Daily Darwin

Who amongst us hasn't been tazed running away from a cop while drinking a beer and wearing a Burger King crown???

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<title>Daily Darwin: Friday, May 24, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Daily Darwin: Friday, May 24, 2024

 Who amongst us hasn't been tazed running away from a cop while drinking a beer and wearing a Burger King crown???

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Wyoming Life

It’s often said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but it’s worth more than that at the Bone Daddy Outlaw Bar and Grill in Dubois, which has undergone a dramatic transformation since it was purchased last year by Ben Barto and his wife, Sherry.

Hanging in one corner of the bar is a picture that says it all, even if few might guess at all the layers of meaning it holds for its owner.

It is a photo of motorcycle handlebars looking out at a scenic vista. The words say simply, “Life Behind Bars.”

“I was in junior high when I had my first motorcycle,” Barto told Cowboy State Daily. “And I had a neighbor with a faster motorcycle. He always used to brag about how he would outrun the cops when he was speeding.”

The brag turned out to be just that — as Barto soon discovered.

“We were riding together one time and we decided we were going to take off and see who was faster,” he said. “No sooner did we get started than there was a highway patrolman coming at us.”

The patrolman flipped his lights on, and the neighbor who loved to brag about outrunning the law meekly pulled over to the side. 

Barto, who’d never made such a claim, kept right on going.

“So the cop chased me for a while, and I couldn’t take a corner very well,” he recalled. “I had to lay the bike over and he caught up to me.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"'He Was A Friend Of Mine'"}]

Barto knew this was bad in every possible way, but he didn’t know just how bad until he got a look at the officer’s face.

“He was a friend of mine,” Barto admitted.

It was a friend who was shocked to see just who he’d been chasing.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"It grew worse as the night went on."}]

“My uncle, who also happened to be a policeman and lived right across the street from me, was at the jailhouse that night,” Barto said. “And my folks were on vacation.”

While his uncle was disappointed in Barto, he decided not to throw the youth in jail, saying he knew his dad too well. He knew what would happen to Barto when his father found out his son had been arrested.

“He did issue me a ticket,” Barto said.

When Barto’s dad did come home, it didn’t take him long to hear through the grapevine what his son had been up to while he was away. 

“He took me to the jail and had my uncle take me downstairs to the jail,” Barto said. “He had me put in the jail and shut the door.”

For a moment, all was silent but for the echoing clang of the heavy door closing.

Then his uncle said words Barto has never forgotten.

“The way you’re going, you’re going to spend a lot of time behind bars,” he told him. 

And then he left Barto there to think it over for a while.

Barto decided then the only bars he ever wanted to live behind were the right kind — his motorcycle bars or, in this case, the bar he’s purchased in Dubois and is restoring. 

The photo is his reminder every day that he chooses the life he wants to live. That includes staying away from the wrong kinds of bars. 

“I haven’t outrun any cops since then,” Barto said with a chuckle.

Decades after that lesson in “life behind bars,” Barto has traded the threat of steel jail doors for steel blades married to custom-carved antler bone handles — a business he calls Bone Daddy Knives. 

The business has quietly been putting Dubois on the map for almost three decades, starting with a contract he picked up after a Montana gift rep died, leaving a shopkeeper with a demand and no knives.

Today, 2 miles inside the Wind River Indian Reservation, Barto buys about 25,000 pounds of antlers a year from local “shed heads,” or antler hunters. The best of the pieces become Bone Daddy knife handles, while the rest become part of the booming antler dog-chew trade.

He and his small crew turn out a couple thousand knives a year, each one a custom job, which sell well across the West.

Barto also at one time carved ornaments from bone antlers, as well as hat pins and figurines, which were sold at gift shops in Yellowstone National Park, Gardiner, West Yellowstone, Sturgis, as well as to larger chains such as Cabela’s, Sportsman’s Warehouse and Bass Pro Shops.

Barto jokes, like a lot of craftsmen, that making knives was something he once liked — back when it was still a hobby.

“Now it’s a business,” he said with a chuckle. “But when you’ve got a business that provides you the funds necessary to keep going in whatever adventure you want to go off into, I guess you still have to keep doing it.”

It’s all about the kind of bars Barto wants to live behind.

The knife business is bankrolling his transformation of the Outlaw Bar from a dive — where 

 in Cowboy State Daily noted people might be concerned for their safety — to an establishment where the opposite is true.

When he and Sherry bought the bar it was, to say the least, not exactly turnkey.

“This was just a dump when we bought it,” Barto said. “But they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Barto could immediately see the potential. His wife took a little more sweet-talking.

“She was going crazy,” Barto admitted. “She’s like, ‘At your age, you want to start another project?!’”

Barto took it slow. He’d take his wife to the bar now and again for drinks. And just about every time the occasion presented just the right moment to say something like, “Oh look dear, you know what we could do with this part of the building?” Or, “Could you imagine if we did this in this room?”

Barto held up the mirror often enough that his wife finally gave in and said, “Yeah, let’s go ahead and do it.”

The bar’s biggest potential, he realized, wasn’t just what he could do with an artist’s eye and aesthetic inside. It was its position on a main highway to Yellowstone and the Tetons, a high-traffic strip where lots of tourists, sportsmen and bikers are roaring through town looking for their next adventure.

Its other big advantage is a deep lot, stretching far enough behind the bar to create a parking lot. 

“There is no parking anywhere else in town,” Barto said. “All of the Outlaw’s customers have been complaining about it for years.”

So Barto started his work in the back of the bar, carving out what he hopes will become a signature beer garden and games yard, with expanded parking, turf, fencing and, eventually, a raised stage for large outdoor events.

“We still have room to go back another 100 feet and still have a space for a possible stage up on top for a big venue,” he said. 

Inside, the transformation is further along, and personal. 

He’s hung up some of his and his wife’s work, tracing the arc of their lives from the early Bartolo Collectibles days to the present Bone Daddy Knife days, as well as wildlife mounts from hunting trips and, of course, the poster that captures his life’s motto to live his life behind only the bars he chooses.

There is still much dirt yet to move and asphalt to pour, but Barto is already thinking big for this bar, five to 10 years down the road.

“We want to be the best cowboy biker sportsman bar in Wyoming,” he said. “And from what we’ve been hearing from all of the locals lately, this new makeover has created a vibe all its own. That’s what they’re calling it. They say this place has vibe now.”

The “vibe” was on full display during the Fourth of July weekend, Barto added, when the bar hosted the band Second Ride. 

“I have never seen the bar that busy in my entire life,” he said. “It was standing-room-only Friday night.”

During Dubois’ famous tank parade, announcers even gave Barto a shoutout for cleaning up and reinventing the bar.

Barto is clear that, aside from aesthetics, he’s also made it a priority to clear out questionable clientele.

On his first night as an owner, he spotted a drug dealer working the room and said he “86’d” her on the spot. 

“My main focus, other than cleaning that bar up, was cleaning up the reputation,” he said. “If there was somebody in there who was always raising hell, we 86’d them.”

Signs at every entrance now warn potential troublemakers that a new sheriff owns the bar. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Bone Daddy Needed A Bar"}]

If Bone Daddy Knives is the financial engine behind the bar, the Bone Daddy persona is its soul.

It was developed over a 20-some year period, when Barto served as mascot for the Beartooth Rally’s Iron Horse Rodeo in Red Lodge, Montana.

At first, his costume was simple: The widest brim black cowboy hat he could find and a mask. The next year he added an air-brushed skeleton T-shirt and pants. 

Of course, then, cool costume and all, Bone Daddy needed a more appropriate ride.

The $65,000 custom bike he built includes his own screaming Bone Daddy moon logo as well as other artwork. 

“That was quite the undertaking,” he admitted. “But it is a masterpiece of artwork.”

When Barto retired from the Ironhorse Circuit after a couple of decades, he brought his Bone Daddy logo with him. The rearing motorcycle with its cowboy skeletal rider happened to be an almost-perfect match for the rearing horse logo at the Outlaw, a similarity that wasn’t lost on Barto.

“So I just added Bone Daddy to the back of the horse,” he said. “That’s all I did to change their logo.”

Barto, in addition to all the other hats he wears, is also president of the Professional Biker Rodeo Association, which he plans to start revving up next year as he’s completing renovations.

“Bone Daddy had to have a bar,” he said with a chuckle. “Now the trick is to make it the kind of place people remember for the right reasons.”

Bone Daddy Outlaw Saloon 7 12 26

<title>Longtime Knifemaker Transforming Dubois' Outlaw Bar From Dive Into Destination | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Dubois craftsman Ben Barto owns Bone Daddy Knives, a hobby turned big business that’s now bankrolling a transformation of Dubois' Outlaw Bar and giving the once-seedy watering hole a new vibe. “This was just a dump when we bought it,” Barto said.

Longtime Knifemaker Transforming Dubois' Outlaw Bar From Dive Into Destination

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Jackie Dorothy.

Jackie Dorothy

Historian Clay Gibbons of Worland was given three to four months to live by his doctor 

. A routine scan revealed Gibbons had pancreatic cancer even though Gibbons' had no symptoms of the tumor.

Gibbons said it was tough walking into the doctor’s office healthy and walking out with the news he was dying. 

“I've got a very firm, solid belief in God and a strong faith and know that He will do His will, not ours be done,” Gibbons said. “Once you get into that period of acceptance, it doesn't mean you're giving up and not fighting, but it does mean whatever does happen, it's God's plan and I'm going to deal with it.”

Gibbons was given his cancer diagnosis on Feb. 4 and has outlived the prognosis. He is grateful and is enjoying time with his family. 

[{"type":"text","text":"He also continues to share his love for history and all things Wyoming."}]

 missing hair and a backache that keeps him up at night. He is moving forward, weighing his options for treatment. 

 is sure to enjoy every moment, including giving his annual Memorial Day tour of the Hole-in-the-Wall, 

 with each of his eight kids, numerous grandkids and close friends.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Historian of the Lesser Knowns"}]

 years old, Gibbons has been pursuing answers to history, 

his dad told him about the Sand Creek Raid that happened practically in their own backyard.

The raid occurred April 2, 1909, and was a violent conflict between cattlemen and sheepherders near present-day Ten Sleep. Seven masked cattlemen attacked a sheep camp, resulting in the deaths of three men and significant property destruction, marking it as the deadliest sheep raid in Wyoming's history.

Gibbons’ dad, Terrill, was unable to tell his son where the raid had exactly taken place. That led to a quest that would span Gibbons’ lifetime. 

Gibbons succeeded in his mission and discovered other stories along the way. Over his years of pursuing history, he became known for giving voice to those who have been ignored and uncovering obscure stories.

Gibbons' oldest son, Damon, said he grew up listening to these old stories and learned to honor the memories of those who had come before them, especially in the Bighorn Basin.

“He's done so much to bring forth stories that would have been lost and that ought not to be lost,” Damon said. “This was a very rugged place that was hard on men, women and horses.”

According to Damon, part of the legacy his dad built is the admiration of Wyoming that he instilled in his eight children.

“He would encourage you to appreciate things out of a sense of wonder,” Damon said. “Growing up with him meant that we were constantly swept out into the mountains or into the badlands where there was always something to behold.”

When Gibbons was researching the Spring Creek Raid with his own father, he brought his children along to immerse them in the art of discovering history.

“We were looking for a horseshoe bend in the creek with tall sagebrush,” 

 said. “That’s when Damon found some old, crushed tin stuff and some glass and hollered at us that he had found some artifacts.”

 pinpoint the location where a wagon had been during the Spring Creek Raid. These types of moments sum up 

“When you grew up as Clay Gibbons' kid, you learned that not only were there more than just a couple of stories worth telling, but the best stories never got told, and the best stories were yet to be found,” Damon said.

about sharing too much. When Gibbons first presented his discoveries about the Spring Creek Raid, Terrill was concerned about him naming people because many 

 would be listening were descendants of the raid.

“Some of our customers had grandparents that were involved and my dad was concerned that it might upset them if I named names,” Clay said. “It was 80 years ago, so of course I named names.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Spring Creek Prank"}]

Not all the stories Gibbons uncovered about the Spring Creek Raid were serious. He had grown up hearing about a barber 

had occurred but thought the story was fabricated. Then, Gibbons found a newspaper article about the prank.

“It was three weeks after the raid and nobody had been arrested, and there was a barber in town named Holman who was just the gossip of the whole town,” he said. “He's making up these stories and saying that if he was in charge, people would be behind bars.”

Holman was criticizing the sheriff and others in charge, so late one night certain town members deputized the barber to join a posse they said was going  to make arrests. Holman was nervous but had no choice but to go.

The townsfolk then staged a shootout with blanks. Holman fled back to town when two men were shot. No one would listen to his pleas for help and then the “wounded” men were brought back to the saloon. Holman was horrified, especially when these men jumped up.

[{"type":"text","text":"Everyone had a good laugh at Holman’s expense."}]

“Three men had been killed and two bodies burned in the in the fire,” Gibbons said. “Here they turned it around and made a big joke about the whole thing.”

The story isn’t over, because Gibbons is still trying to figure out what happened to Holman. Did the barber stay in town and resume cutting hair or did he leave with egg on his face?

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Business of Ranches"}]

In 1989, the same year Gibbons began researching the Spring Creek Raid in earnest, he became involved in a leadership program.

“The LEAD program was trying to take young agricultural people and give them a voice in agriculture,” he said.

Ogden Driskill and future Secretary of State Kurt Meyer.

“I don't know if I could have done everything I did with my speaking career and research if it wouldn't have been for the help of LEAD, because it really taught me to bite the bullet and stand up in front of a crowd and be able to deliver talks,” Gibbons said.

The program also led to his own advocacy for ranchers. He and his dad sold ranching equipment and saw the battle between the Bureau of Land Management and local ranchers over land. 

Rather than see this antagonism continue, Gibbons organized the Guardians of the Range. It became a conservation group that got ranchers, the BLM and conservationists to work together.

“We went from a stage of animosity where the ranchers just hated the BLM to within a year we were working with the director of the BLM,” Gibbons said.

Kellie Wasinger said she has observed Gibbons as a problem-solver who knows how to get people to work together.

“He knows people very well, their strengths and their talents, and he understands their heart and where they're coming from,” Wasinger said. “He has the ability to connect the right people and then present a solution to get things rolling.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Waiting on God"}]

Gibbons has taken that solution-based philosophy to his current fight against cancer.

“I don’t say I have pancreatic cancer,” he said. “I try to say they diagnosed me with pancreatic cancer because I don't want to own it.”

Originally the cancer was just in the tail of Gibbons’ pancreas. The plan was to remove it surgically and follow with chemotherapy. 

However, when doctors went in to remove the tumor June 8, it had already metastasized to several spots in his liver. The surgery was aborted. He was told he now has Stage 4 cancer, the most advanced. 

“That was shocking news, but it didn't shock me. It was just like, it is what it is,” Gibbons said. “The most important part is that God and I can deal with it.”

Gibbons is surrounded by family and friends and continues to look at his options, including chemo treatments 

“I’m grateful for every day,” Gibbons said. “Grateful for my family, grateful for my faith.”

Clay Gibbons 1 Clay Gibbons 12 21 25

<title>Wyoming Historian Clay Gibbons Outlives Cancer Prognosis, 'Grateful For Every Day' | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Wyoming Historian Clay Gibbons has not only outlived the pancreatic cancer prognosis he received but it hasn’t stopped his quest for digging up Wyoming history or advocating for ranching. Gibbons says faith, family and friends are everything.

Wyoming Historian Clay Gibbons Outlives Cancer Prognosis, 'Grateful For Every Day'

Tourism

On a cold winter’s night in the 1950s, a young Marine named Wayne Schell found himself in a desperate scramble under the hood of his 1950 Oldsmobile on a lonely stretch of Route 66. 

A tiny pinhole had developed in the radiator, and Schell was trying to figure out how to fix it so he could get home — without forking over his hard-earned money for a motel room.

“When you’re a young Marine, you can’t really afford a motel or anything,” Schell said with a chuckle. “You drive nonstop.”

The Marine riding with him to share expenses came up with a bright idea. Or so it seemed at 1 a.m.

“Well, maybe I can put this pencil tip in it to block it,” Schell recalled him saying. 

But the radiator was so rotten, the pencil just busted open an even larger hole.

The road trip home was over. At least for that night. 

Schell and his riding buddy had no choice but to rent a motel room for the night, one of the only times he would ever stay in a motel room along Route 66 back when it was an actual American highway. 

Schell, who is 90 — almost as old as the 100-year-old highway itself — recalls sharing the motel room with a significantly chastened pal. 

“I wasn’t mad at him,” Schell said in a soft voice, memories crowding in. “He tried to help me, and it just didn’t work out.”

The next morning, the two Marines found a radiator shop to fix the problem.

“He wouldn’t guarantee the work because we were out of town,” Schell said. “And he charged me like $20.”

It was half a week’s pay for the average male worker at the time. A small fortune — especially for work that had no guarantee.

“But I ended up using it for three more years,” Schell added. “So it worked. I got through. I made it home.”

The memory is just one in a million that Schell has of driving America’s Mother Road, Route 66, a name synonymous with America and legendary road trips. 

Schell, who joined the Marine Corps in 1956, is among the dwindling number of Americans alive today who has driven the entirety of Route 66 from Navy Pier in Chicago to Santa Monica Pier in California, a roughly 2,400-mile trip. 

He didn’t just drive it once, either. It was a regular trip home for the young Marine. 

“I lived in Illinois, about 100 miles southwest of Chicago,” he said. “I went to bootcamp in California, and then got stationed at 29 Palms in California.”

He made the drive home as often as he could in a 1950 Olds with a 1956 Olds engine and three Stormberg 97 two-barrel carburetors, usually in one long 40- to 45-hour sleepless trip.

The thing he likes to remind people who have never driven the route when it was an actual highway is that there was no such thing as a freeway then.

“Route 66 went through every little town along the way,” he said. “You had to stop at stoplights and stop signs. There was traffic, which wasn’t bad then.”

Some towns had posted limits of 30 mph, too, and friendly police to remind those who weren’t paying attention to their speed. 

U.S. Route 66 doesn’t officially exist anymore. The federal government decertified it in 1985, a year after the last interstate highway bypass was completed in Williams, Arizona, wiping it off the map as a U.S. highway — at least on paper.

But that didn’t kill the route. The Mother Road lives on in the heart and the imagination, which has made it feel more alive than ever. 

“It’s a road for God’s sake,” Route 66 historian John Hinckley of Arizona told Cowboy State Daily. “But it literally has an international fan club. There are Route 66 associations in Japan, Germany, the Czech Republic, the Netherlands, Italy — and they organize events and publish books.”

A 2018 Route 66 Festival in Europe where Hinckley was invited to speak brought more than 20,000 people from 10 countries to celebrate America and its legendary Route 66.

“It has evolved to represent the quintessential American experience,” Hinckley said. “It truly is the entire American story made manifest. It’s in any chapter of our history — even our prehistory. You have villages in New Mexico along Route 66, like Laguna Pueblo, and the chapel there was built in 1699. The village is 100 years older than that.”

Portions of Route 66 were laid on top of the Santa Fe Trail and the Buell Wagon Road, Hinckley added. 

“The Buell Wagon Road was laid on top of a 1,000-year-old Native American trade route,” he said. “And then you have the world’s first electric vehicle museum being established on Route 66. So it’s the entire story of America, and the story of our immigrants is all peppered through Route 66.”

Hinckley has been traveling Route 66 since 1959 and has been watching its transformation with fascination ever since, including how it’s become woven into the fabric of American legend.

The story that illustrates this best to him is the conversation he had with a gentleman who had grown up behind the Iron Curtain listening to Radio Free America.

“He knew that song about getting your kicks on Route 66,” Hinckley said. “He grew up watching bootleg copies of Easy Rider. And he said the American road trip, specifically Route 66, came to symbolize freedom for his generation, like the Statue of Liberty did for a previous generation.”

Americans, meanwhile, are finding ways to live out their dreams on Route 66 all up and down the route — freedom of another kind.

For example, in Stroud, Oklahoma, a young couple has restored the old Skyliner Motel. Elsewhere, retirees have brought back neon-lit motor courts. Multi-generation cafes, founded by penniless immigrants, have family members who are keeping the dream alive that their grandfathers began. 

That’s made Route 66 into a kind of 2,400-mile, small-town neighborhood, Hinckley said. 

“It’s America’s longest small town,” he said. “It’s evolved into this linear community.”

On any given night, you can find yourself at a place like the Roadrunner Lodge in Tucumcari, New Mexico, roasting marshmallows around a fire pit with a couple from Germany and a traveler from Scotland who is playing “The Star Spangled Banner” on bagpipes. 

Hinckley once ran into a caravan of strangers who spontaneously decided to convoy together to the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas, for a slice of “ugly crust” pie, so named because the cafe’s legendary pastry chef, Joann Andrews, famously cared more about the rich flavor and flaky texture of her pies than making a perfect crimped edge.

Midpoint Cafe, meanwhile, gets its name because it is exactly 1,139 miles from Chicago and 1,139 miles from Santa Monica, which makes the cafe a must for the ultimate Route 66 experience.

“You find inspiration all along the route,” he said. “The magic is the people.”

Route 66 wasn’t the first coast-to-coast highway, although it’s frequently portrayed that way. That honor actually belongs to 

, which goes right through the middle of Wyoming.

“This is another challenge with Route 66,” Hinckley said. “As with Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, it’s become such a legend that separating fact from fiction is a real challenge.”

From its earliest days, Route 66 benefitted from what Hinckley calls the best press and publicity any road has ever had.

“Cyrus Avery was a pioneer in a lot of these early highways,” Hinckley said. “And he and a bunch of visionaries got together and created the U.S. Highway 66 Association. The idea was to petition and lobby to have the road paved from end to end, and to promote the road — a kind of quasi Chamber of Commerce.”

The group hit the ground running with their publicity campaign — literally. 

“There was a sports promoter trying to get backing for a transcontinental foot race,” Hinckley said. “So they jumped on board and said they’d sponsor it as long as he would agree to do it on Route 66.”

The purse for the 1928 race was $20,000, a phenomenal amount of money for the time. The average American family earned less than $1,500 per year. A purse of that size could purchase multiple homes outright. 

Runners from all over the world, from amateur to professional, came to vie for this huge Route 66 purse.

“A 19-year-old Cherokee boy from Oklahoma entered the race,” Hinckley said. “Total amateur from some little farming community. By the time they got to the end of Oklahoma, he was leading the pack and he eventually won the race.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"It was a huge, international media frenzy."}]

There would be more smart media campaigns after that. The Highway 66 Association partnered with the Olympics, for example, to advertise Route 66 as the scenic way to get to the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles.

“Then you had the ‘Grapes of Wrath,’ and you had the song, ‘Get Your Kicks on Route 66,’ which has turned into one of the most recorded songs in history,” Hinckley said. "The 'I Love Lucy'television show even got in on the act with a four-part episode of Desi and Lucy going on a Route 66 trip with the Mertzes to California.

Finally, in 1960, came the “Route 66” television series starring Martin Milner and George Maharis as two young men traveling across the country in a Chevrolet Corvette. A heady list of guest stars included Robert Redford, Lon Chaney Jr., Boris Karloff, Robert Duvall, Walter Matthau and William Shatner, among dozens of others.

The series ended in 1964 after 116 episodes and two Primetime Emmy Award nominations.

Route 66 itself ultimately became a victim of the interstate highway system — I-10, I-15, I-40, I-44 and I-55 — which rendered it obsolete and diverted traffic from its businesses.

Historic U.S. Route 66 is America's longest small town — a 2,400-mile neighborhood that one historian calls the "quintessential American experience." 90-year-old Wayne Schell has driven the entire route dozens of times and continues to drive it today.

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