Gorgeous

July 25-26

We went back to Wyoming on Monday the 25th. The route we took this time brought us up the west side of Green River and Flaming Gorge.

That place doesn’t have a bad side. We stopped every few miles to try to capture some of it in photographs, but for the most part knew that it was useless. The colors of the rocks—red, yellow, white, in layers and in sweeping arcs—may come through. 

The sense of space in the Rocky Mountains, like that in the Grand Canyon, is hard, if not impossible, to convey in a two-dimensional image. Driving at the speed limit, which varies from 65 to 80 out here, you pass nearby hills while cliffs and peaks farther away seem to travel with you, like the moon at night.

There are limestone and sandstone mountains that used to be shifting dunes, millions of years ago. Their own weight compressed them into rock. Now the wind is turning them back into dust, and in the process carving them into fantastic shapes. 

We came into a place called Red Canyon. The name is no exaggeration. The cliff walls are pipe-clay red. 

It felt almost cosy. We stood at the roadside near a red cliff. Less than a quarter mile away (I guess) was the opposite canyon wall, covered in trees. We heard, but couldn’t see, a stream flowing through the bottom.

Part of the road falls at about an 8 percent grade for miles and miles. I’ve never coasted so far before. 

We stopped at an overlook and saw a cloverleaf switchback a few hundred feet below us.

A single car was climbing that side of the mountain. We would be circling down there a few minutes later.

After we entered Wyoming we stopped at a historical marker for the Rocky Mountain Rendezvous, the first trapper rendezvous, held in 1825. Not much to see, but it was fun to know that we were in the neighborhood where the Mountain Men hung out.

It was organized by a man named Ashley, who bought the trappers’ goods, probably in exchange for supplies and whiskey. Jim Bridger, the most famous of the Mountain Men, was just starting in his adventuring career and was part of Ashley’s expedition.  

The rendezvous was held on Henry’s Fork of the Green River, a site chosen because it provided fodder for a lot of animals. 

We ate lunch in the car there. While we were sitting in the car, thunder rolled in the distance and some dark clouds hung over the plain. All around us were distant mountains in sunshine. We saw no lightning at all and caught only a few drops of rain.

When we got to Evanston, we took care of some errands. We also found an automatic car wash at a Chevron station and managed to figure out how to use it. 

It washed off most of the dust (but not all) that the Ford picked up the other day from Sweetwater County Road 67.  

My original plan for this trip was to take off in the 13-year-old Taurus. If it broke down, I’d buy a new one. Jeff and John both advised that I get a new car before I leave on the trip. 

It was good advice and I took it. Damned good thing, too, because there aren’t too many places to buy anything out here.

When I left New Jersey, I had put just over 1,000 miles on it. Mileage is now around 4,500. The Taurus used to get 25 miles a gallon on highway road trips. This one is averaging better than 27, and that includes a good deal of local driving.

We went to JB’s, about a half mile from the hotel, for dinner, mainly because it offers turkey with stuffing. 

Most places in this region don’t have websites. You can’t find a menu. You don’t know if they sell beer. How do they stay in business?

But JB’s puts its menu online. 

Turkey. Wow. That’s not even close to red meat. So we went there.

We shared one order, and it was plenty.

Well, almost.

We drove a mile or so in the opposite direction to Main Street. Number 1012 is the Suds Brothers Brewing Co. pub. 

My internet research of the immediate environs told me that this was the only place where I had a good chance of getting craft beer on tap.

They were out of almost everything—well, everything I would be interested in, their IPA and amber ale. 

They did have a nut brown. I shy away from brown ales because they are usually too sweet, but this one had plenty of bitterness and malt body too.

It went very well with peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream. Joanna took a few sips of it when we shared dessert.

I highly recommend the combination of bitter ale and anything flavored vanilla.

Next stop was the depot plaza in Historic Downtown. There is a Chinese pavilion there donated by a family named Wing, who have been in town for generations. 

There is also a reconstructed Chinese joss house, which was closed when we got there. Joanna said a joss house is usually a temple. 

It was after seven and everything was closed up. There is a garden with a small pond holding gold fish and water lilies.

We strolled around that area, which is the Depot Plaza, for a while and then headed home.

Tuesday, the 26th, we were able to get into the Joss House. Kay, the director of the neighboring Uinta County Museum, took us in. That Indian name, we learned, is pronounced “you-inta,” with stress on the second syllable.

The Joss House is a city museum and apparently has no staff of its own.

Many of the artifacts on display had been dispersed when Evanston’s Chinatown disappeared in the 1920s. They had been left behind when the Chinese moved out and were salvaged by locals when the old buildings were going to be razed.

Some pieces, including a complete glazed jar said to be 800 years old, came out of an archeological dig at the site by the University of Wyoming.

The altar was reconstructed by following archive photographs.

There are a few dragon heads on display, too. One with majestic teeth isn’t authentic. It was made by local middle school students.

The greatest fun, though, was to hear Joanna read the inscriptions and discuss fine points of their meaning with Kay. 

After the Joss House, we left Evanston and backtracked 30 miles to Fort Bridger. I have always been a big fan of Mountain Man adventure stories. 

These guys could pack all their belongings on a pony or two and live for months in the absolute wilderness. Can you imagine having the skills to do that for a week?

Anyhow, I had heard about Jim Bridger and his trading post from the time I was in grammar school. He is the quintessential Mountain Man. 

He gave up fur trapping and opened a trading post just about where the Mormon trail breaks off from the main Emigrant Trail.

The Mormons later bought it, and a few years later the U.S. Army turned it into a frontier fort.

Many of the Army’s buildings are stone and still standing. There are also some of the wooden officers’ quarters. They’re fun, but I’ve seen Victorian interiors before. These are embellished with swords and pistols.

There is a replica of Bridger’s original fort. It consisted of a log stockade with two cabins in it. One cabin housed Bridger and his family, and also his partner, Louis Vasquez, and his family.

The other cabin had a blacksmith shop and a store. The store today is staffed by a lady in a calico dress and bonnet. The store sells non-firing replicas of rifles and pistols, pioneer hats, and souvenirs that emigrants might need on the Oregon, California, or Mormon Trail.

According to the lady in the bonnet, the original Bridger trading post burned down and was at the site where an old barracks, now a museum, stands. 

The replica of Bridger’s stockade is based on contemporary descriptions, and maybe some drawings, though I’m not sure about that.

The heat of the direct sun at 7,000 feet was getting to Joanna. So she sat on a bench in the shade of an aspen (at least, I think it was an aspen) while I looked in on the museum and stockade.

For dinner we tried a Chinese restaurant right across from the Joss House on Front Street. Kay told us that the business had recently changed owners. 

She used to eat at the place often under the old management, hadn’t been there yet since the changeover, but had heard good things from those who had tried it.

A change of pace is hard to get out here. Beef is the primary food, followed by chicken. Much of the food, including some cuts of steak, are deep fried.

When a burger made of buffalo meat constitutes health food, your diet can use a little change. 

Chinese food without monosodium glutamate is also hard to get. We went to the restaurant, the Wonderful Inn, and Joanna asked if they could make dishes without MSG. 

Then she launched into a conversation in Cantonese with the server. The woman was from Choi San, the province where Joanna was born.

Joanna ordered off the menu, sauteed Napa with ginger, two fried eggs, and rice. 

I had a dish called ma po tofu, a mildly spiced mix of peas, red bell peppers, and tofu in a brown sauce. It was delicious.

It came on a plate about the same size as the charger that carried John the Baptist’s head. Yet I managed to go through most of it. The tofu dish, that is; not the Baptist’s head.

I had green tea with the meal instead of beer, so now I have to finish this and head out to a neighborhood bar for a couple of pints.

Be well, all.