is there any more pie?

The last morning we pack up the car.

The last time we gas up before heading west.

The last time Banjo Man scrapes bugs from the windshield.

The last bag of sunflower seeds. Banjo Man eats thousands of ’em.

3281 miles later…

Two steps away from the first swim of the summer.

Last Saturday we left Cody by 7:30 AM, with a quick stop to peek inside the doors of Buffalo  Bill’s famous Irma Hotel.

The main street through Cody at 8 AM.

Inside the Irma.

And then we headed north again, to pick up I-80 and head west.

We stopped in Bozeman for lunch and some banjo-shopping and Music Villa.   They had a 1920’s Vega tenor banjo that made Banjo Man’s heart beat a little faster but, alas, it needed a bit of work and cost more than was in the Banjo Man Budget.

But there was this, one of my favorite on-the-road restaurants:

Can you see the sign?

Three heavenly words:  lemon blueberry pancakes.

And then it was my turn to drive, so in a post lemon blueberry glow, I got behind the wheel and headed West.

West!!!!

We would be staying in Missoula, right next to our favorite pizza place.

Pizza is my favorite food.

At dinnertime we were about three hours and 170 miles away from our summer home.

Hallelujah!

We arrived in Cody Friday morning, and of course the first thing Banjo Man wanted to do was eat.  So we parked downtown and treated ourselves to a Mexican lunch in a real restaurant.

Then it was time to hit the Buffalo Bill Center of the West.  We were especially looking forward to the Whitney Gallery’s collection of Western Art.  Once inside we decided to split up and meet in four hours.

Yes, four hours.  It would close in six hours and Banjo Man thought he would need all six hours to see everything.

I took lots of pictures on my Kindle but have yet to send them to this computer, so I’ll post the highlights in another blog post.

My favorite area was the Museum of the Plains Indians.  After spending over an hour there, I bumped into Banjo Man.  He had been in the new Firearms museum (the largest collection of firearms in the world) and told me he’d seen Zane Grey’s gun.  I was so excited and needed to take a picture of it.  He said I’d never find it and offered to lead me to it.

I declined, assuming I could find one measly rifle or ask one of the docents.  This turned out to be a stupid decision, because after an hour and a half–and two complete walks through the Firearms exhibits (a total maze) I still hadn’t found the Winchester 1895.

But I had lots of steps on my Fitbit.

I’d given up–temporarily–and was in the Buffalo Bill museum when I spotted Banjo Man again.  We strolled through that together and saw this:

It had once lived in Buffalo Bill’s wife’s home in North Platte, Nebraska.  Banjo Man’s sister and family had owned that home for many years.  Do you see us in the mirror?  Hey, Hall Mirror, we know where you’ve been!!

Banjo Man said they used to have a wrench for this on the farm, but no one knows what happened to it.  He sounded sad.  Does that mean he wants our next road trip to include this?

I felt a cold chill run down my back.

Back to the rifle, which Banjo Man led me to.  By this time we were both staggering with exhaustion.

His monogram is in gold.

We limped out of the building and to the very hot parking lot after five hours.

And then we were off to our hotel, which turned out to be rather pricey.  I think I booked the wrong Best Western online last month.  Still, we had nothing to complain about.  Banjo Man unloaded his nine bags from the car and then hustled off to a local grocery store to buy more food for his endless, insatiable appetite.  We shared a steak dinner in the attached restaurant and I had a green margarita made from tequila, melon liqueur and cucumbers.

I feel it is my duty to try different margaritas so I can perfect them for my friends at the lake.

And then…good night.

We got a late start on day 7, due to both of us having business to take care of.  I’d been sent a rather strange line edit of my novella (due out in November, finished in April) and needed to throw a mild hissy fit.  In thirty years of writing, I’d never thrown a hissy fit (except in the privacy of my office!!!) so I guess this was a case of “better late than never”.

I was still fuming and fussing when we finally got on the road and headed north.  Banjo Man wisely listened and said supportive things.

We’d been on the road for an hour when Banjo Man decided he was hungry.  We’d just crossed into Wyoming, so he pulled over at a truck stop with a Wendy’s in it and proceeded to eat a hamburger and a bowl of chili.

And then we were on the road again, heading north towards I-80.

Our destination was Riverton, Colorado.  Banjo Man wanted to go through Mountain Man country and see the Popo Agie River.

According to the Sinks River info, “Popo Agie is a Crow Indian word that most people believe means “gurgling river.” When the first white trappers arrived in the area the Crow people were here, and that is what they called the river.

It is pronouced: “Puh – Po Shuh” (two words).

The Shoshone Indians also were in the Popo Agie River Valley and they called the river Wuhnzee Ohgway which translates to: Wuhn-zee (pronghorn buck) Oh-gway (flowing river).

The Shoshone called the Lander Valley Wuhnzee Gahdtuhd which translates as:Wuhn-zee (pronghorn buck) Gah-dtuh-d (sitting).

Today the Shoshone and Crow people still come to the canyon to collect sage and pick berries.”

Moving along on I-80 all afternoon.

So, here we are at Sinks Canyon.  Banjo Man is wearing his new hat and studying the sign.

“The canyon gets its name from the fantastic geologic formation “The Sinks,” where the river disappears into a limestone cavern, reappearing at the Rise hours later. Dye tests have only answered some of the questions about the underground hydrology of the canyon. The geology is equally complex and Sinks Canyon is a great place to view millions of years of geologic history.”

View from the Rise.

Trout gathering to be fed by tourists. They are huge!

It’s a good thing Story Man wasn’t with us.  It might have been too much for him!

Story Man loves to fish.

Back to the Sinks:

Here comes the river.

And there goes the river, disappearing into the rocks.

I was very happy to see this:

And the gift shop where I bought Banjo Man a present.  And bought a little something for my grandson.

Me without coffee.

Banjo Man looking for his next meal.

After all that excitement, it was time to get back on the road and drive through the gorgeous little western town of Lander, Wyoming.  And then on to Riverton, where we stayed at a brand new Hampton Inn filled with oil workers.  I spent some time alone in the pool, trying to exercise my shoulder, while Banjo Man worked.

FYI:  the hotel pools are usually empty after 8 PM.  I’ve thankfully been able to walk laps and do arm stretches without an audience!

And then to bed, because Day 8 will be in Cody, Wyoming!

Day Six started out with palm trees–fake ones, due to the Kansas sense of humor—at a giant truck stop.  This truck stop was so big it even had a food court.  I was impressed, being a truck stop fan.

And off we went, all gassed up and heading to Colorado to meet the new grandniece.

Our grandnephew was more impressed with us than the sweet baby was.

Soccer cheer!!!

Comparing belly fat. Thank God I wasn’t involved.

We had so much fun that I wished I could turn the clock back 40 years and do the whole “growing family” part of my life over again.

We spent the night here, near the highway.

I hung out with the sheep while Banjo Man unpacked the car.  I have to write a separate post about Banjo Man and his bags.  Until then, I will  leave you with this picture.

If he was a Colorado mountain man he’d have to have seventeen mules to haul all of his stuff.