Blowin' in the Wind in Wyoming
Today started calmly. In hindsight, perhaps a little too calmly.
Janice took Tad out at 6:15 a.m. and crawled back into bed. Wind gusts during the night had kept her awake, and she was hoping to catch a little more sleep.
I couldn't get back to sleep. I wanted to watch the sunrise over the lake.
I wandered into the living room and found Tad sitting up front, staring intently at something in the darkness. I settled into the dinette overlooking the lake, and soon Tad joined me on the opposite bench.
Just the two of us, father and son, watching the world slowly awaken.
The lake was perfectly calm. A pair of ducks swam quietly near the shore, capturing Tad's undivided attention. The sky gradually lightened as the sun crept toward the mountains across the lake. A fish splashed in the water, but by then the ducks had departed.
And then, suddenly, the sun exploded over the mountaintop, flooding the landscape with golden light and announcing that a brand-new day was underway!
What a glorious way to begin the morning!
The wind began stirring across the lake, and several more ducks landed in the water in front of us. A short time later, a magpie landed on the picnic table just outside our door. It hopped around, apparently inspecting our campsite, before flying into a nearby tree.
One of the wonderful things about our motorhome is that it makes an excellent wildlife blind. We can sit comfortably inside, observing the natural world without disturbing its inhabitants.
I started the coffee, and soon Janice joined us. She prepared a delicious breakfast of eggs, turkey bacon, and hash browns. We enjoyed our meal while discussing the day ahead.
Our ambitious goal was to make it to Idaho, but first we wanted to explore a little more of Curt Gowdy State Park.
A Morning in Curt Gowdy's Backyard
Curt Gowdy State Park was established in 1971 and named the following year in honor of legendary sportscaster and outdoorsman Curt Gowdy.
Born in Green River, Wyoming, in 1919, Gowdy grew up in Cheyenne and began his broadcasting career there. He went on to become one of America's most recognizable sports announcers, covering World Series games, Super Bowls, and the Olympics. He also hosted The American Sportsman, a popular television program celebrating hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.
Gowdy loved Wyoming and considered having a state park named in his honor one of the greatest privileges of his life.
The park is nestled in the Laramie Mountains between Cheyenne and Laramie, with beautiful reservoirs, rugged granite formations, forests, and miles of hiking and biking trails.
After breakfast, we packed up Lexy and drove to what we thought was the trailhead for Hidden Falls.
We didn't see any signs pointing toward the waterfalls, but there was a trail climbing steeply through an impressive jumble of granite boulders.
We kept Tad safely on his leash as we climbed higher through the rocky landscape. The massive boulders and unusual rock formations were fascinating. Some looked as though giants had scattered them across the mountainside. It was very windy!
Several mule deer watched us warily with a "What are you doing up here?" expression as we climbed the trail.
Eventually, we reached the summit, where we were rewarded with a spectacular view overlooking the lake and surrounding mountains.
Getting back down was another matter. We gingerly picked our way along the steep, rocky trail, keeping a close eye on Tad.
When we returned to the parking area, Janice walked down toward the entrance and discovered the trailhead for Hidden Falls.
The waterfall hike was a rugged 2.1-mile adventure, and we decided it would probably be too challenging for Tad. Besides, the wind was picking up, and we had a long drive ahead.
We reluctantly said goodbye to Curt Gowdy State Park and headed toward Interstate 80.
Five miles later, we merged onto I-80, pointed Lexy's nose west, and settled in for what we hoped would be about six hours of driving.
A stiff wind was blowing from the southwest, probably around 32 mph. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as Lexy pushed into the headwind.
Traffic was moving normally, and although driving required considerably more concentration than usual, everything seemed manageable.
Then we noticed a large electronic highway sign on the right we caught something about wind restrictions, but we passed it before we could read the details.
Hmmm.
We continued west, with the wind buffeting our motorhome. I kept both hands firmly on the wheel while Janice searched for potential overnight destinations, 6 hours ahead of us.
Eventually, we spotted another electronic sign.
This time Janice was ready with her camera.
CROSSWINDS 45 MPH!
I-80 LARAMIE TO RAWLINS CLOSED TO CAMPERS UNDER 25,000 POUNDS!
Ruh-roh!
I looked over at Janice.
"I think that means us!"
And wouldn't you know it? We were smack-dab in the middle of the restricted area.
Wyoming is famous for its wide-open spaces, magnificent mountains, and endless horizons. Unfortunately, it is also notorious for some of the most dangerous crosswinds in the country.
The east-west stretch of I-80 between Laramie and Rawlins is particularly treacherous. Powerful winds sweep across the high plains and mountain gaps, sometimes producing gusts exceeding hurricane force.
For high-profile vehicles like motorhomes, campers, and box trucks, those winds can be deadly.
The Wyoming Department of Transportation takes the danger seriously. It regularly restricts travel for lighter, high-profile vehicles when conditions create an unacceptable risk of being blown over.
In fact, Wyoming recorded 83 wind-related vehicle blow-over crashes in 2024 alone.
Suddenly, the warnings didn't seem quite so theoretical. We could face a large fine if we got pulled over in a restricted zone.
After another 20 miles of wrestling with the wind, we reached the Elk Mountain exit and pulled into a Conoco station.
We got 8 gallons of gas because gas was a dollar more than it was in Rawllins, just 40 miles away.
We maneuvered to the north side of the building, where we could get some protection from the relentless wind.
We pulled up the Wyoming Department of Transportation website.
The news wasn't encouraging.
The travel restrictions were expected to continue throughout the afternoon.
Our plans to make it to Idaho had officially been blown away!
Fortunately, we had our trusty Harvest Hosts app.
We searched for nearby places where we might spend the night and discovered the Historic Elk Mountain Hotel, just four miles south of the gas station.
Perfect!
We carefully made our way into the tiny town of Elk Mountain, found the hotel, and selected a parking spot somewhat sheltered from the wind.
We checked in through the Harvest Hosts app and called the hotel to make dinner reservations for 5:30.
Then we took Tad for a walk to explore our unexpected destination.
Elk Mountain is a tiny community nestled among cottonwood trees along the Medicine Bow River, at the foot of its namesake mountain, which rises more than 11,000 feet above sea level.
The town has a fascinating history.
Long before Interstate 80 carried travelers across southern Wyoming, this area was an important stopping place along the Overland Trail.
In 1862, a stagecoach station was established near the river crossing, providing weary travelers and their horses with a place to rest before continuing their journey west.
The present Elk Mountain Hotel was built on the site in 1905, and the town was officially incorporated in 1909.
For more than 160 years, travelers have been finding refuge here.
And now, in 2026, three weary adventurers from Oregon had joined their ranks!
When we returned to Lexy, three other RVs had arrived, apparently seeking refuge from the same windstorm.
Fortunately, the Elk Mountain Hotel is one of those rare Harvest Hosts that can accommodate up to six RVs.
A Night Camping at the Historic Elk Mountain Hotel
At 5:30, we left Taddy comfortably settled in Lexy and walked hand in hand toward the hotel, about 100 yards away.
The wind had eased somewhat, and large White Tail deer were browsing among the nearby trees. They watched us curiously as we passed, apparently wondering what these two strange creatures were doing wandering around their neighborhood.
We entered the hotel and were warmly greeted by Marie, who would also be our waitress.
Walking into the lobby was like stepping through a doorway into the early 1900s.
The beautifully preserved furnishings, historic photographs, woodwork, and adjoining dining room transported us to another era.
The hotel itself has quite a history.
Built by John Evans in 1905, it was the first establishment in the area to have electricity and indoor plumbing. Its coal-fired generating plant even supplied electricity to some of the neighbors.
During the 1940s and 1950s, the hotel and its adjoining Garden Spot Dance Pavilion became a regional entertainment destination. Famous performers, including Louis Armstrong, Tommy Dorsey, and Lawrence Welk, drew crowds from miles around.
The dance pavilion was famous for its unusually springy dance floor, which seemed to bounce beneath the dancers' feet.
Imagine that! Louis Armstrong performing in this tiny Wyoming town!
The dance pavilion is long gone, but the hotel remains, lovingly restored and welcoming travelers just as it has for more than a century.
We settled into the dining room and ordered dinner and beverages.
While we waited, a large man entered the room and sat at the table next to us, facing the wall.
Because our tables were so close together, We greeted him and struck up a conversation.
"Are you stranded by the wind, too?"
He smiled and told us that he was.
We introduced ourselves and asked his name.
"Deshon," he replied, extending his large hand.
We shook hands and began chatting.
Deshon told us he was traveling from Rhode Island to his home in Utah. He had already been on the road for nine days.
He had gotten stranded at the Elk Mountain Conoco because of the wind and had spent the previous night at another motel. Tonight, he was hoping to stay at the historic hotel.
He seemed weary.
We could certainly understand why.
Here we were, three very different travelers whose paths had crossed because of the same Wyoming windstorm.
We had been traveling around the country for nearly two months, enjoying our grand adventure. Deshon was simply trying to get home.
Sometimes a brief conversation with a stranger reminds me how many different stories are unfolding around us every day.
Our dinner arrived, and Janice and I turned our attention to our meals.
I enjoyed a cheeseburger and fries, while Janice had chicken strips and a salad.
For dessert, we shared a delicious chocolate mousse with raspberry shorbet and vanilla whipped cream.
Yum!
We certainly weren't suffering too badly from our unexpected detour!
Before leaving, we wished Deshon well and told him we were hoping to make our escape early the following morning.
We invited him to join our little westbound caravan in his box truck if he wanted some company.
He thanked us but said he would probably be on the road by 6 a.m.
We wished him safe travels.
After dinner, we wandered back into the lobby, signed the guestbook, and spent some time admiring the historic photographs and furnishings.
I couldn't shake the feeling that we had somehow traveled backward through time.
Outside, the wind had quieted.
We walked back toward Lexy beneath a nearly full moon peeking through the cottonwood trees.
The mule deer were still nearby, and the little town seemed peaceful and content.
What an extraordinary contrast to the howling winds that had driven us off the interstate just a few hours earlier.
We had started the day watching a glorious sunrise over a peaceful mountain lake, hiked among ancient granite boulders, battled fierce Wyoming crosswinds, and ended up in a historic hotel that had been welcoming stranded travelers since the days of stagecoaches.
Not exactly the day we had planned.
But then again, some of our most memorable adventures have come from plans that didn't work out.
I thought about the travelers who had passed through Elk Mountain over the past 160 years. Stagecoach passengers, cowboys, railroad workers, musicians, and now modern-day wanderers in motorhomes.
All of us, in our own ways, at the mercy of the weather, the landscape, and the unpredictable nature of travel.
And all of us grateful for a safe place to rest.
We settled into our cozy motorhome and turned on our audiobook.
Tomorrow, we hoped to get an early start and make some serious progress toward Oregon.
Unfortunately, the weather forecast wasn't particularly encouraging.
I assured Janice that, one way or another, we would make it home in time to vote on Tuesday.
After all, we'd already survived a blown spark plug on I-80.
Surely a little Wyoming wind couldn't keep us from exercising our civic duty!
Could it?
As we drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help smiling at the irony.
We had spent the morning admiring the beauty of Wyoming's great outdoors and the afternoon being reminded of its awesome power.
Sometimes you go where the road takes you. And sometimes you go where the wind blows you.
Tonight, it had blown us into a wonderful little piece of American history.
And for that, we are grateful.
Sweet dreams, Lexy. Tomorrow we'll see which way the wind blows.
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