March 1, 2023 at 12:51 p.m.
Wyoming for a Big Hunk of Beef
By By Renee Risk Strietelmeier-
Next thing I know, I am deboarding a plane in the great state of Wyoming, “A Great Land Outdoors,” officially nicknamed, the “Cowboy State”. During our visit, Beth and I found both descriptions to be true. We chose to fly into Cheyenne. Our decision to fly into Cheyenne was not based on the fact the city is Wyoming’s capitol. Nor was our choice made because the Cheyenne Airport is easily accessible. We simply liked the sound of the word Cheyenne.
Beth was the first to arrive. She picked me up curbside. Just like that we were off on one of our many adventures. After jumping in the rental car, Beth and I headed West as if we were not far enough West. We made our proverbial first pit stop to switch drivers. I drove. Beth navigated. Always an ill-advised traveling role for us, because Beth did not know her left from her right. A required skill set for a navigator; one would think. No matter. I drove. When Beth said, “Left,” I turned right and vice versa.
A Beth quirk known by some was she always said, “Righty-Tighty. Lefty-Loosie” every single time she turned on and off a faucet or was building something requiring screws. Seriously? Every single time I replied, “Off or on. If it won’t turn, turn it the other way.” Seriously!
The Wyoming sun was setting creating a multi-colored sunset staying still on the bluffs in the distant horizon. We were on the road just a short time when I belted out, “It’s a lot bigger than it looks on the map.” After we laughed until we were snorting, Beth responded by asking, “Is that your way of saying we need a hotel?”
In our careers, Beth and I had the funds and frequent flyer miles to stay in better than nice hotels. We drove for what seemed like eternity, admiring the beauty of Wyoming. Both of us are native Hoosiers. We certainly had seen more than our fair share of land covered in corn, wheat, and soybeans. At first glance, Wyoming seemed similar to Indiana. Yet, it was completely different.
Vast amounts of land filled with horses and cattle contained by unending rows of wooden post fencing replaced the crops of Indiana. Normally, during our arrival drive, we would drive slowly to take in the landscape. This time, however, we completely ignored the speed limit sign of 55mp. Without a word, we each had concluded we were not going to get pulled over for speeding. We reached this conclusion due to the fact we had driven for miles without a single car behind, in front, or passing us. The song, “I Can’t Drive 55” started humming in our heads.
By dark we had found a hotel suitable for our needs. Our needs were simple: a place to lay our weary travelers’ heads, free coffee, water, and a concierge. The next best person to a bartender to point travelers in the right direction is a concierge. The concierges we gravitated toward were not the ones who grabbed a couple of travel guides and brochures about nearby family friendly attractions. No. The concierges we talked with had the uncanny ability to point us in the direction to meet our adventure’s mission without asking too many questions. Inevitably, either Beth or I would have already located and talked to the concierge who met our criteria.
By talk, I mean the concierge had already been chatted up by one of us blabbering our entire true-life stories or one of our made-up life stories. General speaking, Beth and I assumed aliases on most of our adventures. Being someone else was part of the fun. Oddly, on this adventure Beth and I were just Beth and Renee. Perhaps, we could not think of appropriate cowgirl names.
The next morning started with a short drive taking us to a city named Laramie. Laramie is where we would hang out for the day. Our usual routine, please. Belly up to a couple corner bars. Get some grub. Get friendly with the local bartenders. Yes. I was already talking like a Wyoming bred rancher’s daughter. Beth and I both enjoyed the history of Laramie. Laramie is a frontier town of the West filled with tales and trivia. We put blinders on so as not to see the goings on at the University of Wyoming. This task was not difficult. We were in the Wild West, the land of Butch Cassidy.
Compliments of our concierge, we learned if we were looking to stay in Wyoming, eat a big hunk of beef, attend a rodeo, and play cowgirl for a few days, we should stay at a Dude Ranch. At the time we visited, no reservations were needed. Not because the area was not busy, but because there are so many Dude Ranches from which to choose. We were on our own regarding the final Dude Ranch decision.
“Grand River Ranch” in Pinto Valley is where we decided to hang our hats for a few nights. I never outgrew my childhood love for horses. Pinto horses are my favorite. On our way to “Grand River Ranch,” we stopped countless times in order for me to take pictures of the horses. We also slowed our driving speed to less than the aforementioned 55mph because we were taken in by the wild change in terrain and the cowboys riding the fences with their cattle. Beth and I commented that everything in Wyoming seemed wild! We started singing “Desperado” by the Eagles.
Before we even completed check-in, we were motioned to head outdoors. We are following two horse hands to the stables. Either Beth and I were seriously late, or the dudes at the Dude Ranch do not waste any time giving guests their money’s worth of playing cowboy. Clearly, nobody cared if Beth and I were ready because as we were standing there next to our predetermined horses, we heard, “Saddle up, Ladies. We’re going for a ride.” Beth hollered at me asking me if I remember Betty Davis saying something similar. Shaking my head with that snort-inducing laugher, I was thrilled my horse had a good sense of humor.
Consistent with the Wyoming is wild theme, Beth and I were actually allowed to ride the horses. After everyone else went in for dinner, Beth and I hung back. Offering to help with the horses. The guys were good with us tagging along with them. Before our guides put up their horses and ours, we asked if we could really ride the horses, instead of the clop, clop walk we just finished. There was a reason Beth and I were both good at our professions. We could sell anyone, anything, anytime. We hopped back on our horses and away we rode.
By the time we returned from our real ride, we had missed the all-inclusive Dude Ranch dinner. Again, without words, Beth and I knew we were not going to be chowing down on our big hunk of beef at the ranch where we were staying. This seemed contrary to our mission.
We asked our more than accommodating horse guides where we could hunker down for a big hunk of beef. Not surprisingly, the boys hit the mark for us.
Although dinnertime was over back at the Dude Ranch, dinner was served 24-7 at the Honky-Tonk Bar, Grill, Restaurant, Dance Hall, Pre-Rodeo Show Meetin’ place where we arrived. We were sucked in and seated before we even hit the door. Steaks the size of our heads were placed before us. In Wyoming, there is no prize for eating every bit of the hunk of beef in front of you. Our patrons had not disappointed us. Beth and I were famished. We did not disappoint our patrons.
For years Beth and I remembered vividly how we mistakenly thought with clean plates and one more drink with a beer chaser, our night was complete. Oh! Ladies! Hold onto your hats. We got some line dancing to do. The kind of line dancing we mistakenly thought was only danced in Texas.
If you’re old enough to remember, you will remember Billy Ray Cyrus’songs, “Boot, Scootin’ Boogie” and "Achy Breaky Heart" were sending line dancing to places line dancing ought not be danced. The fact Beth and I were hundreds of miles away from anyone who knew us in no way made this remotely doable for me. My head still shrugs in disbelief of me do si doin’ on that dance floor doing moves the same way as everyone else. Only, I was not. I was not even close to doing what everyone was doing. This was not 4th grade gym class Square Dancing. We were in Wyoming. If you are out pre-rodeo, honkie-tonkin’, you best bring more than your boots. Beth was different. She loved mixing it up with the locals. She do si do’ed and I kept my bar stool warm until the joint closed.
The pre-rodeo hoop-la, like many other sporting events, starts really early in the morning and hours before the main events. At least my feet didn’t hurt as badly as Beth’s when we rolled ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn to be the early birds at our very first rodeo. Even for the young ladies we were, we had to admit we errored huge by not pacing ourselves. The rodeo planners were on our side that day. The rodeo was outside in the morning. We could breathe or walk away for a few without interrupting the entertainment or the sporting event.
As with every adventure, Beth and I learned a few tidbits: Without a doubt rodeoing is a sport. Rodeo riders are athletes. If an out of state weekend wanna be cowgirl buys herself a cowgirl hat, she gets the cowboy and his horse, too.
I would like to write this adventure ended with Beth and I riding off into the sunset with our respective rodeo riders, but that was not to be.
Beth and I settled for coming back home to Indiana with visions in our heads of starting rodeos in our hometowns of Franklin and Hope.
Ironically, this weekend, Houston, TX is celebrating one of the oldest Rodeo Competitions.
From: HOUSTON, Texas (KTRK) -- The Downtown Rodeo parade is set for Saturday, Feb. 25 at 10 a.m. It will celebrate Western heritage and marks the beginning of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, which has been a tradition in Houston since 1932.
