Guest Posts on County 10 are provided by contributors and the opinions, thoughts, and comments within are their own and may not necessarily reflect those of County 10.
They were headed to the state basketball tournament in Laramie. The path led them through Sybille Canyon. It was -22 when they rolled through Wheatland that morning, and the temperature was plummeting by the time they were halfway through Sybille.
Any truck driver, heavy equipment operator or wintertime farmer could quickly tell what was happening. The bus, a converted Continental Trailways model, started to sputter, the engine lost power, and it ground to a halt.
The driver could keep the engine idling, but stepping on the gas stalled it. The fuel lines had jelled in the now -40-degree conditions somewhere along the Albany and Platte County lines. Lucky for the boys and coaches onboard, a group of parents were following the bus.
One of the players’ grandparents were following in a motor home. They picked up the boys and coaches in a couple of vehicles, radioed back to Lusk for the bus garage to call their counterparts in Laramie and left the driver alone with bus about 50 miles from the University of Wyoming where the tournament was being held.
A wrecker arrived in a little over an hour and towed the bus to an Albany County garage when the lines thawed, and a little fuel line antifreeze brought it back to working condition.
It’s all in a day in a Wyoming winter.
As sophomores, we were playing Pinedale and Big Piney on consecutive nights. We played Friday in Pinedale, with another night game in Piney on Saturday. Pinedale was nice. We ate breakfast and the coaches let us walk around town in 35-degree weather. Most of us were wearing our wool letter jackets, plenty warm for a mild winter day.
We hopped on the bus for the 40-mile run to Pinedale and immediately started a couple of poker games. That’s what you did in the days before ear-buds, cell phones or Walkmans. None of us noticed the window slowly frosting over.
When we rolled into Big Piney late that afternoon the sun was already starting to drop. Through the front glass we noticed a temperature sign, -28. The temperature had dropped 60 degrees at least in that 40-mile run.
Our driver, Walt Westling, shut down the bus and the coaches told us to unload. In those days the driver didn’t care if you opened the emergency door at the back. It was the easiest way to get bags, uniforms and trunks off the bus.
As the seniors popped open the door, the subzero wave of cold Sublette County air swooped into the bus. Those letter jackets just didn’t do the trick.
Over the years I’ve spent many a cold evening in the warm confines of a “Yellow Dog” as we often called our Bluebird buses.
The coldest temperature I’ve had the displeasure to see came in 2015 just outside Ethete. I was covering the last Fremont County Shootout at Wyoming Indian High School.
Wyoming Indian always goes above and beyond when hosting a tournament, whether it’s the hospitality room, the concession stand, awards or any other amenity the staff and kids can come up with, it’s always first rate.
That night a group of youngsters waited at the scorers table as Chico Her Many Horses announced the games. At halftime and between ball games, Chico would offer the services of the kids to go out and start fan’s cars in the parking lot.
It was a Godsend for many people.
With a strong battery, weather that dips 20 below or colder is a challenge. If your battery is older or weaker, you can get that frustrating “…click..click..click…” a sound that indicates your car or truck is not going to start.
The kids were busy all afternoon and into the night.
I took notes and shot photographs until both the girls’ and boys’ championship games were played.
We had purchased the first new car of our married life just two weeks before, a 2015 GMC Terrain. 100,000 miles later we still have this little workhorse and cold weather never bothers the stout, little Chevrolet four-cylinder engine.
She started right up. I sat there for a few minutes to let the engine heat up, knowing the windshield would frost over if there wasn’t a full blast of hot air flowing through the defrosters.
Pulling out of the Wyoming Indian High School lot I noticed a dozen or so vehicles that didn’t start. People had caught rides and would jump them or replace the battery the following day.
The gauges on the Terrain were bright against the star-studded, blackened sky outside.
As I reached the stoplight at the intersection of Blue Sky Highway and Ethete Road, the temperature gauge hit -33. “Wow, that’s cold,” I thought.
Less than a mile ahead it hit -42 as I crossed the Little Wind River.
We may think it’s cold in Riverton or Lander, but if you’ve ever been along the Wind River, whether at Ethete, Ft. Washakie or St. Stephen’s, you soon learn what cold is.
Arctic conditions at best.
By the time I reached 8 Mile Road west of Riverton, it had “warmed up” to a relatively balmy -18.
It was all in the life of a Wyoming basketball fan. I experienced it as a kid, a coach and now a sportswriter and it never gets any easier.
These extreme temperatures are deadly if you’re not prepared for them.
These memories all came back to me Tuesday morning at 7 AM when I went out to throw a little hay to our cows.
It was -24 that morning.
The girls were nowhere to be found in the dimly lit morning light, but as I grabbed a hay hook to drag some small bales to the feeder, they began to ramble out our two little barns to the west of the feedlot.
It was still, extremely quiet, and I could hear their breath and then the crackling sound of snow breaking on their backs.
Old timers will tell you your cows are fine with a little snow on their backs, it means their interior heat isn’t escaping and they’ll stay warm.
These were fine, but that cracking sound is a little unnerving as they move and the snow and ice break loose from their hair.
We take the cold in stride. It’s just part of life out here on the high desert and foothills of the Rockies.