I like Wyoming. I have a soft spot for Wyoming the likes of which I haven’t experienced since I visited Texas. I was never a western kind of guy. I’ve never seen a John Wayne movie. I had my cowboys and indians phase but quickly abandoned it in favor of Star Wars and GI Joe. Nothing about the far west appealed to me. But I like Wyoming.
I think I like Wyoming because it tests you. For three days the temperature never rose above twenty-eight degrees. The wind never gusted less than 20 miles per hour and often rose to 50 or 60 miles per hour. Let me tell you, standing outside trying to take pictures in forty or fifty mile and hour winds and ambient temperatures of twenty-five degrees is no picnic. You get to pick gravel out of your skull when you’re done. But once you’ve done it, you know you’ve beaten mother nature. That she didn’t trip you up that time. And it gives you confidence that all other daily challenges will be minor compared with the challenge to survive.
But the railroad beckons. So after fighting Mother Nature to a stand-off, I wandered downtown Cheyenne to do railroad-y things. And then I headed East. Again. To Nebraska.
Which, so far, has lived up to everything I expected of Nebraska. That puts it in a unique category with only California for company. All the stereotypes – good and bad – are true. And so, like California, I don’t think I’ll be sorry to leave.