The Legend of the Silver Dollar Saloon
I guess it’s called the Wild West for a reason
NOTE: A number of readers have questioned the veracity of my stories thus far and while I understand the trip we are on and the adventures thereof may seem somewhat far-fetched, I assure you that I have adhered to the truth in recounting my travels as best I can recall.
As we made it across Wyoming almost up the Rockies, a blizzard came over us the way Life does––gradually then all at once. The Camry did surprisingly well crawling up and down miles and miles of mountains with her potato skin tires.
By the time we got to Rock Ridge we’d lost all visibility. So we puttered into a cabin where a fellow named Duke welcomed us in with a glass of bourbon and Elk steak. He was a fascinating guy and good host but I could tell by his cold misty gaze his mind was somewhere else.
The next morning he told us he was bound for Idaho in search of a woman. Hard to blame him. He lent us two horses to take into town and wished us luck before tipping his hat and heading West toward the crisp mountain horizon.
So Zal and I rode into Jackson to find a place to stay and maybe something to drink. The only place open was the Silver Dollar Saloon.
We were enjoying our whiskey and the jaunty piano music when suddenly Roscoe Calhoun burst through the swinging doors. Duke warned us about Calhoun, for he’s got the biggest ranch in Wyoming and he’s anxious to prove it. It was easy to see he was fixin’ for a scuffle.
We weren’t in the mood for any hullabaloo but I informed him in no uncertain terms that, “this town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” Angry cowboys like Calhoun don’t have much a sense of humor.
He drew his six-shooter but before he got to the trigger I shot the watch right off his wrist just to remind him who’s the fastest gun in the West. And Zal flung one piece of warning lead through his partner’s shot glass, sadly wasting an ounce of good liquor. They were all talk, no trousers.
We’re due to leave today for Utah but another blizzard is in the forecast so we may have to hunker down for a bit. Here’s to hoping for an easier trip ahead. Cheers.
(The most terrifying adventure of our stay in the mountains involves a ravenous bear the size of a Komatsu tractor and several wounded limbs. But I know my mom reads these and I wouldn’t want to scare her.)
We’re headed to Salt Lake City next where I suspect we will both benefit from the comparatively tame Mormon values.
