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Shakesthegrounds Rumblings
Shakesthecoffecan:
(If this works I will be so happy)
The house in Lightning Flat, Wyoming
gattaca:
Geez, must have been an honor to wait in a plane on the tarmac for Dick Cheney's plane to land....not. ;)
But seriously, I'm glad you're home safely. Get some rest. :)
Shakesthecoffecan:
On Friday evening after or trip to Lightning Flat, we hurried back to the motel in Buffalo to meet with some new arrivals and some others of our group camping at a reserved sight high in the mountains 15 miles west of town. We agreed to get together for supper at the Pines Lodge, down hill from their campsite.
It was really a blessing to have that campsite to go to in the evening, with all the stars out. It was private, except for the ocassional Moose and the Coyotes howling in the distance. A couple in their camper and a single guy with his sister and brother on law, in tents, all from the Denver area hosted our evenings on the mountain.
The Pines is a charming historic place. Guest cabins, a fine resturant and full bar with more beer that I could drink in a lifetime, and of course the horses. Our trail ride organizer told us over supper that in talking to the owner he felt he should clue him in a bit: "These people are mostly from the city and pretty liberal" he said. "They are coming here because of that movie, Brokeback Mountain".
The owners respoce reported was: "Hell, I don't care, people are people".
That was wonderful. The next time the guy at the far table sitting with his family stared at me I thought: "Buddy your outnumbered."
Supper was wonderful, the service terrific, and when we got the checks the owner came out, said hi and spoke to us as he helped bus the tables. "Are these anyones glasses?" he held up a pair of ladies oval shapped glasses found on the floor. They looked just like the one Annie Proulx wore in the most recent photo I had seen of her.
"I'll add it to the collection" he told us.
Now the last time I was on a horse was twenty years ago. A party at a trailer on Beech Creek in Hawkins County, Tennessee in the summer of 1986. Even then I just rode the poor animal around a field. Twenty years. I knew I was gone be so sore.
Wayne, Mouk and myself hurried to get back up the mountain the next morning by 9 a.m., only to remember we really needed to get on what we came to call "Wyoming time", which was more like "in the morning". We signed the waivers and watched as the wranglers saddled up our geldings, all trail horses. Animals that could carry us home in the dark if they had been on the trail one time. My horse turned out to be a 16 year old named Indian who is headed out to pasture next summer.
The owner introduced the Wrangler to us and showed us where to keep our feet in the stirrups, told us to let the horses do their thing, they knew what they were doing. The Wrangler asked us once how we all knew each other, that time the answer was "the internet", which was not lying.
Out the gate and across the creek and we climbed up to a windy ridge high above the road that brought us there. Chilly, windy and a bit overcast I told myself I had to "stick it out". We descended into a pine forest and then into the aspens, and down a steep gravelly hill to the creek again. By this time I had a renewed respect for these animals and the people who rode them. You'll remember the sceen where Ennis (in a fresh shirt) and Jack "bring 'em down". I'll tell you, going down hill on horseback with gravels under your feet ain't as easy as it looks, but Indian went right along like it was nothing.
Back over the mountain and down again, as we neared home the horses picked up the pace, knowing they were in the home stretch. Those of us of the male pursuasion not always so happy to have out mount take off trotting to catch up (I'll draw you a picture).
After a leisurly two hours we reached the corral. When I dismounted the problem I'd been having keeping me right leg in the stirrup found a home in my right lower back. I'd expected my thighs to be sore, not my back. I limped back up to the lodge where a wedding was about to take place. There on the plank walkway stood a man with George Jones hair and polyester pants, must have been from the brides family from the sour look on his face and I though "That's L.D. Newsome!"
Inside the lodge the young man who took our money came out and asked if anyone needed anything. I requested a spinal transplant. Turns out they were not doing those at the moment but he did offer a cold beer from their extensive inventory. A cold beer at that altitude was like 2 at sea level. I could have stayed there all afternoon with my friends and watched the wedding and reception out of the window.
If you ever get to Buffalo, Wyoming, head off went on Rt. 16 into the Big Horns about 15 miles, Pine Lodge will be on your left. Stop in and check it out, spend the night. These are good people who treated us right.
Front-Ranger:
Thank you again for the recap, I will definitely plan a trip to Pine Lodge. I have to visit my company's coal mines near Gillette anyway sometime this summer. LOL about seeing L.D. (stands for loathesome doggy??)!
Shakesthecoffecan:
"The truth is" I had no idea Wyoming produced coal before last Friday, when we drove past a mine on the way to Lightning Flat. One of the participants in the weekend was a retired "Packer and Blaster" for the mines, I thought that was a very funny title for a job. I am sure it is hard work thought.
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