Pinedale

Originally, I had hoped to stay in Pinedale, but it turned out that the evening drive south to Rock Springs was even better.

I was playing Sawmill Creek's Willow on my iPod as we drove into town - "she settled on a small place somewhere down near Pinedale, in the Wind River Mountains, she lived wild and free" - a song I first heard while on a rig site in South Dakota in 1982 and which I chased down in Boulder a few months later.

The sun was setting off to the northwest. A bright northeastern sky sillouhetted the whole Wind River range, from north of Gannett Peak all the way south to where they taper out near South Pass. Fremont Peak was prominent. I went to the top during my month-long sojourn in the Winds during the summer of 1981. I told D I wanted to go back and show him the place someday.

A big electrical storm filled the sky to the southwest and there was lightning all the way to Rock Springs. Active oil rigs on the Pinedale Anticline were lit up against the darkening western hills. An occasional jack rabbit dashed across our bright beams. It was completely dark by the time we dropped down the hill into Rock Springs and onto Interstate 80.

Some rides are better than others. This was one of the best. An "E" Ticket with an emotional punch.