In the Rodeo Capital of the World, Stupid Decisions are Contagious

Most people who know my brother and I would, I hope, describe us as generally responsible people. As we walked up a mountain at dusk with nothing but a Labrador, a camera, and Wall Drug’s finest walking stick, I had to concede that most people would be wrong.  In our defense, our hotel’s front desk clerk said the trail was five miles up and back. He also gave us bad directions to the trail entrance, which should have been our first clue that, friendly as he was, he probably didn’t know much of anything.

In addition to a late start and poor preparation, my brother glanced at a steep portion of mountain near the top and declared, “I think I’ll climb this part and meet you at the top.” Jazz thought it was a terrible idea, as evidenced by her unwillingness to follow me on the road while her owner risked his life on a hill, which was presumably fenced in for no trivial reason. When he emerged again on the road he described his climb something like this: “That was cool, but probably not the best decision I’ve ever made.” Apparently it involved sticking his hands into caves while plotting how he would use the WallStick to fend off any wild cats that emerged. I’m not sure if this makes Wall Drug’s merchandise more or less ridiculous. Neither is Jazz.

What happens next, Matt will call luck. I’d go with unfortunately convenient. We made it to the almost-top, where a couple had (conveniently) driven up to watch the sunset. We could hear the cats calling, it was after 10 p.m., and Matt was worried about losing his dog or his sister to the creatures of the night. He interrupted their romantic moment to inquire if we could perhaps hitch a ride—down a mountain, on steep, windy gravel—in the back of their truck. Not backseat. Back. With the spare tire. The man stuttered a, “Uh, well, it’s kinda bumpy but uh…” and we jumped in.

For the first 36 seconds I stared down at the spare tire and counted, reminding myself that it was only 5 miles (which is, I must point out, twice as much as 2.5. If you’re reading this, deceitful receptionist.) I did eventually look up, because riding backward and looking down are two sure causes of motion sickness for me. If I’m ever commissioned to write a travel book for Cody, Wyoming (The Rodeo Capital of the World!), I’ll certainly recommend watching the rodeo from the back of a pick-up on a mountain two miles away. You know, just to say you did it.

Later, as we’re cruising into town in the safety of a 5-star safety-rated Toyota mini van on a dangerously flat, 35 mph speed-limited, paved road, my brother says (quite seriously, lest you think he intended this to be funny), “Oh! I better buckle up!”