In the summer and fall of 1975, my friend Shawn and I went on an epic hitchhiking trip across the western US and Canada. We started out from Denver headed north and west with the intention of spending as much time as possible as far away from civilization as possible. The backcountry of Yellowstone offered the vastest and most varied opportunities for getting really, really far away from it all. We had both had a fleeting taste of the place previously and wanted nothing more than to really get to know it.
Before we headed into the wilderness, we had a civilized breakfast at one of those all-in-one tourists traps with a café, gift shop, horse rides, and Buffalo Bill’s lodge called “ Pahaska Tepee” near the eastern entrance to the National Park. The waitress was kind to us; a kindred spirit, letting us hang out and drink as much coffee as we wanted. We asked her what it was like working there and she said the manager was very nice and also that there was a lot of turnover, which got us talking about trying to get jobs there after our big hike. That morning we had done some math and realized that we only had $2 each to spend per day, and then promptly blew more than that on breakfast.
Getting hired at Pahaska consisted of a brief interview with the manager, who looked deep into our eyes and made us promise to stay until after Labor Day, as it was late August and many of his employees were headed back to college. Shawn got a job in the coffee shop; she had waited tables before; and I got a job working the cash register in the gift shop. We were given a room in the dormitory, payment for which would be coming out of our meager paychecks, and it was kind of nice to have beds, toilets and electric lights again.
It took about half a day to feel right at home at Pahaska. The employees were all young and intriguing, from all over the US and Europe, drawn to the pristine beauty of Yellowstone. My job alternating between being so boring that I’d take out all of the most expensive turquoise jewelry and try it on, just to entertain myself, to being so busy, when tourist busses showed up, that I could barely ring up their absurd purchases fast enough. I was amazed at the crap people would buy: ashtrays, key chains, and spoons, rocks-anything that said Yellowstone or Buffalo Bill on it. I was even more amazed to learn that when busloads of seniors filled our aisles, they would shoplift this crap!
After a hard day of tending tourists, we’d spend some of our earnings at the bar that was part of the Pahaska complex. The irony of this wasn’t lost on any of us, but there was no place else to go. The bar was in the same building as Buffalo Bill’s lodge and was rustic and comfortable and with so many young people from around the world, it was like a party every night, and Shawn and I both found romance.
We didn’t stay through Labor Day. When we woke up one morning to snow on the peaks around us, we decided to cash our paychecks and head for the woods before it got too cold. The mountains were beckoning us. Sorry, nice Mr. Manager.
Hmmm,I think I smell a book here. This (and earlier posts) sounds like a pretty literal description of an almost ordinary life, which, as you know, is a perquisite for literature.
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