Day 20 -- Riverton to Rawlins, by way of Fort Washakie, Wyoming -- 181 Miles

This morning was the first morning in ages that I didn't need at least a flannel shirt on when I went out to pack up the electric, water, and sewer lines and get us ready to roll. It was just a lovely t-shirt temperature after all the cold and rainy weather that we experienced in Idaho and Montana.

Our goal today was to drive south to the city of Lander, Wyoming, about 25 miles away, and from there drive a further 15 miles to the north and west on Route 287 to visit the gravesite of Sacagawea. As anyone knows who has traveled the backroads of many of the states lying north and west of St. Louis, Missouri, there are historical markers for Lewis and Clark's 1803 expedition just about everywhere. And, although Sacagawea did not begin the expedition with Lewis and Clark's Corp of Discovery, her inclusion midway through their trek to the Pacific Coast proved to be enormously invaluable.

Once we reached the city of Lander, population just over seven thousand, we rather easily found our way to Route 287 for the trip to the cemetery. There is no actual town where the cemetery is located, but a one-time frontier military post and town, Fort Washakie, is just down the road. Since the grave was located on the Shoshone reservation, we knew we needed to proceed with a great deal of sensitivity. We did not want to simply pull up to what is undoubtedly a sacred native American burial ground and start snapping photos.

Fortunately, just after we pulled into the parking lot, a native American woman pulled in and made ready to visit one of the graves. I went over and politely asked if there would be any difficulty with our visiting Sacagawea's grave. I told her that I was fully aware that the tribe considered it a sacred site.

The lovely woman immediately put me at ease. With a big smile, she said, "Oh heavens no. People come here all the time to visit, and the tribe is quite comfortable with that."

I could see the bronze statue at the very farthest edge of the cemetery. "Should we walk around to get to the grave," I asked. I had spotted a road that led to the very top of the hill when we drove in.

The woman hadn't lost her friendly smile. "Oh heck no," she said. "There's a path that cuts right up the middle. You can just use the path."

And so we did. The ground was a tad uneven and rocky for a couple of seniors to navigate, but we made it. On our way to the top we saw a man spreading some red clay earth over several graves to our far right. He looked up then, and we waved and called a good morning to him. He smiled and called a good morning back to us.

Once at the top of the hill, we spent some time reading the plaques adjacent to the bronze statue of Sacagawea. One of the plaques seemed to say that her actual grave lay somewhere east of where we were standing. The plaque had orginally read "west," but someone had long ago scratched out the word and scratched in the word "east" underneath. We scanned the hillside full of grave markers, but didn't see an obvious "special" marker.

I decided it was time to interview the man tending the graves. I walked over and complimented him on the care he was taking by spreading the rust-colored earth so carefully.

"Well," he said, "these are my grandparents. It's been a long time since I've been here."

I told him I had noted the Wisconsin plate on his truck as I walked past.

"Used to live there," the man said, "but I live here now. My Dad's 92 years old and I came to take care of him."

And then we stood there talking about a half dozen different things. At some point I asked his name and he told me Greg. "Mine's Tom," I said, and we shook hands. "I sure admire what you're doing here."

"Well, so often the young folks won't do it," Greg said.

By now we'd gotten to know each other pretty well, and I decided to pose my question about the location of Sacagawea's grave. "Hmmm," he said, I think it's over there behind the shed." Then he paused, thought for a moment, then corrected himself. "Come to think of it, I think that big granite stone over there is her's." He pointed across the hill to a gray, granite obolisk.

And so it proved to be. Before we parted, Greg and I shook hands once again, and I told him it sure had been a pleasure talking with him. I told him that my wife and I just loved the preservation of history, and I admired him for doing his part in keeping up his grandparent's graves. He thanked me and we parted friends.

I picked my way through the forest of grave markers and soon stood before Sacagawea's Stone. The stones for her two sons lay on either side. There is some controversary as whether she is actually buried on that spot, but I didn't care. A connection that Concetta and I had made many years ago, as we drove countless segments of the Lewis and Clark Trail, had been made.

After leaving the cemetery, we drove the 15 miles back to Lander, did some shopping, had our lunch, then visited the local museum, which was very nicely done and quite large. But when two o'clock rolled around, we decided we'd better hit the road, as we still had to find a camp before the sun went down.

The balance of the afternoon was spent driving from Lander to Rawlins, Wyoming through some of the most spectacularly beautiful country we'd ever seen. Thank goodness we were able at one point to pull over and campture some of the beauty. There were just miles and miles of green rolling hills and jagged sandstone outcroppings known as the "Wind River Range." Overhead, in complete sycopation with the emerald green of the landscape was the sparkling blue vault of the sky, studded with hundreds and hundreds of fluffy white clouds.

We rolled into Rawlins pretty late this afternoon and missed cocktail hour, but our travel day was close to the best we've had on this trip. We don't really know where we're headed tomorrow, but I'm sure more great adventures are just around the next bend.