Rawlins, WY might be the place where the term, "ethnic white" is most fitting. It's the kind of town where light beer is all they got, where no one checks their Facebook in public, and where they put the cunt in country.
Sash and I sat at a divey little bar called, "Gallery Lounge", which is adjacent to our motel. After a long day's ride, the idea of chicken wings, mozzarella sticks, and $1.00 PBR's sounded too good to pass up.
A trucker named John bought a round of drinks for everyone in the place. So Sash returned the favor by talking to him, and he was a nice guy, but he really wanted to rant about California, mentioning that every truck driver can't wait for the Golden State to fall off into the ocean.
"So who do you think is behind the effort to split California into five separate states?" he asked.
"Republicans are", we answered.
John shook his head. "Naw. It's Silicon Valley!" he insisted, though he never explained why.
It seemed however, that his perspective of the world, which focused along a continuous truck route between Utah and Nebraska, didn't think highly of computer geeks, vegans and craft-beer drinking environmentalists. He had been pounding Coors Light at the bar all afternoon and into the evening, having witnessed the driver of a minivan lose his life after rolling on the I-80 earlier in the day.
"And as far as I'm concerned that whole country can just fall off into ocean, because when it does, it's going to become ocean-front property for the rest of us!" he went on.
John looked unfazed.
"Do you want liberals running Wyoming?" I asked.
"We already fuckin' got 'em!" he shouted, staring me down as if he was ready to start swinging his mighty whities.
Everyone at the bar laughed.
Sash and I were actually having a good time with John. I thought about taking a photo of the bar to go with this article I'm writing. But as I looked around, the guys in the bar looked really hard core. I mean, these guys looked like they had had enough of us out-of-town bikers, and wanted us out now. Moreover, it turned out that Sash was the only female in the bar, and she was dressed up in all of her Sashtastic wiles. If we had stayed in there past 9:00pm, I'd be bloodied and beaten trying to save her. Somehow, taking a photo of the bar with my cellphone seemed so Californian of me, so I thought better of it.
Small town Wyoming is alive and well, thank you very much.
|Sash looks out across Echo|
|Where the I-80 and I-84|
intersect in Utah
|Sash enters Wyoming for the|
|An old rusted pickup truck||Sash smooches||It's still not illegal to drive and|
shoot a selfie
|Roadside signs for Little|
America run across Wyoming
|Having lunch at Little America||Sash and the waitress at Little|
|Sash with a stuffed bear at|
|Me using the restroom at|
|An abandoned gas station|
along the I-80 Wyoming
|Passing through Green River,|
|The tunnel along the I-80 near|
|Passing a truck along the I-80|
|Sash's front fender||Long straight road through|
|This guy followed us for 40|
miles and pulled into the same