I raved enough about the Interpretive center to kindle Isaiah's jealousy. He now had to check it out before we left town. At the entrance a pronghorn was just hanging out. He didn't mind getting his picture taken. His appearance was unexpected since it was our first time seeing one and since the center is right off of the highway. After spending so much time at the center yesterday when the girls at the counter saw me come in they waved and exclaimed how great it was that the van and I were OK and we talked like old friends. It was certainly more enjoyable this time around since I had a companion, no car trouble and all the pictures looked so much less sad with both of us in it.
I love suprises, while Isaiah hates them, though he seems to enjoy planning them for me. So when, before heading out of town, I asked several times (pestered, really) where our next destination was and found Isaiah frustratingly vague, I was confused and so inquired some more. The strange thing is I normally don't ask and either wait for him to tell me or just find out when we get there, but I was anxious to get out of WY if just for a while and was full of questions. I took Isaiah's subtle evasiveness as his not having planned the next leg out and set off unsure where we would end up.
It turns out the town of Douglas, WY, which is very special, but probably only for my family and me, for in it sits the La Bonte hotel, coffeehouse, and bar and around it the La Bonte creek and canyon. Isaiah coyly led me right to the hotel with a clever "looking for a museum" ruse when I noticed the hotel sign. Unfortunatley for us we arrived the week of the state fair and every room was booked up, so we would not be staying the night, but as soon as the hotel manager heard me say, "my mom is going to freak when I tell her about this" he graciously led us around the hotel and detailed it's history, even showing us a couple of rooms.
As he described it, the hotel was built in 1914 and due to a housing shortage and a large oil rigger population is usually at at least 65% capacity throughout the year. Even long term residents were kicked out for fair week to accomodate the swell of visitors. After touring the hotel we sat down to lunch at the hotel coffeeshop and steakhouse and enjoyed local art as we waited for our food, our favorite being a crayon drawing with the caption "God is cool." A very good bowl of chili ("Green," I was told by the waitress, "is way better," and I won't argue) and a mediocre salad later I was curious about more La Bonte sights.
Now after having explained to the owner what "La Bonte" means (the goodness) and even that the name of her restaurant was French, it was perhaps a bad idea to ask her for her expertise, but asking for directions to La Bonte creek led to several weird conversations. We were first told to ask George. Several minutes later we realized (shortly after George did himself) that he was seated directly behind us. He was a customer, and a regular one at that, but in regards to his helpfulness, irregular. Also, based on his age he may be the town's founder. After deliberating another few minutes he told us to "go down the road." Disagreeing the owner took over and described an intricate journey to the creek, involving a dozen turns in each direction on several unnamed roads. When I mentioned the creek wasn't on the map I had, she disputed me. She made me go to the van and bring her the map. When finding not only was it not there, but that AAA had renamed and obliterated roads she assured me existed she went hunting for another map, returning with a state map that wouldn't fill the surface of a postcard, on which the only information was hunting grounds and school districts. Even this refuted her. After 20 minutes she dismissed the crook gerrymanderers at AAA and us to be on our way in the nicest of ways. In the end we scrapped the creek altogether judging the road(s?) would be too much for Vandrea.
Instead we stopped at Ayer's Natural Bridge, a fine example of mother nature's creativity. It is a rock fromation shaped into, as the name implies, a lumpy bridge. Surrounded by colorful rock walls and a lovely green park it was a nice stop. As we tried to keep up with a 2 year old who was scaling the rock, his grandmother behind us, we couldn't help but comment on his preternatural climbing skills. We found he was destined for such athleticism when we heard the grandmother yell, "Summit you need to get back here!" We were then told the toddler wasn't nearly as crazy as his father who "hiked the Rockies barefoot."
We rounded out the day by driving across the border into Scott's Bluff, NE. The realitively large town sits right along Wyoming's border and, true to it's namesake, boasts a large bluff named after a man who died on it. We arrived in the early evening and spent some much needed time at the laundry mat. We pulled in with Isaiah wearing a stripe on plaid combo and me with my (4th) ruined outfit, my shirt advertising our sloppy lunch of bread and spaghetti sauce. We were under a serious time crunch to get all of it done before the laundrymat closed. We enjoyed the musical accompanymnet of a young child who sounded to be stuck in the dryer on indelicate cycle. Sadly, it turns out the child wasn't. Previous screaming bouts had obviously deafened his parents, as they didn't even notice. Does curdled blood come out easier than tomato sauce?
Pronghorn in front of the interpretive center
Riding a stage coach at the interpretive center
Lifting a weighted backpack to see what the pioneers
experienced at the interpretive center
Name says it all
Ditto
Ayer's Natural bridge
Why is Danger in quotations?
