A WRITER'S WIT
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably must be the truth.
Arthur Conan Doyle
Born May 22, 1859
WY, CO, NM
Cheyenne experienced a ferocious snowstorm just three days before we arrived, and you can see the results are still on the ground as we arrived at the Little America Motel, which has maintained its 1960s decor. Yet all is up to date. Spacious rooms but with the amenities people have come to expect. Iron/ironing board. Microwave. Fridge. You could spend an extended amount of time there and be quite comfortable. There is a fine restaurant located in the main building. You never have to seek out places to eat if you don't wish to.
One afternoon, we took a trip to Laramie, forty-five minutes northwest on I-80. What we had time to see was the Wyoming Territorial Prison / Museum. And one of the aspects that made this museum different was that large photographs and histories of nineteenth-century prisoners were posted throughout the prison. They weren't all rough and tumble sorts of guys. Each had his or her own interesting story.
We spent our last night in Pueblo, Colorado. We visited two interesting places: the local raptor center, where we saw, among others, forty-year-old bald eagles that had been injured long ago. The other spot we enjoyed was Rosemount, a historical home built in the early 1890s by a wealthy merchant. The 24,000 square foot home was amazing, and I managed to get one photograph of the exterior (none were allowed inside).
In our ten days, Ken and I traveled nearly 3,000 miles, and except for the drive between Fort Collins and Colorado Springs on I-25, which was a nightmare, the driving was enjoyable. Hardly ever less than a ten-car space between you and the next driver. Ahhhh.
I lied. I didn't mean to, but we didn't drive back through New Mexico but reentered Texas by way of the Oklahoma Panhandle, where once again, you could burn up all state gas reserves by traveling at a cool seventy-five mph!