Having seen at least one billboard plus the ubiquitous brown information sign for the Wyoming Frontier Prison had us curious, and considering it was only about a mile away from our overnight digs, we decided to check it out. It didn't open until 8AM, and we timed it so that we rolled in at exactly that time.
It was closed.
Hrm. We wandered back towards the RV, then saw someone drive up hastily, walk-jog to the office, then back to the front door of the prison proper.
Closed in 1981
Yeah, someone overslept.
We wander around the gift shop, then inquire about the tours. We end up being the only two on the 8:30AM tour, and our guide spoke a little too fast and a little too softly for mom to make out most of what he was saying. I tried to relay the best of the information and stories.
Cell block A
Judging from the stories told by our guide and from what I read in the museum/gift shop area, a lot of people escaped from here, especially before they added Johnson bars to the cells.
A room like this would make me never want to go to prison
Some of those locked up would do pretty much anything to escape. I guess they were allowed to decorate their cells, as our guide indicated that those in a particularly dark area of cell block A intentionally chose to paint their cells very dark colors. They weren't allowed black paint, but dark brown, dark red and dark green were certainly done.
A self portrait of an inmate
Cell blocks B and C were added later on to alleviate overcrowding and, in the case of C, to give a separate area for seriously recalcitrant prisoners. The problem with cell block C was that it had decent heating and plumbing, so inmates would misbehave to try to get moved into the maximum security area. Sure, they'd be in solitary confinement, but at least it would be warm.
Cell block C
The commissary
The commissary story we were told was funny. An inmate just a few cells away from the commissary used a combination of the gritty prison-issue toothpaste and the prison-issue dental floss to file away at the Johnson bar locking him in. Then he used a painted piece of soap to hide his handiwork. At night, he'd leave his cell and steal things out of the commissary. He'd sell those things to his fellow inmates for less than they could buy them at the prison store. It took a while for the guards to figure out what was up.
An inmate's painting in the cafeteria
Kitchen in the cafeteria. This was a highly desired job
Exercise yard
Several executions took place at this prison, and a special death row with six cells was above cell block C. The first executions were done via Julien gallows, up through 1932. The last execution, via gas chamber, in the 1960s.
Gallows room
Gas chamber
Death row
The museum held some interesting items, too, including some old crime scene investigation tools.
Part of a large kit
From the prison, we went north towards Casper and the fort that gave the city its name. Turns out that the fort, Fort Caspar, is named for Caspar Collins. They couldn't call it Fort Collins, because that Fort -- named for Caspar's father -- already existed.
The museum at Fort Caspar was primarily about Caspar Collins and the rise of the city of Casper, which involved a lot of sheep herding versus the predominant cattle herding.
A sheep herder's tool
The stables
Officer's quarters
Commissary
Enlisted man's quarters
Telegraph room
It was interesting to know that the fort had been ransacked and materials used to build Fort Fetterman, but due to Caspar Collins' meticulous drawings, the fort could be recreated fairly accurately.
Platte River bridge crossing for the Oregon Trail
Fort Laramie -- another Pony Express/Oregon Trail/historical fort -- was next on the list, though I saw something about Oregon Trail ruts in limestone while we were at Fort Caspar. Curious, I found that the site referenced, in Guernsey, Wyoming, was on the way.
In Fort Laramie, we discovered that they were prepping for a moonlight tour that night. I was disappointed, as if I'd known, maybe we could have participated. There were a ton of re-enactors on site for the event.
It was pretty hot outside, so I had empathy for those wearing heavy clothing in the sweltering weather. It was enough that even I was feeling the effects, and I am usually fairly heat resistant.
Fort Laramie started as a fur trading post, and maintained fairly good relations with surrounding native tribes for most of its existence through 1890.
A broken down hospital on the hill overlooking the main site was originally composed of lime-grout, which works great in southwestern climes, but not so well in areas that have serious freeze-thaw cycles.
A hospital seemed to be an appropriate place. While at the gift shop, purchasing my post cards, I saw bins behind the register with various labels. The gift shop/visitor center had originally been the fort's commissary, so I wasn't sure if they were just for show, but I asked, "Is that really hardtack?" When the clerk said, "yes," I had her add a piece to my purchases.
We spent more time at the prison and the two forts than I anticipated, so we weren't getting as deep into Nebraska as I thought we would. I had Chimney Rock and Scottsbluff next on the docket, and mom said that the Chimney Rock visitor center was open late. So we struck off to that monument.
Turns out that it's the Scotts Bluff National Monument visitor center that's open late, and we arrived at Chimney Rock too late to get our passport stamps. We were still able to get some great photos of one of the Oregon Trail navigational points.
We went back towards the town of Scottsbluff to call it a night. Mom had her heart set on Agate National Fossil Beds, even though they weren't as close as she thought, and we were also going to check out Scotts Bluff proper before heading to central Nebraska and I-80.
I pretty much couldn't wait to get out of Lovelock. The RV park we'd settled for was rundown and sketchy, complete with a creeper sitting outside of his "motel room" that would just watch you walk to the keycode-protected restroom. We got on the road early, and stopped briefly in Battle Mountain to pick up some groceries.
Since we were still on our way to the next planned destination -- Wendover -- and it was a few hours distant, when we saw a sign for the California Trail Interpretative Center, I suggested we stop. If nothing else, we could stretch our legs.
The center is a Bureau of Land Management facility, and when I saw the National Parks Passport books for sale in the gift shop, I figured that meant they had a stamp. Sure enough, the stamping station was near the entrance to the exhibits, so I jogged back out to the RV to grab mom's book.
The exhibits focus on the hardships encountered by those traveling west, concentrating on the California Trail, but also the Oregon Trail. Of course, the infamous Donner Party disaster is covered in depth, including placing the blame on the Emigrant's Guide to Oregon and California trail book writer, Lansford Hastings. His supposed shortcut, the so-called "Hastings Cutoff" actually added a significant distance to an already arduous journey, and led at least in part to the Donner Party debacle.
Hiking around the west end of the Hastings Cutoff
Back on the road, we were less than an hour from Wendover and the salt flats! Soon, we could see the white landscape in the foreground.
While we were checking out the Victory Highway, we saw four or five helicopters coming in from the west. When we went over to the Wendover Historic Airfield, we saw the helicopters and their crew gathered around.
The airfield's museum doubles as an office/airfield operations, which was interesting. We watched a short film about the history of the airfield, and it dawned on me.
It was August 6th. The 70th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.
A model of the Enola Gay
A dummy bomb used in training. This one was a version of Little Boy, the bomb dropped by the Enola Gay
The hangar we used to lean on during impound at the Wendover ProSolos. It also housed the Enola Gay before it went to the Philippines, and from there, Japan.
We drove back through town, looking at some of the historic structures. There have been improvements to some of them since the last time I was here, and certainly since the last ProSolo that I attended, in 2008. It's amazing to know that at its height, Wendover was the home to over 20,000 military and civilians. Many of the old dormitories have fallen down, but there are active restorations going on at the air base. Maybe, just maybe, they'll achieve a National Historic Park status and federal funds will help with some of it.
From Wendover proper, we headed over to the Salt Flats Cafe for lunch before going to the salt flats themselves. Mom was impressed by the food, both the quality and the cost. While there, I looked at the SCTA/BNI website to see what would have been going on if Speed Week hadn't been cancelled. We knew before stopping here that the salt was deemed too wet and they hadn't been able to find a continuous area for the land speed trials, and August 6th would have been tech day.
The salt was certainly sticky, which meant it had a lot of moisture still in it. In any event, at least it wasn't an ocean like the last time I came by.
It seemed weird to not be driving out on it in my own car. I knew this would be the case, which is one reason why I brought the diecast Camaro with me.
It's not quite the same.
I also brought two diecast GT40s. And after consulting with mom, we decided it was time for another "deposit," though the airfield probably would have been a more appropriate area.
It was really hard to see. Between the tears, and the sun reflecting off the salt, I may as well have been blind.
Back on the road, we were supposed to be going to some Pony Express sites south of Salt Lake City to wrap up the day. However, the Garmin Nuvi directed us straight to a strip mall in South Jordan. Traffic around SLC had been terrible, and I was not in the mood to turn around and just drive through it again. Trying to find either Camp Floyd or Simpson Springs at that point showed we should have cut down from I-80 before even getting to SLC.
Mom suggested Timpanogos Cave in American Fork, so I keep going south on I-15. Then she changes her mind because the visitor center closed at 6PM, and the cave tours were long done for the day. I was flustered; at this point, I'm starting to be concerned about finding an RV site that isn't as downtrodden as the one in Lovelock. I suggest staying in the area and going to the cave first thing in the morning.
Finally, she says she has one, and it's over an hour south of American Fork. I shrug and keep driving. For some reason, she keeps looking for a place, and finally says she has something better. I'm a good forty miles south of American Fork at this point, and when I ask, "Where?" her response is "Park City."
I was floored. Park City was completely in the wrong direction. Besides the two Pony Express sites that I already knew were out of the question, the next thing on the itinerary was the Spiral Jetty, and that was north of SLC. Park City was east. And it also meant the cave was not happening.
I literally didn't say anything for the rest of the trip to Park City. Going up the mountain on I-80 outside of SLC was at a miserable 45mph, so that the RV's motor wasn't screaming at 5000rpm to try to maintain a more traffic-friendly speed. The exit finally came up, and after one wrong turn, we found the RV park and I got backed into our space. The showers were at least nice, even if the restroom for the lower-side RV people was a bit dumpy.
Fortunately, we were both still fairly full from lunch, so dinner wasn't necessary. I pulled out the road atlas, my cell phone, a notepad and a pen, and went to work plotting out exactly where we were going, approximately how much time it would take to get to each place, and finished with a list of prospective RV parks (and phone numbers) that I found via Google. I no longer wanted to deal with last minute-oh-my-god-there-isn't-anything-in-a-two-hour-radius-with-electricity. I hadn't done this previously because when I was working on the itinerary, mom had assured me that finding a place wasn't a big deal, citing her experiences during the trips with dad.
Lesson learned.
So, the next morning, we headed off to Promontory to see the Spiral Jetty. We had to drive past the Golden Spike Historic Site, where the road becomes unpaved, and continue for another fifteen miles. It was a rough going, as the RV felt more stiffly sprung than my WRX on the ASTs, but we finally arrived. To our surprise, there was actually someone else already there.
It doesn't look like the pictures when the water level is down
The structure actually is very large
I wasn't expecting such a huge structure. I walked down to it, but couldn't really take a picture that showed what I wanted.
Before we left, I remembered mom saying something about adjusting the air shocks on the RV after the tire installation, so I suggested softening them up. She seemed skeptical, but after dropping the pressures, the ride back to the Golden Spike site was immensely easier.
A receation of the scene
The Golden Spike visitor center is about the joining of two rail lines in Promontory after a Congressional push for a transcontinental railroad. What I learned is that because it was a Congressional push, there was government money involved, and so there was a bit of a money grab. The two railroad companies were paid by the mile, and actually passed each other by quite a distance before Congress put a halt to it and said that the lines should meet in Promontory.
A special laurel tie and four special spikes -- 3 of them golden, and one silver -- marked the site
Original piece of rail from the event
HO scale diorama
It was also at this visitor center that I broke down and got my own National Parks Passport. Of course, I got the "explorer" version, where you can add more pages as necessary, after seeing mom and dad's "three volume set" and mom always trying to figure out which book had room in which region.
Our next destination was Fossil Butte, which was about three hours away via US89 and some state roads. That actually made me happy, as I did not want to have to deal with I-80 outside Park City again, much less the more gradual hill heading into Wyoming.
A hawk outside the Golden Spike site
Rick's Spring, in the Cache National Forest
Some flowers near Rick's Spring
After driving through the Cache National Forest and around Bear Lake, we enter Wyoming and find ourselves on US30. We're maybe ten minutes from Fossil Butte, when I see a green sign that says SAGE with an arrow to the right. I hit the brakes hard enough that a six pack of beer that was sitting on the floor next to the beds slides up almost beside me.
An awesome diorama showing what the Fossil Butte area must have looked like millions of years ago
Since mom wasn't up for any of the hikes in the area, we rolled down US30 to Granger.
Rabbits in the pioneer cemetery
The South Bend stage station, which has new interpretative panels
The remains of a blacksmith shop
As we prepared to leave, a man came down the street to thank us for stopping by. He shed some light on the fallen structure (that it was the blacksmith shop), and told us that the interpretive panels had been installed just this past spring. He also asked how we found the site, so I told him that I was actually revisiting, but the first time was due to the brown informational sign on US30 on the way from Kemmerer. Maybe they are trying to entice more people to visit?
It looked like camping in the Green River area was out of the question, so we made our way to Rawlins for the night. It was more of a trailer park with a handful of RV spots, but it was a clean place to stay, and we had a spot right up front. There was even a strong enough wifi signal that I could backup some of the myriad photos I'd taken on my phone.
But first, I did the same thing I'd done the night before, and plotted out a detailed itinerary with times and possible RV sites.
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