Fifty Miles of Dust and Dreams

We’re on a schedule — a dangerous word for people who live in a van, but there it is. The goal: beat the snow. We had to make it through Wyoming, over the Rockies, visit my son (and dog) in Colorado, and reach New Mexico before the first white stuff hit the ground. We were technically “on time,” but definitely flirting with our luck. So, we did the unthinkable for full-time wanderers — we hustled.

We blew right through Cody, Wyoming, waving politely at the tourist traps we’d both seen before. No need to relive that rodeo. South we went, landing in Meeteetse for the night at a lonely reservoir that turned out to be… well, let’s call it character-building. A cracked desert basin, a hint of dried-up water, and zero charm. We were gone not long after… well, a few hours after sunrise.

A chunk of highway miles later we rolled into Thermopolis, a name that practically demands hot springs. We’d passed through before but never stopped — big mistake. Turns out the springs are free. By treaty. So we parked Marcel, suited up, and slid into the steaming pools while rain pattered on the surface. Not the most scenic springs we’ve ever seen, but soaking in free, treaty-protected geothermal water? Absolutely worth it. Afterward, pruney but happy, we parked in Buffalo Pasture State Park under a steady drizzle, knocked out a few work hours, and then did the tourist loop to spot the resident buffalo herd before we disappeared down the asphalt.

By nightfall, we’d made it to Boysen State Park, looped around the reservoir, and followed Kerri’s latest map-scouting victory to a patch of free lakeside camping. Quiet, still, and perfect — exactly our kind of place. We stayed three nights and loved every minute of it. Not too much to add here. Kerri is cramming work down like I would candy corn. This is her busy season, so longer stays is good for both her work, and my project list.

Rain had fallen for a couple days, turning the dirt roads we’d planned to explore into potential quagmires, so we played it safe and aimed Marcel toward the highway again Towards Casper, WY. But we can only handle so much pavement before the itch returns, and sure enough, when a promising dirt road appeared on the map, we veered off without hesitation.

What followed was fifty miles of dusty solitude — Buffalo Creek Road linking up with Thirty-Three Mile Road, one of Wyoming’s “Scenic Backcountry Byways.” Scenic was right. The landscape looked like something out of a Looney Tunes cartoon: crimson cliffs, striped mesas, and endless desert stretching to even more endless desert. Antelope, sheep, and cattle all drifted across the road like extras in a Western. This was real Wyoming.

Then came Bighorn Mountain — and a steady climb that turned the cartoon desert into forested high country. Marcel climbed a couple thousand feet before we pulled into Buffalo Creek Campground, completely empty except for us. Cold? Sure. But quiet, calm, and beautiful. We stayed the night and rolled out the next morning — at our usual late hour.

A mile later, we passed another campground with actual occupants. Curious, we poked around, nodded at the brave few still camping in shoulder season, and continued our descent — back toward Looney Tune Land.

The last stretch of the byway was pure time travel — rusting fences, collapsed homesteads, and weather-beaten signs pointing toward Hole in the Wall, where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid once holed up. Sadly, the “hole” was on private land, so we carried on.

By late afternoon we climbed onto a wide mesa and parked right at the edge, staring out over a sea of red rock, blue sky, and open valley. Pronghorn grazed below as the sun melted into the horizon. The colors shifted from gold to fire to violet, and we sat in silence, hot mugs in hand, watching the show. No cellular. No noise. Just Wyoming being its wild, cinematic self. And us, exactly where we needed to be – way down a dusty road.