Lincoln to Laramie

July 20

Said good-bye to Old Paint this morning and left Cheyenne for the short trip to Laramie.

We were on a section of Interstate 80 that is also U.S. 30, the Lincoln Highway. And it never fails.

The first curiosity was Tree Rock. We were barreling along when we saw a sign that said “point of interest.” That gave me time to slow down to get into the turnoff lane. 

Just as the name suggests, it is a tree that appears to be growing directly from an isolated outcrop of solid rock. It’s a small, twisted pine and was first noted about 150 years ago during the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad, which passes not far north of the spot.

We also came to the highest point (8,640 ft.) on Interstate 80. The highest point east of the Mississippi is somewhere between the two exits for Clearfield, Pa., in the neighborhood of Denny’s Beer Barrel Pub. 

This one in Wyoming is the unqualified highest and is about 6,000 feet higher than the point in Pennsylvania.

There is a monument to Lincoln—a large bronze bust on a stone pedestal that may be 30 feet high—looking over the highway named for him. It was put up in 1959 by an art professor at the University of Wyoming.

The monument was originally at the highest point of the old Lincoln Highway, and was later moved to watch over the highest point on the new route.

Nearby is another monument, which has the questionable distinction of carrying a typo etched in stone:

“In memory of Henry B. Joy, first president of the Lincoln Highway Association, who saw realized the dream of a continuous improved highway from the Atlantic to the Pacific.” 

All I can guess is that a committee couldn’t choose between the plain English “saw” and the Latinate “realized.” They must have rushed the text to the stone cutter before they reached consensus, or did any proof reading.

Joy was also head of Packard Motor Car Co., so he had more than a passing interest in promoting the use of cars.

The monuments are now at the Summit Rest Area and Visitor Center, about 10 miles east of Laramie. Aside from maps and tourist brochures, the visitor center has a small museum.

We learned, for instance, that there may be more pronghorn sheep than people in Wyoming. There are about a half million of each. 

There is a wall recapping the history of the Lincoln Highway. The route was dedicated in 1913, following a lot of historical routes including the Mormon Trail, an early turnpike in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and an old Indian trail. 

In the ’20s the federal government began to number national highways, and the Lincoln Highway became U.S. 30.

It’s named for Lincoln because he supported transcontinental transportation projects. He didn’t live to see the railroad and certainly didn’t have automobiles in mind, but the builders of the highway felt that it was an extension of Lincoln’s vision.

There is a wall about lawman and outlaws. Now, this may mean something to those of us who remember “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

In one scene of the movie, Paul Newman and Robert Redford stop a train to rob it. A boxcar opens and several mounted horsemen leap out. The outlaws escape, but only after a desperate chase. Very comical stuff, all of it.

But it was actually based on something serious—heavily armed lawmen, horses and all, hiding in boxcars. A deputy marshal dedicated himself to tracking down the Wild Bunch, Cassidy’s gang, but never succeeded. One of his tactics was to have a posse in a boxcar to fight train robbers.

The marshal was Joe Lefors, the same guy who arrested Tom Horn and shot the six-gun out of Al Smith’s hand at Hole-in-the-Wall. The museum has a photo of him and his posse.

Lefors is the guy in the dark suit without a moustache.

After we checked into the Days Inn, we went to Down to Earth, the dry cleaner I found in a Google search a couple of days ago. I pulled into a shopping center parking lot to see if the store was there. 

It wasn’t and we were pretty sure I had missed it and driven too far. 

Joanna noticed that this was the same parking lot where we checked directions on our way to Fort Collins. Deja vu all over again.

We went to the Altitude Chophouse in Historic Downtown. It’s a brew pub. 

The waiter recommended a barramundi in a complicated sauce that included Asiago cheese. Joanna decided to give it a try. 

She had tried fish a couple of times before on this trip. She even had walleye, the state fish, in South Dakota, but she found the dishes disappointing. 

This one, on the other hand, was very good. The fish was tender and had a pleasant, mild flavor, which was complemented by the cheese sauce.

I had the Altitude altbier, an amber ale, that was one of the best ales I’ve met in a while. It has a nutty flavor that I associate with European, usually English, ales.

It was so good that I didn’t bother to switch around. Joanna loved it, too, and helped me finish one pint, so I ordered another of the same.

The gravy on my roast chicken was made with the same ale, so the pairing was dead on.

The bar packages its beer to go. A half-gallon growler was a bit much even for me. I got two 32-ounce cans, one for tonight and one for another time. 

I’m working on the American pale ale. It’s very good. It has the dry edge of a good pale, but a strange delivery that is sharp and creamy at the same time. 

I didn’t make this up, but I firmly believe it: Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

Good night and good beer to all.

Harry