Out West ~ Day 10, Buffalo Bill

Start a conversation about real-life characters of the Old West and the name Buffalo Bill is sure to come up. Born as William F. Cody, Cody would soon become a cowboy, Pony Express rider, hunter, Army scout, and, by the age of twenty-six, a showman. Cody, Wyoming houses the Buffalo Bill Historical Center which consists of four museums, a research center, as well as exhibits and events.

As we talked to friends prior to making our Out West trip, we heard many suggestions of places to visit and things to do. Had Jim Hess of Vicksburg, Mississippi not mentioned Cody, Wyoming, we might have driven right through it and not toured the Buffalo Bill Historical Center.

“If you’re going through Cody,” Jim had stated, “you really should stop by the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. The firearms museum is worth stopping to see. It’s probably the largest collection of guns to be found anywhere. I think you’ll also enjoy the Western Art Museum.”

Our visit to the BBHC was more than I expected. We took a quick walk-through three of the museums. The one devoted to Buffalo Bill was most impressive. There were many items of the western era, including a stagecoach, wagons, and team harnesses. I briefly viewed a map of the United States dating from around 1842, which charted vast regions out west as Indian Territory as most land west of the Mississippi had not yet become states. I found it remarkable that a U.S. map, of that era, listed Pontotoc, as one of the few towns in Mississippi shown.

Among Buffalo Bill’s personal possessions were several leather and/or fur coats as well as his rifles and pistols. I remember seeing two ornate saddles, heavily laden with silver inlay, one of which was a gift from the king of a European country, but I don’t recall which.

The museum of firearms was as remarkable as Jim Hess had stated. It was interesting to see the many variations of personal weaponry and how firearms in America have changed through the years. In the same area were a number of stuffed animals, some such as bears and big horn sheep were displayed in their entirety, while elk and moose were largely head and shoulder mounts.

We also walked through the museum containing western art, but due to time restraints, spent less time there than at the two other museums mentioned above.

I should also mention that I registered, bought a raffle ticket if you prefer, for a chance to win a fully restored 1977 Corvette. Twice since deciding to retire, I’ve felt the Lord’s prompting regarding a purchase. In June, I was watching QVC on television, something rare for me, and was intrigued by a laptop computer being shown. Knowing I would have to “give up” my company laptop in the coming months, I really believe it was God who suggested the purchase. Then, as I casually looked at the Corvette, the realization that the time I had left to enjoy a company car was now being measured in weeks, I clearly understood, “There’s your retirement car,” come from somewhere. So, uncharacteristically for me, I purchased a chance on the car, which I considered a “sure thing,” as I had been divinely (or otherwise) inspired to do so. I will know for sure by noon on September 25, 2010.

Leaving Cody, we drove leisurely towards Rapid City, South Dakota, stopping along the way for lunch at a place named Dirty Annie’s, a combination restaurant and souvenir shop.

It would be the drive across the mountains east of Cody that I believe were the most harrowing for me. I had felt great unease driving through Mt. Lassen National Park where the roads had no guardrails to prevent an errant driver from plunging down steep inclines, and there were parts of the Yellowstone experience that had my palms sweating, but the prize goes to the road across the mountains east of Cody, Wyoming.

This road had it all, steep ascents, hairpin turns, long downhill grades with 20 mph curves, plus big-rig, highway traffic. Minutes seemed like hours, and it did take an hour or two for the crossing. Near Granite Pass, we drove several miles across a high plains area, which helped calm my fears, until the plain area reverted to a mountainous descent.

The average person has little idea the anxiety a person with a phobia experiences whenever conditions trigger said person’s phobia. It may be reasonable to assume there’s little likelihood of anyone’s automobile crashing down the side of a mountain, but when it comes to phobias, phobia trumps reason. I drove for many a mile repeating to myself the admonition “Keep your eyes on the road…watch the highway…don’t look to either side.”

I was glad to see the plains of eastern Wyoming and those of South Dakota, knowing the worst of the mountain drives were behind me.

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