Wyoming: The Mysterious Jackalope Eluded Us
Much like Nevada, Wyoming has its long stretches of highways surrounded by endless plains extending to the horizon. But it also is home to what Wyoming(ans?) call the “Jackalope,” a jackrabbit with an antelope’s rack of antlers. Apparently the Jackalope is shy, since it has yet to be photographed and the evidence of its existence is solely based on eyewitness accounts. So I guess our quest to discover the reclusive Jackalope was futile from the start. But what was symbolically illustrative was the unexpected dearth of Jackalope paraphernalia—statues, stuffed animals, that like. We didn’t see much of anything during our stops along Route 80. Perhaps we should have stopped in Douglas, where they have statues of the original “World’s Largest Jackalope” (8 ft. tall), “World’s Even Larger Jackalope,” and plans to build an 80-foot tall fiberglass Jackalope.
We did stop in the following towns: Rock Springs, Laramie, and Cheyenne, the state capitol. We hung our hats for the night in an Econolodge in Rock Springs and the following morning headed to Laramie to see the Geology Museum at the University of Wyoming. After driving for several hours on a mostly straight interstate where 1 of 2 lanes was closed off due to construction, we arrived at the university and ended up following arrows in the geology department’s vacant building. Upon arriving at the door we were dismayed to discover a sign on the museum’s door: “Geological Museum closed because of UW budget cuts.” Super.
Our little disaster, however, turned out to be a blessing in disguise because we made a spontaneous decision to see the Wyoming Territorial State Prison. Now in restoration and functioning as a museum, this 19th century penitentiary surprisingly displayed elaborate and informative narratives about its former inmates. Photos of those incarcerated hung on the walls, some displayed mundane expressions while others looked downright psychotic. This territorial prison, one of several in the Wild West, also proudly boasts it once housed Butch Cassidy for 2 ½ years for the inglorious infraction of horse rustling.
Looking forward to visiting my aunt in Kentucky, we decided to get on with it and sped across the rest of the state (not much to see along I-80; as I said, all the fun stuff is up north). We stopped in Cheyenne to fill the tank and for some needed evening nourishment at a restaurant called Poor Richard’s. I ate the Chicken Dijon while Melissa ordered pasta, a food group she’s been craving lately.
As of this writing, we crossed the state line into Nebraska. For the first time, we struggled in finding lodging for the night. The Econolodge, Motel 6, and Days Inn were all booked. The nearest town in Nebraska was over 50 miles away and we considered to head 30 miles south into Colorado. But we found vacancy: the unoriginally-named “Generic Motel” offered a room at a dirt cheap price. All I can say is, sometimes you get what you pay for. But hey, on a trip like this running into some dives is inescapable.
