Click here to view the embedded video.

gorgeous.

Wow.  So today was supposed to be my day to drive.  You see, each day Greg and I take turns at the wheel to demonstrate partnership and respect for one other.  Well, actually, we do it to allow equal time to catch up on blog entries, photographs, videos and wedding thank yous.  This particular morning, we opted to traverse a winding scenic route through Big Horn National Forest rather than the extremely windy and boring interstate jaunt  from Sheridan, Wyoming to Livingston, Montana.  It has been the most beautiful drive we’ve had yet–well, so far…  I am currently enjoying the drive from the the luxury of the passenger’s seat with my chronically narcoleptic cat after white knuckling it UP the mountain.  Not only was I a bit nervous about the giant drop-offs to our right and then our left, but I was also freaking out about how beautiful the drive was.  After several longing glances at my camera, I was delighted when Greg offered to take the wheel so I could snap some shots.

Longing for her camera

He is so good!  Boy, was I relieved, because it was time to descend the 9,340 feet of switchbacks and 10% downgrades.

Hairy, any way you drive it.

I let Greg worry about the logistics while I continued to document the glorious vistas framed by the dinky limitations of our windshield.  As our brakes began to smoke, Greg asked himself aloud, “What would Stew do?” and knew the answer would be, “Let your transmission do the work.”  And so Greg obviously guided us skillfully and safely down the other side of that mountain because now we are galloping along in Montana.  All this business may have caused my camera to start smoking as well.

Greg's side of the mountain.

Last evening was our first night out in the west so you can imagine we were seeking a saloon-type situation complete with an arm-gartered piano player and an upstairs brothel.  What we found was a perfect western watering hole called the Mint Bar on the main street, which also housed custom saddleries, closed boot shops (it was after 6 pm so each front window was smudgy from my face pressing and drooling) and an old timey JC Penney.

ye olde time.

We lassoed our horses to the hitching post (we wish) and stepped on in to what may or may not have been Wyoming’s premier museum of taxidermy.  The Mint Bar boasted a stamped tin ceiling and the walls were papered with what looked to me like hieroglyphics, but were actually wood panels displaying all the local ranchers’ brands.  The animals, frozen in time, ranged from a giant antlered rabbit to Greg’s new Christmas wish list item:  a stately moose head.  Do you think our Paco at home (yes, we have one mounted deer head already) would feel out-antlered?

stuffed with beer. stuffed with cotton.

Real cowboys sipped their draughts at the bar and I imagined them to be discussing rodeo tactics or cattle birthing.  They looked very hardened, their skin weathered by sun and wind, and their hats tattered and dirty from long days on dusty ranches.  Here’s the ugly truth:  real cowboys sometimes wear mom jeans (unbeknownst to them).  Yes–high waisted, belted, and tapered-legged wrangler’s, lee’s and levi’s can easily become mom jeans when fitted snuggly over cowboy boots.  Out of respect and fear, Greg and I kept our giggles hushed and concentrated on dumping coins into the jukebox to further enhance our western night out.  We punched in our favorites from Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and the Dixie Chicks, and it wasn’t until Greg’s Journey selection began playing that the bartender decided to trump the jukebox with her own bar speakers.

After a few beers and enough time to properly admire each animal, we headed to a local rib and chop house on a friend’s suggestion where Greg enjoyed a fine 12 oz. filet and I devoured cedar plank salmon and huckleberry viniagrette dressed greens.  We were actually too stuffed to order dessert.  Contemplating a night cap back at the mint bar, we decided to return home to the trailer to get snuggled in and enjoy one of our favorite wedding gifts –thank you Rinaldi family–home made basil liqueur!

We awoke this morning to a party of peacocks scurrying by, with one lone male displaying all his glory to a cluster of less than stellar lady peacocks pecking at each other.

passing through.

That brings me to where we are now, on our way to Livingston, Montana to boondock on a friend’s ranch since she’s got a billion gorgeous acres to spare and share!  Greg just wisely delegated the remaining juice in the brakes to avoid obliterating an unexpected deer who was apparently lolligagging behind his dear deer friend in the field across the highway.  WHEW!  I guess Greg earned the Rush marathon play time he somehow managed to sneak onto our stereo when I wasn’t looking.

We are really looking forward to some serious boot shopping and beer drinking while we hunt down another memorable western bar– one that is hopefully into watching the World Series.  Go Phillies!

drool worthy.

11/24/09 – an update: here’s the video detailing our drive. Greg was able to edit the footage and get it posted online:

Click here to view the embedded video.