Go West, Young Man

Representative of every selfie
we have ever taken.

As we watched Colorado disappear in the rear-view mirror and began our travels through Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho, a few observations are worth noting. 

Big Sky Country is a real thing. I can’t explain it other than to say that the sheer quantity of horizon available at any given moment is almost obscene in its abundance. Words do nothing. You just have to experience it. 

They wrap the drive-thru rum runners in
plastic to keep you from drinking and driving.
Then they hand you a straw.

There’s definitely a “wild” quality to the wild, wild west. For instance, there was a liquor store right off the highway in Wyoming that served margaritas, rum runners, and other frozen, alcoholic Slurpees directly through a drive-up window. You could also get beef jerky. It’s fast food for drunk drivers. Talk about a happy meal. 

People are mostly pleasant here and say, “Thank ya’” and “ma’am,” but they do it with a lit cigarette dangling from their lips and puffs of smoke bellowing at you. It seems you can smoke anywhere here: gas stations, bars, hospital operating rooms. 

The speed limit is 80 here. If you are in a winding mountain pass, school zone, or a liquor store drive-thru, they knock it down to 75. Otherwise plan on driving very, very fast. If driving fast scares you, enjoy a Wyoming Slurpee. It will give you courage. 

"Give me $5 on pump #2, an easy pick, and
a 14 oz. rib eye." 

Not surprisingly, beef is king here. Like in a fascist regime, propaganda signs are all along the interstate extolling the superiority of beef. Steak is served everywhere, even at church picnics. I have to believe beef-ism has also found its way into the school curriculum. At the truck stops, they sell Slim Jim's in three pound sacks like bundles of campfire wood. And in one, modest little gas station, in one of their clear cooler spaces, which would typically display Red Bull, Walt’s crawlers, or expired dairy products, there were cuts of raw beef. And although I’ve never considered buying a T-bone from a gas station, I have to admit, there were some damn fine looking cuts. 

This is all mine.

The highway rest stops are individual, complete little bathrooms with locking doors. They’re private, fairly clean, and bigger than my first apartment. Talk about My Own Private Idaho. 

Liberal Arts Kyle singing Green Sleeves.

Montana is the land of doppelgangers. At a small art fair in Billings, we saw a clone of my sister; a less successful, liberal arts version of my high school friend, Kyle; and we even posed for a picture with the stunt double of one of Wife’s old clients. We spent all morning seeing doubles, and we weren’t even half-way through our first Slurpee.