That must have been some kind of joy ride.
The car, red iron crust flaking away at the edges and around the bullet holes that littered the metal frame, lay half buried in a mound of rusty earth and entangled sagebrush.
The trunk had long-since eroded away, leaving the gaping mouth of the car and its innards beyond laying slack.
Abandoned. Lost. Forgotten.
How it got almost half a mile from the road, up a narrow, slick rock canyon several miles outside of Lander, Wyoming, we had no idea.
Of course, we couldn’t resist the temptation of rusty metal injuries and tetanus…
… before moving on down the trail.
It seems only fitting to start a new year by doing something that you have never done. There really isn’t a lot of spectacular snowshoeing around Lander, at least not like there was when I lived in Yellowstone. I can’t snowshoe out my door, dodge some bison, stumble on some wolves and be chased back to the refuge of my Yellowstone River-side home by bighorn sheep.
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