Wyoming or Bust–Or Rather, Busted in Wyoming

The kids and I are currently holed up in my childhood home in Calgary. Jamie joined us for a few days but has since flown home, leaving us with a stretch of languid summer fun. This morning, Hadley asked me, “What day is it, Mommy?”

That is my definition of a great summer.

Of course, we still have a two-day drive back to Denver in our future and the trek to Calgary was memorable to say the least. A couple of hours into our drive, Jamie started slowing down and pulled off to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” I queried. Not long ago, he was freaking out because we had to pull off so Hadley could fully shut her door.

And then I turned around to see a nice highway patrolman. He issued us a $170 ticket and a warning for our obstructed license plate from our bikes on the back of the car. HELLO, if that is against the law then half of Coloradoans are breaking it.

We got back on the road and not even 30 minutes later he started slowing down again. “What are you doing?!” I started to say and then I saw it: another cop.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Yep, another ticket but for only $100 this time. In his defense, our cruise control is busted and we were in armpit of Wyoming with ugly, sagebrush hills so it was so easy to speed. There are no tourism dollars to be made so why not nab motorists for going 7 miles over the speed limit?

Quite coincidentally, this was near the stretch in The Cowboy State where I thought we were going to die last Christmas.

It would appear we have an all-hate and no-love relationship with Wyoming.

Mostly just hate.

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