On Wednesday afternoon, we met Byron. Hours before we had been lounging in bed at the cabin, prepping stuff for the trip we thought we’d take in the morning. Out of the blue though, Zee put up the option of leaving earlier. Spontaneity brought us scrambling to the car, with some basic necessities already packed in the trunk. Heading toward Lander and on south through Wyoming, we played letter games and passed smiles at each other.
A couple weeks previous, Zee had mentioned a pottery shop he had seen on our trips to Colorado. We decided this time around, that we’d give it a look. We wanted to see what it was all about. The exterior was eclectic and fun.
We ended up passing it again, on a long stretch of road into Jeffrey City. The landscape was all gold and barren, with massive mountains there in the distance. The art gallery was called Monk King Bird Pottery, and upon entering, we knew we had found a jewel. There in the front lobby, was (Byron) a scrappy artist with a head full of wild hair, and a presence that made you feel oddly invincible. A man from Washington was standing just alongside him, exchanging life and travel stories and it took just seconds to warm up to them both. There was an artistic freedom in the way we were with each other, all bound by love that didn’t really need direct communicating.
Dialogue can be remembered from that day even now. We were invited to Byron’s birthday party in mid-September, and he said to bring anything that started with the letter B. Boobies, Brisket, Books, Babes, Bloomers.
Before leaving, we bought one of his mugs that was unfinished. Polish had only been applied on its handle and he looked at it dismayed. “Are ya sure you want that one?”, he asked before pointing out all of its blemishes. We nodded his concerns off and liked it all the same. “Just make sure there isn’t anything in it. I’ve had ladies come in and lift up my cups to look at them, only to get moldy coffee all over their shirt. And hey, I feel bad.”
His personality flew like this and we admired him for it. There was a twisted humor buried deep within, and after we had returned to our car — I made sure to get the picture above. I’m so glad I did. It’s wonderful.
Our campsite in Saratoga was great too. We parked it right by an old gentleman’s tent. Turns out he was traveling the country by motorcycle. His name was Dan and we had some nice talks. He said he wanted to live in Arkansas one day. His smile was nice and he had a very distinguished beard.
For dinner one night, we cooked vegan beans and hotdogs over a campfire. Mosquitoes played nice as long as we kept near the heat. Sleeping in our Rav4 Toyota was a challenge, but something we wanted to get to learn — being that we plan to travel continuously over the next couple months. We had with us a tent as well, but only tend to use it for longer stays.