At Dead Indian Pass

  • Post category:Travel

I pull off at an overlook in the mountains of northern Wyoming, my wife and youngest daughter in my FJ Cruiser, my oldest daughter and her boyfriend pulling in ahead of me in their Honda Element. As we are standing, stretching, starting to move toward the overlook and toward the informational signs arrayed the the edge I glance over at the truck across the parking space from us. A big Chevy, pulling a horse trailer. The hood is up and three women, one about forty, the other two older, are gathered around the engine on the far side, one reaching into the engine, unscrewing something. Before I have time to…

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