Today was a comedy of errors. I had one Airbnb booking fall through, then had another accepted, only to have the host tell me when I showed up that she was too sick to have me. I declined her offer to stay with a friend of hers (nice enough, but not signed up to Airbnb and I have a rule that I only stay with hosts with multiple reviews–a proven track record) and went driving around for a hotel, but everywhere I went, there was some sort of music festival–I say “sort” because while Deadwood’s Wild Bill Day weekend had a bandstand set up and live music, the posters indicated the real draw was the temporary exception to the local open container law that allowed you to wander around the streets with a beer in hand, rather like every day in Memphis–or a rodeo, or some other thing that was maxing out every single hotel in locations that you wouldn’t possibly think would draw that many people. I ended up driving into Rapid City and breaking, for the third time, my rule about $100 a night or less. In a Days Inn. And I had such a good streak going, too.
But anyway, I started the day winding around the backroads of Wyoming before I reconnected with I-90 near the South Dakota border. US 16 was another unplanned scenic drive, and it’s a good one for taking you through the various geographies of Wyoming. You go from flat grasslands, into the mountains, then down into the badlands–slightly different flavor from Montana’s version, since Wyoming’s has smaller, more regularly-shaped outcrops. As you get into the Black Hills, these odd little cone-shaped hills start to pop up, sometimes with the tips worn through the green grass so you can see the brilliant red rock underneath. The rock gets redder and redder, and then you’re into South Dakota.
However, I took two short breaks before getting on I-90: one to eat breakfast at Crazy Woman Cafe in Ten Sleep (food okay, had to stop for the name), and one to visit the Jim Gatchell Memorial Museum on the rec of the previous night’s Airbnb host, and I was glad for it. Jim Gatchell was a local pharmacist who, by virtue of his connections with the local Native Americans, amassed a good collection of artifacts from them. He also seems to have been something of a history buff, as the museum that now houses his collection has an excellent section on the Johnson County War, as infamous in this region as the Hatfields and McCoys are in the Midwest where I was born and raised. Sadly, they don’t allow photos inside.
After my Airbnb mix-up, I stopped off in Deadwood to try and collect myself, and hopefully get some fun out of the afternoon. I gotta say, though, I’m not really big on the place. Like a lot of Wild West towns, they’ve kept the old, movie-ready buildings on the main drag, but they’ve commercialized the place way past charmingly quaint, beyond gaudy, and right into parody (Cody compares very favorably). All the historic buildings seem to house combination saloons and casinos, and it’s just weird seeing slot machines crammed in amid the Old West decor. I wandered around for an hour and then hopped out to find a hotel.