It had dwindled late into the afternoon, and I was scouting out places to stay. Soon enough, I found myself in Buffalo, Wyoming, and the sun hung low in the sky. It seemed like as good a place as any to stop. The corolla exited the highway almost on autopilot and I found a campground immediately. It seemed odd that there was a campground in the middle of town, but I'd resigned that there were no rules the further west I got. I went into the office and paid for my camp space, but the day was still young enough that I wanted to explore what Buffalo had to offer. Clearly, of course, there were no actual buffalo in Buffalo. Par for the course, damn it.
The clerk at the campsite told me that I absolutely had to visit the Occidental Hotel and Saloon, just a half mile up the road. The bar was apparently something to behold. With that, I hopped back in the car and found the place. It was nestled in the cutest little downtown I'd seen, just second to my hometown's quaint main drag on the water back east.
Upon walking in, I was quickly greeted by about a thousand taxidermied animals on the wall. Not just the wall; on the eaves, the bar, and the overhangs as well. Elk, jackalope, a catamount, moose, deer, antelope, bear, bobcat, duck... the walls spoke of wild animals past. The bar was a wooden splendor; carefully hand carved spirals, filigree, and intricate details so out of their time in today's modern age. The bar reminded me so of the Raleigh Times on Hargett Street, an antique dinosaur surrounded by a bustling city that still appreciated class and ages past. At the center was a true relic of a cash register, so reminiscent of the antique register at Blount's drugstore on Broad street back home, or ever of an old Underwood typewriter, with the buttons standing up boldly on their individual pegs. Yes, this was my place.
I sat down quietly and ordered a beer from the bartender. The sun was setting outside, and yet due to the dog days of summer, there was still somehow plenty of daylight left in the sky. Drinking quietly, I listened to the inquiries and subsequent history lessons surrounding the Occidental Hotel. The place had been standing for a hundred years or more; the molded tin ceiling still held bullet holes from a massive shoot out in the early 1900s. The term Occidental is the antonym of "Oriental:" Oriental means eastern, and Occidental means western. The arched stained glass rose light fixture over the register was an original Tiffany, one of two still remaining from 1909. The stained glass did look out of place in a western bar, in all fairness; but once I heard where it came from, its placement seemed perfect.
The bar was more or less empty save one silver haired couple two seats to my left. The bartender recommended I take a quick stroll outside to photograph Crazy Woman Square, which was a quirky spot in the downtown block. I stepped out and was greeted by a horse carriage and a lush green square with a tiny stage for musicians. Upon my reentry, the couple was ready to talk. The gentleman's gray hair matched his beard, and his wife was a pleasant looking lady with short cropped dusky hair. They sat drinking beverages in tiny wine glasses; I inquired as to what their drink of choice was and they told me it was an aperitif dessert wine, so sweet and syrupy that it was meant to only be sipped on in minute increments. They were wearing matching t-shirts, white with "Chigaco" emblazoned across the chest in orange. They were from Canada, and had so thoroughly enjoyed their first road trip through the United States in their camper. We chit chatted about their travels and they questioned me about my journey. They had found the Hotel online and were quite excited about their stay there.
I took a brief stroll about the downstairs lobby. The original barber shop still stood, mostly untouched, with its leather-bound chairs in the center. The room now served as an impromptu bookstore, with historical books about Buffalo and the wild west lining the shelves where straight razors, combs, and shaving cream once sat. The lobby was a sight to behold, a parlor out of its time with claw footed sofas, hand woven rugs, frilly lampshades, and an old-tyme saloon piano against the wall. What a gem I had found!
I returned to my seat at the bar and chatted more with the Canadian couple. Before I knew it, the hour had grown late and they were ready to retire. I was several drinks in at this point, and was not sure what my plans held before me. They bid me goodnight and safe travels, and left. The bartender (who was so very cute, by the way), approached me and informed me that they had slipped him an extra $20 bill and said to make sure to cover my drinks, au gratis.
Moved by their kind gesture, I offered to the bartender that he also use the money to buy a drink for himself. The bar, in all its splendor and grace and tackiness, was ours. He asked where I was staying. I mentioned that I had paid $15 for a campsite across town, and he told me to sit tight.
"So, I spoke with my boss; the rooms usually go for $180 a night here, but rooms unoccupied yield zero dollars, so she agreed to let you a room for $60 if you want to stay. Some money earned on a room is better than none, so if you'd like to stay here you're most welcome to."
If the parlor, bar, and barber shop were any indication of the rooms to be rented, I was most certainly down for a unique and kitschy experience. With that, I laid out my wallet and paid for a room. Each had their own name and theme. I was given a key to the "Hole in the Wall," a single room full of promise and charm.
Room squared away, I ordered a shot; one for me, and one for him. He had dark brown hair, a scruffy beard, soft brown eyes, and a friendly yet laid back demeanor. Of course that meant that I was all about it. I didn't have to always play nice, and while I'm all about safety, I was going to shamelessly flirt with this guy as much as I could because, simply, why not?
We went shot for shot as the night went on. Soon enough the bar had to draw to a close, and it was time to head up to my magical out-west room. He sat at the bar over his last shot and asked if he could take me up to show me my room, which of course I said yes to. I wasn't scared; this wasn't some sketchy house in Iowa, it was a place of business where I could get his name and details if he turned out to be a creep. As it were, he was a ridiculously handsome bartender in Buffalo, Wyoming, and I was, at the moment, all about living for the moment.
He led me up the rickety staircase blanketed in a weather-beaten carpet and we rounded the corner past the antique coal stove to the "Hole in the Wall" room. I entered and was nearly bowled over by the character of the place. Floral wallpaper donned the walls, a wooden antique radio sat on the nightstand, a bedpan and pitcher rested delicately on a table in the corner. The bathroom had a pocket door and therein sat a claw foot bathtub, with perfumed soaps, lotions, and bath powders on the ledge with the Occidental Hotel's emblem on them.
With some sort of suave that only seems to happen in movies, I found myself disrobed to a certain extent. Then again, he had likewise matched the dress code for the moment. He leaned down to kiss me and a pendant wrapped around his neck dangled on my chest. I grabbed it and pulled him down to lock lips. Upon the release of said smooch, I looked at the necklace I had grabbed. It was a dogtag. A woman's name was on it. Screech the record to a halt.
"Um. Who is Allison?"
"Oh, I mean, um, she's my girlfriend, but she's away so anything goes."
If it were possible to jerk my head backwards so hard that I broke the pillow in half, that about sums up my reaction. "Excuse me?!"
"It's not a big deal, really."
"I bet it would be to her. I think you need to get the fuck out of here," I said, shoving myself to the side.
Enter a thousand excuses, a thousand apologies, a thousand humble attempts to correct the observation I had made.
"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here." I said.
Once again, I had trusted the honesty of strangers and been sorely disappointed. I kicked myself for thinking I could have an innocently good time with a stranger and not somehow have to feel guilty about it for one thing or another.
He left stumbling over his apologies. Another beautiful moment ruined by dishonesty and an overwhelming dirty feeling.
I don't know who Allison was, and I hope they never married. At any rate, I was going to enjoy the beautiful room and leave Buffalo, Wyoming, never to return. At least I had that freedom. In the morning I awoke to a brilliant bouquet of flowers on the wall, and I took a leisurely bath in the claw foot bathtub. I decided to not let one douche ruin my time in the Occidental Hotel the way I did my time in Fort Dodge; I appreciated the experience for what it was and relished in my encounters with delightful folks such as the couple from Canada. I pocketed the shampoo, bath powder, and lotion from my room and packed my bag, hustling to the corolla with a sense of relief once I sat in the driver's seat. I had to remind myself that I would never be there again, and that it was still an experience that I could look back on fondly.
On some level I wish I had just gone back to the campground. On the other hand, I was happy I had met the people that I did, and that I got to stay where I did. The walk out was a sort of walk of shame as I crept past the lobby, hoping not to see the manager that the bartender had haggled down to $60 a night. Luckily she wasn't there when I laid my parking pass on the counter.
I nearly skid tires as I left Buffalo, headed west once again, shaking the dirt and grossness off of my shoulders in favor of the bright sunrise that kissed my face and wiped away all the grit that this town had placed on my shoulders. I'm glad I ripped him a new asshole. I'm not sad that I found a stellar hotel room. I'm sad that I didn't get the name of the Canadian couple, because I'm 90% sure they would have let me crash their couch if I ever made it up to Alberta. I'm sad I didn't stay for breakfast at the Occidental Hotel. I'm glad I didn't fall for the "my girlfriend is away" schtick. I'm glad I had the horizon to greet me and fill me with promise, and optimism, and excitement. I was so grateful for a new day, a new destination, and a new set of moments to be had on the grand journey that this trip has to offer. On to bigger and better. Tomorrow yields Yellowstone and Beans and old friendships rekindled. Surely there will be no disappointment there with such impeccably wonderful people. It's all up from here.
