Captain's Log The Trek

So – about those instructions from Rawlins to Gillette…

For those of you who missed the Captain’s Log last week, the Deckhands took charge of the pen and wrote about me heading to Rapid City to have a booth for RANGE magazine at the R-CALF convention. They wrote about trip preparations and all the warnings from our South Dakota native, Lori, who grew up there and knows where all the bodies are buried between Fallon and the Monument.

She wasn’t joking. It’s a harsh, beautiful land and that stretch is impressive. She had made me very detailed instructions, but what she didn’t tell you is that she also made me three copies of the instructions and tucked them in strategic places in my car, computer bag, and metaphorically taped them to my forehead with a very firm lecture.

And they were very clear. Complete with a warning that there would also be no cell service. The only thing she didn’t include was a little note to check my fuel level before setting off north on 287 to Muddy Gap. I’m famous for forgetting all the little details in life – not least being to check the fuel gauge before I get out in the middle of the desert. You would think as much time as I spend driving the wilds of Nevada this lesson would have been learned by now, but no. No.

I was fine until that very last stretch, 51 miles from this last little junction to Gillette and the “50 miles until you’re empty, sweetheart” ding started serenading me as I drove. From what I could tell, there was not a vestige of civilization between where I sat on the edge of 220, wayyy north of Bar Nunn and 17 miles off my path to Wright where there did appear to be green dinosaur fuel. True to the warnings from our SD native, there was no cell service so my only choice was to turn around and head to Wright. I take a lot of chances in life, but there was no one to call in that part of the world if my wing and a prayer didn’t work.

From there it was smooth sailing and the event went well. We have a whole bunch of new contacts for the magazine, we met some really good people from across the country, and we learned a whole lot more about the livestock industry.

But we still didn’t learn to check the gas gauge. Not even joking, on the trip home, it wasn’t until about 11 miles south of Casper I thought to look down – and barely made it to Alcova as I followed the North Platte River south.

So here we are back home, grateful we didn’t have to make that trip in a covered wagon, and as always…

…Keeping you Posted.

Rach