Lonely Wanderer

So after a summer of almost complete abstinence from posting, I realize that you, fine readers, are probably owed a few various stories of my trials and tribulations, my crushing defeats and overwhelming victories, during the months spent in the wilderness known as Wyoming. So here's one for you.

It starts with an epic car ride, beginning in Newton, Massachusetts, some time at the end of June. From there we go West (young man) to Oberlin, Ohio. Then to Chicago, Illinois. Then a night spent in Wall, South Dakota, slumbering among the jackalopes and 80-foot dinosaurs. From there, I had planned to traverse the distance to Jackson, Wyoming in one day, which I realized would necessitate driving well into the night. What I didn't realize was that the East road into Yellowstone National Park, the one which I needed to use to enter the park before making my way South through Grand Teton National Park and into Jackson, would be closed for the night, starting at 8:00 pm. Unsure if I could make it through the gate in time, and, more importantly, unable to figure out if I would be able to get out the South gate before morning, I decided to save Yellowstone for the next day. Which meant I needed to find a place to stop for the night.

The East gate into Yellowstone National Park lies 30 or so miles West of Cody, Wyoming, a (once) frontier town named for Buffalo Bill Cody, the most prominent of local heroes. Between Cody and Yellowstone there is plenty of beautiful scenery, including a stretch of Buffalo Bill State Park, but not much else to speak of, and certainly not much resembling urban sprawl. Still, when you get about halfway through this stretch, you come across a small town by the name of Wapiti, Wyoming. It was there, just off the main highway, that I found the Trail Shop Motel.

I walk up to the main office, which is surrounded by cabins, none of which I get a very good look at, but there are several cars out in front, so I figure those were the cars of the other guests. It being after 8:00, I'm unsure if I will get a room, but the sign, as you see, does say "Vacancy," so I enter.

The main room is a restaurant, complete with waitresses and several couples dining, and the food looks simple but elegant. My first reaction is that some chef decided that it would be cool and chic to open a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, in a run down Motel, to attract that rustic but filthy rich crowd. Not a bad idea. There's a desk with a cash register, but nobody behind it. So I decide to ask one of the waitresses who I should talk to about getting a room.

"Do you know who I can talk to about getting a room?" I ask.
"Oh! A room? Uh, hold on, I'll go get her." She's surprised that I'm asking for a room. Not a good sign. Then from the back I hear:
"Hey, there's someone here looking for a room."
"Oh, really?"
Surprise again. Not good. But I'm tired and I don't want to drive any further tonight. Might as well stay here if they'll have me. A moment later a woman comes out to the desk, and I ask her if there is a room for that night.

"Is there a room available for tonight by any chance?"
"Yes, there is a room..." (oh, just one, I lucked out getting here now) "...but, there's no TV."
"Oh, that's okay."
"And no telephone."
"Okay, that's fine." (Where am I?)
We go through the necessary paperwork, I sign a sheet (remarkably empty), she gives me a key to cabin number 1 (there were lots of other keys still there, weren't there?), and, trying to ignore the feeling that this whole process was very foreign to her, and that she was wondering why I would ever want a room at this place, I walk out to find my cabin.

Cabin Number 1, just left of the dining room. I use my key, and enter the room. There are two beds, a dresser, and a nightstand. The bathroom is small, but clean, with towels and soap. What more could you ask for? Soon I begin to contemplate going back to the dining room and getting something to eat, but decide against it. I need to make phone calls, but I get no cell phone reception here. So I decide to drive back towards Cody a little ways, until I get better reception. When I go to leave, however, I notice an important detail that I overlooked earlier. The door to the cabin doesn't lock. I mean the lock works, but it doesn't latch into anything. You can just push it open. So I take my stuff with me.

Upon my return, the number of cars in the parking lot is smaller. They must be closing the dining room. I stay and watch the customers slowly leave, until only the staff is left. Why isn't anyone going to their rooms? The staff cleans up and turns off the lights in the dining room. Am I the only one staying the night here? They begin to play pool in the back; I can hear the cues hitting the balls, and the balls hitting each other. If I'm the only one, then why did she say there was a room? That either means that the other rooms are all booked, or that there really is only one room. I hear the balls hitting each other again. There's no other sound, I realize, nothing else to be heard. I really am in the middle of nowhere.

I stay up for a while and read. Around 10:30, well after pitch darkness has fallen, all the staff leaves as well. There are no lights on in the dining room. No sounds. No lights in other cabins. I'm completely alone. I walk outside, into the dark, to look for stars and try to get a handle on the situation. Obviously, I am the only person who asked for a room tonight. At least, I'm the only person here now. There are other cabins, so why am I the only person? Perhaps most people require a little bit more from their motel rooms. Like a TV. Or maybe someone else within a square mile, just in case something happens. It's simultaneously a very scary and a very exciting thing, being that alone. I enjoy that feeling for a while, standing out in the darkness, looking up. Then I go back inside and fall asleep.

The morning is a better time to survey the area. As I do, I realize the truth of it: I really am completely alone. There is still nobody here, at 7:00 am. I walk around to the other cabins, and quickly realize why they are not occupied. They aren't ready. Some are under construction, not far away from being habitable, while others are being used as storehouses for various objects, among them chairs, tables, and animal skins. So there really was only one room.

With nothing left to do, I get ready and leave, glad to be going, but also glad that I had been there. I leave my key in the room, and go, my car the last one to pull out of the parking lot. By midday I am in Jackson, and my summer has begun.

So that's where the story ends. Hopefully I will, in the near future, have more stories to tell, including one about a hike that took a wrong turn. Until then, happy trails to you all.