Laramie

Laramie was a stopping-off place on many adventures between 1978 and 1983. George introduced me to Fred and Anne that first summer and I kept coming back.  Like the following December when Martha found us sleeping in the front yard during a layover on our bus ride back from the west coast. Or in 1980 when I rode my motorcycle up from Denver on weekends. Or in the winter of 1983, when my Schlumberger crew got stuck in Laramie due to bad weather for two days. In 1981, Steve and I came through and sometime later in the 1980s, Michele and I visited.

After college, George and I each moved on, crossing paths again in Seattle a few years later. But George was drawn back to Laramie and created a life for himself there.  And last weekend I came back, because George is sick and the prognosis is harsh.

Early every morning, I headed up into the hills for an hour or so. It seemed like the best way to remember that summer of 1978 when George and I explored every nook and cranny of Wyoming in the Slater's old blue Datson wagon. Saturday morning I drove up to the Ames Monument. On Sunday, Bob and I drove up to the Snowy's. On Monday morning I drove up to Vedauwoo.  Those posts will follow.