What You Will Learn, Ya Learn Right Quick

One of my assignments this week was to travel to Cheyenne, Wyoming from Jackson for a meeting. We were on the road by 6AM the morning of the meeting. We were to jettison across the 400 miles that separate Cheyenne from Jackson and arrive by the meeting’s start time, which was 3PM. Barring all catastrophes, this was plenty of time to arrive at our destination. My sole travel partner was a long time Wyoming resident. This trip would give him an opportunity to “school” me in the ways of Wyoming living.

On the way, we discussed the reasons behind the meeting itself; he prepping me on the subject matter so that I could at least nod intelligently at whomever was talking. This was a long story for him to tell, as the issues we would be confronting came to light in the year 1868. We would be meeting at the State Engineer’s Office to discuss water development for a portion of one of the Indian reservations in the state.

Lesson Number One: Native Americans in Wyoming still have no valid reason to trust the White Man.

Hey, I barely trust Whitey myself, especially when it comes to public policy. But let’s face it, all you Caucasians out there: we really screwed them over. The varied Native American population in this country has approached life in one of two ways: either they try to adapt to the culture that was forced upon them and make a profit in the mean time (see Minnesota’s Mdewakanton Sioux); or they stubbornly cling to the virtues of the culture that is historically their own. It seems the latter is the prevalent approach in the state of Wyoming.

During the meeting, I was regaled with stories concerning the tribe’s business approach: their unreliability when it comes to acknowledging time as “we” define it, for instance. Many times, appointments are made to discuss any given issue with the tribal representatives, only to have the expected attendees show up hours past the appointed time.

What we consider important simply does not measure up to their own priorities of participating in the rituals that define their culture. These rituals are often what seem to interfere in the conducting of what we consider regular business. So naturally, when one is discussing a water rights issue that started in 1868 and resulted in a Supreme Court decision in the year 2001, it is just the natural progression of time that one needs to consider – as defined by the tribe itself.

We were inundated with the type of information that only meant we had to perform more research. At one point, one of the hydrologists at the table actually mentioned the Bell Curve. My mind not being designed to understand the vast landscape of mathematics, I kind of took a mental vacation at that point.

Our travel route, up the point of arriving in Cheyenne, had not allowed for a mental sojourn of any kind. I was at the wheel for at least four hours on Interstate 80. As I drove over the ice and snow that littered this thoroughfare, a constant reminder of the treacherous conditions was laid to waste in the median and on the shoulder. We passed a total of eighteen semi-trucks in various states of disrepair all along Wyoming’s Highway 80 to our destination.

Lesson Number Two: Wyoming roads are not forgiving.

Apparently the weather system from the night before had gotten the better of a few long haul truckers. My travel companion insisted that they deserved it. I could have hardly argued with him as I gripped the steering wheel in white knuckle fashion while he asked me, “You do know how to drive on ice, don’t you?” I nodded with what I hoped was an aura of complete confidence. Of course, my internal dialog was spent planning my own funeral. Only been here two months, and I die in a rented Ford Escape with a guy I barely know. Perfect. I realized that I was going to live once we were able to get through Laramie in one piece. But the prevailing sense of doom felt willing to reserve itself for the next time.

That morning, I had listened intently to the radio trying to pinpoint the locations where we were not supposed to be driving. On that particular day, there were one hundred mile radiuses where travel was not advised in random parts of Wyoming. It is an unrelenting feature of Wyoming’s climate that the wind doth blow with some severity, especially in locations where there are no physical attributes like, say, a mountain to give one any protection. As a result, wide open spaces abound in which the wind is given ample room to blow… and blow… and, well, you get the picture. Oftentimes, especially during the winter months, motorists are blown right off the highways. When precipitation is added to this deadly inclement driving condition cocktail, you never know what you are going to get. We witnessed semi-truck cabs separated soundly from the tractor portion of their bodies; passenger vehicles tangled one on top of the other, and a variety of other traffic melees that convinced me of one thing: when advised not to travel along certain routes in the state of Wyoming, one best listen.

Our travels, after having taken us to Cheyenne, landed us in Casper, Wyoming for the night. By choosing this round about way to get back to Jackson, we were avoiding the stretch of highway that we had already traveled in an effort to make better time – and, to hopefully avoid any further ice delays. The hotel was in full convention mode. We could barely find our way from the lobby desk to the elevator without some difficulty due to the amount of people crowding the lobby. And then… “Hey Frank!”

Lesson Number Three: Wyoming is a small town with a long main street.

Yes, my co-worker did in fact know someone that was crowded into the mob of people just as we were, trying to navigate the narrows of the Best Western lobby. Had this been the only time that he had run into someone he knew unexpectedly on our trip, I may have chalked it up to coincidence and ignored the core meaning behind Lesson Number Three.

The first time this happened, we were coming around the corner in a government building in Cheyenne and ran into his daughter’s best friend from high school. This was totally unexpected, but seemingly normal for him. As we walked through the building, everyone knew him (some of them not having seen him in years). I chalked this up to his many decades in Wyoming coupled with his professional activities, which took him all over the state.

The fact of the matter is, when you live in a state where the antelope outnumber the people, you are bound to run into someone you have already met – whether it is at home or on the road. Frank told me that it was not unusual for him to run into acquaintances in this manner quite frequently, from Jackson to Cheyenne, from Casper to Cody. I am convinced that he was not exaggerating.

Our final travel day took us from Casper back to Jackson in a westward direction. We were bound to visit the project site that was associated with our meeting. This commitment drove us through the Wind River Indian Reservation .

Lesson Number Four: Wyoming is beautiful.

Don’t forget that if you drive through the “wrong” parts of Wyoming; you may come away thinking “Why would anyone want to live in this rocky, dry, windy place?” Frank likes this – he says that if the beauty is hidden from the traveler, they will more than likely not return. “Keeps the riff raff out”, was his exact assertion. Oh, but do not be fooled by these long stretches of nothingness. Apart from the obvious draw of the Jackson area –the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone Park, to be exact – Wyoming harbors topography that would knock any view hungry tourist’s socks off.

We drove by buttes, some low, and some high, some with stories attached to them like the sagebrush that clung to their circumferences. We blew past picturesque homesteads that have been a matter of history since Wyoming became a state way back in 1890. The Wind River followed our own route, cut away by trees and small ravines, flowing through private property and small quaint towns that milk the tourist trade. In the background, badland formations exposed themselves to the wide open blue sky and fell hush in response to the prevailing winds.

Our trip came to a breathtaking close as we traversed Togwotee Pass, at a pinnacle of almost 10,000 feet, and motored our way down to arrive within the outskirts of Grand Teton National Park before finally coming to a stop in Jackson.

I have not learned it all, by any means.

But I do believe that I am off to a good start.