A lot of times when I look at my maps, I just look at what towns I'll be passing through. I wait until I'm actually in the town or at a crossroads before I actually pay attention to what roads I'll be travelling. Rawlins worked about the same way. When we reached Rawlins, I realized that not only was I going to cross Interstate 80, but I was going to ride on Interstate 80 for about 15 miles. Before anyone gets all worried, it was actually not too bad. For the most part, Interstate 80 through Wyoming is a backroad anyway, but it did have the best shoulder of any road I've been on yet. It was at least 15 feet wide. Also, just like any good stretch of Interstate 80, there was construction going on for about 8 of those 15 miles, so we were able to ride in the dead lane and not face any traffic at all except for the dump trucks.

That afternoon we rode to Saratoga, Wyoming, about 50 miles from the Colorado border. Saratoga is yet another quaint little western town lined with wooden buildings with false fronts and front porches and stores that sell everything from western wear to western art. Saratoga sits on the North Platte river, so the town is actually a little oasis from the arrid hills and sagebrush that surround it. It has trees, bushes, grass, and even in spots a cool breeze generated from the rushing water that runs through town.

Originally, Saratoga was established as a "bedroom" community for the miners that would travel from Rawlins to Encampment, where in the late 1800s and early 1900s the mountainside community thrived with gold mining. At the time, Encampment also possessed the world's largest tram. It would haul miners from Encampment up and over the mountains to reach their mines. So as people would travel between the two towns, Saratoga, located in the middle, became the overnight resting place for all of the miners. Naturally, the town then exploded with eateries, hotels, saloons, and brothels.

Today, with the Encampment mines no longer running, Saratoga is still a bedroom community, but now caters to passing motorists, hunters and fishermen who come to catch trout along the North Platte. Apparently a few miles north of town, George Bush Sr. and George Schultz opened up a private club and resort in the foothills of the mountains. The buildings are set back many acres from the road and the members all fly into the airport just outside of town, so no one really knows who is coming or going. They just know its exclusive. Saratoga also hosts many conferences and get togethers, most notably one for all of the space shuttle astronauts every fall. It has been amazing to me on this trip, how many small towns throughout the west seem to thrive with culture, energy and activities despite their relatively remote locations and paultry populations. So many little towns, especially in the mid-west, have all but dried up and died, letting their historic buildings, rural charms, and in many cases, their picturesque locations just become rundown and disheveled. Is it really just the inevitable cycle of rural evolution, or can the trend be reversed with a little creativity and civic energy?

On the corner of the main intersection in the center of town sits the grand wooden and brick structure of the Saratoga Inn. The Inn comes complete with a large front porch, an upscale restaruant, a saloon, and a host of hotel rooms that look out on the bustling streets of town. Walking up the front porch, I then swaggered through the swinging doors of the saloon, with a bull-legged strut, wearing chaps and spurs, chewing on the short stub of a cigar, and walked up to the bar, spit on the ground, then said "bar keep, line me up two shots of your ol' red eye, and rustle up my friend here whatever he choose." Not really, I just walked up to the bar, sat on the stool and ordered a Stout from the area's local brewery.

Inside, the saloon had successfully retained it's historic charm and decor while adding a few modern touches to make the establishment feel more like a comfortable gathering place, rather than a museum. Of course there was the required animal head above the bar, but there were also many old advertising signs and bumperstickers scattered on the walls around the saloon. My favorites were a sign that read "Drink 'till she's pretty," another that said "I love animals, they taste great!" and a local beer advertisement that boasted "Our head's so thick, even your pee will foam."

The bartender was the daughter of the family that owned and ran the Inn. Her parents bought the building 25 years ago and have spent each year choosing a new renovation project to restore and maintain this historic landmark. She was obviously quite proud of the Inn and the work her parents have done to turn their labor of love into a successful business. Seeing that she was also quite familiar with the history of the building and the town, I asked her what she thought was the most colorful story of the towns early days.

"Well, it's not really a story about Saratoga, but about a guy who sometimes passed through here. His name was Big Nose John. Now, Big Nose John was notorious throughout southern Wyoming before Wyoming was even a state. Besides being one of the ugliest men this side of the Mississippi, he was also a cold blooded murderer and a thief. Nobody liked him and everyone feared him. When these parts finally started to get a little more orderly and a territorial prison was built in Laramie, the sherrif of Rawlins put together a posse to scoured the hills to find Big Nose John to try and bring him back to town. After a few weeks of searching, the posse finally found him and did indeed bring him back to town, where he was going to be sent to Laramie to be sentenced and put away in the territorial prison."