chicken chunks which serve as appetizers for their bowl of kibble.
For those of you who are wondering . . . .
No, identical dishes do not keep Roger happy at his own dish. He watches Reggie eat. As soon as Reggie stops eating his kibble, Roger takes over and finishes what Reggie leaves behind. Then I pour Roger’s kibble into Reggie’s dish. It’s the only way I can get Roger to eat his own food!
Night falls on our campsite.
I dress Reg and Rog in their fleece suits before putting them to bed. I also add the comforter to the folded quilt. This will form a cozy cocoon for the three of us.
The Best Little Trailer is pelted by rain and then hail, driven by the wind whipping through Sinks Canyon.
Slipping under the covers I notice that Reggie and Roger have warmed up the bed, like a pair of hot potatoes in the olden days.
As I fall asleep . . . .
Hoo-boy. . . Another day of driving tomorrow . . . . This is what I get for lingering in Montana and at Bighorn Canyon. Well, it was worth it. This race against the weather is not my kind of full-timing, but, gosh, the boys and I had so much fun . . .
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Roger and Reggie in their dreams