One More For The Road

[{"type":"text","text":"Born to be wild...."}]

One more for 11 8 24

Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>One More For The Road: Friday, November 8, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Born to be wild.....

One More For The Road: Friday, November 8, 2024

Kolby fedore

Kolby Fedore

Wyoming Life

Sports

Somewhere around mile 80, strange things start happening in the mountains. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Trees become people."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Shadows turn into horses."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Voices seem to drift through the darkness."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"One runner spent miles convinced mice were scurrying across her feet."}]

Another knows that if he's awake long enough, he'll start hearing conversations that aren't really there.

That's before the stomach problems, swollen feet and the little voice that starts begging runners to quit.

This weekend, hundreds of runners descended on Sheridan for the annual Bighorn Trail Run, one of the West's most respected ultramarathons. 

Some tackle 18 miles. Others run 32 or 52. A smaller group attempts the full 100-mile course — a physical and mental journey that keeps many of them moving through Wyoming's backcountry for more than 24 hours.

For people who have never run farther than a half or even full marathon — or perhaps never wanted to — the obvious question for these ultrarunners remains: 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Drive"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Ask 40-year-old Daniel Orr and he'll tell you every runner has one."}]

The Wyoming native grew up in Cody and Powell before eventually settling in Maine, where he now works as a freelance photojournalist for The Wall Street Journal.

This year, he returned to the West to take on the Bighorn 100, an ultrarunning event that starts near Dayton in northern Wyoming and travels over the Bighorn mountains. It’s considered one of the most challenging ultramarathons in the United States.

Orr's answer to why anyone would want to run extreme distances in extreme conditions isn't about competition.

[{"type":"text","text":"It's about grief."}]

"A lot of it is dealing with childhood stuff," Orr said. "I lost my mom in 2023, and that was a huge jump start to me seeking out endurance sports."

The races, he said, provided something unexpected for such an individual sport: community. Spending a day and a night suffering alongside strangers has a way of creating connections.

"This isn't my story, but there's a lot of people who come from addiction recovery and stuff," Orr said. "The community aspect is a really unexpected but very tangible thing you find in these races."

[{"type":"text","text":"For Anne Hinman, the answer is different."}]

A former University of Wyoming soccer player who now works as a marketing director and recently moved from Wyoming to Montana, Hinman ran her first ultramarathon at Bighorn in 2021. She's now completed the race five times.

[{"type":"text","text":"Her motivation is overcoming fear."}]

Hinman describes herself as naturally cautious and anxious. Moving to Wyoming forced her outside her comfort zone.

"There are moose and bear in Wyoming," she said with a laugh. "I was so afraid. So, the only reason I'm able to do what I do is because I push past my fear."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Digestive Mutiny"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Running 100 miles requires a shocking amount of fuel."}]

Forget energy bars. Ultrarunners often survive on all the things that would raise a mother's eyebrows.

Hinman's race menu includes Nerds Gummy Clusters, Rice Krispies Treats, potato chips and liquid sugar.

"Pretty much any junk food that you can think of is something that someone would eat during ultramarathons," she said.

[{"type":"text","text":"Orr has his own nutritional strategy."}]

The goal is consuming at least 80 grams of carbohydrates every hour while taking in fluids consistently throughout the race.

[{"type":"text","text":"At aid stations, however, dignity often disappears."}]

"You'll mix quesadilla with some Sour Patch Kids or something," Orr said. "Just kind of muscle through it."

The digestive system doesn't always cooperate. Both runners described stomach issues as one of the most common challenges in ultrarunning.

Another offered perhaps the most concise summary of the sport ever recorded: "Never trust a fart."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hallucinations"}]

The strangest part of ultrarunning often arrives after dark. By then, runners have been awake for nearly a full day.

They're exhausted, alone and deep in the mountains. Sleep deprivation begins to distort reality.

[{"type":"text","text":"For Orr, the hallucinations are subtle."}]

"You'll think you're seeing a human figure, or hearing voices," he said.

[{"type":"text","text":"For Hinman, they're harder to ignore."}]

During one nighttime section of a race, she became convinced mice were running across the trail and over her feet for nearly two miles.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"All of the trees became people,\" she said. \"Or horses.\""}]

Orr says the experience of how your mind deals with those ultimate challenges can be unsettling at first.

When he completed an overnight crossing of California's Joshua Tree National Park, he said the isolation became overwhelming.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"It's truly terrifying when you realize how alone you are,\" he said."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Eventually, however, something changes."}]

"The mind just kind of accepts it after a while," Orr said. "And it's really quite peaceful after that acceptance."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Voice"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"At some point, every ultrarunner hears a voice that says “stop.\""}]

It’s the voice that says you've gone far enough and starts pointing out the absurdity of voluntarily running 100 miles through the mountains.

[{"type":"text","text":"Hinman hears it every race."}]

"Please stop," she remembers the voice telling her. "This is dumb. You shouldn't be out here."

Her solution is simple — make it to the next aid station, then reassess.

[{"type":"text","text":"Nine times out of 10, she keeps going."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"The physical pain, though, is impossible to avoid."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Every step hurts,\" she said."}]

Orr broke a toe during a 47-mile Grand Canyon effort and severely damaged a hamstring tendon during his first 100-mile race. He finished anyway.

[{"type":"text","text":"That's part of the bargain, he said."}]

"It's not a matter of if," Orr said of injuries. "It's a matter of when."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Finish Line"}]

Despite the image of solitary runners disappearing into the wilderness, ultrarunning is rarely a solo effort.

Orr's girlfriend flew from Maine to crew for him while studying for her nurse practitioner certification exam. His brother drove from Powell to help at later aid stations. A pacer he'd never met before joined him for the final 32 miles.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"It's a good way to get to know somebody,\" Orr joked."}]

For many runners, the support crew becomes just as important as the training. They hand over fresh shoes, refill water bottles, offer encouragement and, when things get dark, help convince exhausted runners to keep moving.

[{"type":"text","text":"Eventually, a 100-mile race stops being about running."}]

It becomes a test of what a person can endure through a sleepless night in remote terrain — through aching muscles, stomach troubles, phantom voices and trees that suddenly look like people.

[{"type":"text","text":"For reasons even many runners struggle to explain, they keep coming back."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"One painful step at a time."}]

Bighorn 100 rsw 2560 9 6 21 26

<title>When Trees Become People: The Strange Reality Of Running 100 Miles In Wyoming | Cowboy State Daily</title>

This weekend, runners descended on Sheridan for one of the West's most respected ultramarathons. They'll tell you the 100-mile race is a test of what a person can endure: aching muscles, phantom voices and trees that suddenly look like people.

When Trees Become People: The Strange Reality Of Running 100 Miles In Wyoming

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Dale Killingbeck

Dale Killingbeck

Around Wyoming

He drove a public bus in Casper in the 1920s and also took the wheel of trucks hauling contraband booze.

By the 1930s his two-bit criminal history in central Wyoming morphed into big-time felonies that made front-page headlines. 

In 1936, Harry Campbell hit the FBI’s most-wanted list as “public enemy No. 2” just behind his friend and partner in crime Alvin Karpis, the leader of the Karpis-Barker gang.

Campbell’s crime career ended with a life sentence at Alcatraz for his role in the kidnapping of a Minnesota brewery heir in 1934. 

But before he arrived at “The Rock” he, with Karpis, successfully escaped an FBI arrest in a hail of machine-gun bullets.

When the FBI finally put Campbell in cuffs for his role in the kidnapping, the raid was led by storied Director J. Edgar Hoover. 

The Casper Tribune-Herald reminded every one of Campbell’s ties to the region.

“Former Casper Man Seized In Toledo Today,” the paper reported on May 7, 1938. “Companion of Karpis Once Drove Bus to Evansville.”

Harry Campbell began life as a New Year’s baby in a new century, on Jan. 1, 1900, in McClintocksville, Pennsylvania. 

He was the fifth of seven children born to George and Melissa Campbell. By the second decade of his life, his family moved to Oklahoma, and it was in Tulsa where his bad seeds were initially sown.

FBI documents on the Barker gang state that Campbell grew up knowing the infamous brood and their mother, Kate “Ma” Barker.

“Many of the sons of Kate Barker became associates of these boys in their later lives,” states the file dated Nov. 19, 1936. “Harry Campbell and Volney Davis matured and grew up with the sons of Kate Barker, and in later years they collectively engaged in lives of crime.”

The file states that Campbell became a prominent member of the gang.

Reflecting on Campbell’s life of crime, The Tulsa World reported on May 8, 1936, that he was first arrested for vagrancy in the city on Dec. 25, 1920, and again on June 11, 1921, for bank robbery. 

He was sent to prison, but a few months later was acquitted and released.

Within the next two years, Campbell moved to the Casper region, first working the Salt Creek oil fields and then from 1923-1924 driving a bus between Casper and Evansville.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Transporting Booze"}]

The Casper Tribune-Herald reported on May 7, 1936, about how Campbell’s wayward nature continued to find opportunities in his new state.

“He gained a livelihood, police recall, from hauling truckloads of contraband liquor. Those were prohibition days, and on several occasions he ran afoul of the law because of his rum-running activities,” the newspaper reported. “He was arrested by Detective Miller in 1924 on a possession of whiskey charge.” 

But Campbell’s criminal ways meant he was never long in one region.

In August 1932, Campbell and Fred Barker were being sought for the murder J. Earl Smith, a Tulsa lawyer who had represented both men. 

Smith had told his wife that he was going to meet men to receive some money for his services. 

Campbell made the appointment to see Smith and had a dispute with the attorney about charges for his representation on a burglary charge. 

Smith’s body and bullet-riddled car were found outside Tulsa.

In August 1933, Campbell was sought in Oklahoma along with two others for the May 11 murder of a truck driver who tried to stop a safe robbery at a trucking firm.

In September 1933, FBI files state that Campbell was recruited by the Barker gang to St. Paul, Minnesota, and he brought along his second wife, Wynona Burdette, from Oklahoma. 

From Minnesota, the gang drove to Reno, Nevada, to meet with others, gamble and drink.

By late December they returned to Minnesota, and late in the month decided to kidnap Edward George Bremer, a St. Paul bank president and son of the owner of the Schmidt beer brewery. 

The plan was tentatively called off after two members left a kidnap planning session and shot and wounded a Northwest Airways employee who was wearing a uniform and mistaken for a cop.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Kidnapping"}]

By Jan. 17, 1934, plans were back on, and Campbell and Karpis were among five gang members watching for Bremer to drop off his daughter at school. 

When his car pulled up at a stop sign a half-block away after depositing her, a gang member stepped up to Bremer’s door with a gun, told him to move over.

Asecond gang member opened the right-side door, struck him in the head several times and shoved him on the floor, FBI files state.

Bremer’s car, followed by the remaining kidnappers, took off. Hoover later claimed it was Karpis and Campbell who initially grabbed him.

The kidnapping resulted in a $200,000 ransom payment with the serial numbers of the cash recorded by the FBI and later shared with banks across the country.

In its 1936 story, The Casper Herald-Tribune reported that Campbell and Karpis had visited Casper two years earlier in summer 1934 as the heat from law enforcement for the kidnapping made life harder elsewhere in the country.

The newspaper recounted how Campbell was seated at an “inconspicuous table” in a Casper night club and enjoying a drink and music trying to avoid attention. 

A former girlfriend reportedly walked up, called him by name and asked, “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Campbell exchanged pleasantries and quickly disappeared from the club, the newspaper reported.

“The ensuing hunt for him revealed he had a companion and that the companion was Alvin Karpis,” the newspaper reported.

After the kidnapping and subsequent manhunt, the Casper paper noted that local law enforcement had been watchful for any appearance of Campbell in the region.

“Vigilance had been especially keen in recent weeks as the dragnet closed in on him and Karpis,” the newspaper reported.

When Fred Barker and Kate Barker were killed in a shootout with the FBI in January 1935, Campbell and Karpis were tracked to a hotel in Atlantic City. 

Campbell’s wife had been released by Oklahoma authorities with a promise from her brother that she would lead authorities to Campbell.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Shootout"}]

According to news reports, Campbell’s wife Burdette, aka Louise Campbell, and Karpis’ girlfriend traveled from Florida to join them. 

Some news reports state they tipped off authorities as to who was in the room next door.

When federal agents surrounded the motel room and banged on the door, news stories declared that Karpis sent a stream of bullets through it. 

Then Karpis, wearing trousers, slippers and overcoat, and Campbell with a pistol in his underwear, ran out the door as police returned fire. 

The pair stole a car and then engaged in a running gun battle with police as they gave chase.

“The bandits jumped into a coupe owned by Mrs. Harold Brand, and with Karpis lying on the running board and pumping shots from his machine gun, they drove out Kentucky Avenue,” the Press of Atlantic City reported on Jan. 21, 1935. 

“Store fronts and small hotels on Kentucky Avenue bore marks of the battle as the guns of the fleeing mobsters and police revolvers raked the entire section,” the story addded.

Karpis and Campbell escaped, ditched the car, kidnapped a man and stole his car, and then released him.

Karpis in his autobiography told a different story, writing that he and Campbell were in rooms individually with their women.

When the cops banged on the door, it was Campbell who opened up with the machine gun. No one was on the sideboard. He drove and Campbell fired at cops out of the back window.

The pair ended up in Toledo, Ohio, under assumed names. 

They recruited a couple of other criminals to join them and robbed a mail truck in Warren, Ohio, of $72,000. Two other known criminals were arrested, charged, and convicted, the FBI file states.

But a continued investigation showed Karpis and Campbell were responsible.

Meanwhile, Campbell married a 19-year-old girl named Gertrude as he used the name Clarence C. Miller on May 29, 1935.

On Nov. 7, 1935, five armed men with two machine guns, a shotgun and automatic pistols robbed a train in Garrettsville, Ohio, as it went from Detroit to Pittsburgh. 

Once again, Karpis and Campbell were leading the group, the FBI file states.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"But the law was closing in on them. "}]

They separated and Campbell stayed in Ohio under his assumed name and Karpis went south. 

Karpis was finally arrested on May 1, 1936, in New Orleans, Louisiana, and Hoover made sure he was present.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Arrest"}]

Six days later, agents closed in on Campbell in Toledo.

The FBI file states that at daybreak on May 7, 1936, agents raided his apartment and arrested him. Under his pillow was a .45-caliber Colt automatic pistol.

Headlines across the nation proclaimed the arrest. Hoover had flown to Cleveland to be on hand to bring him in.

Oklahoma prosecutors conceded that Hoover had a stronger case linking Campbell to the Bremer kidnapping than they had linking him to the 1932 murder of the attorney Smith.

Federal agents flew Campbell to Minnesota to face charges.

Campbell’s mother told the Tulsa Tribune for its May 7, 1936, edition that her son “has been a heartbreak to us.”

His parents and other siblings were described as “law abiding” and “mighty nice people” by a local Tulsa police detective.

Once in court on May 12 in Minneapolis, Campbell pleaded guilty to driving the kidnap car that took Bremer to the hideout and for guarding him for 21 days and then taking him to the place where he was released.

The Minneapolis Star Tribune reported on May 13 that the federal prosecutor said Campbell’s split of the ransom money was only $6,000 to $7,000. 

The judge asked him if there was any reason that he shouldn’t sentence him that day.

“No,” the paper reported Campbell stated.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"He got a life sentence."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Alcatraz"}]

The Winona Daily News reported on May 15, 1936, that he was shackled and taken secretly to Leavenworth by federal marshals and FBI agents.

“Campbell, federal authorities admitted, undoubtably will be taken to Alcatraz Prison in San Francisco Bay,” the newspaper reported.

Online federal prison records for Alcatraz list him as prisoner No. 322 having been sent there from Leavenworth. 

The record describes Campbell as “of the vicious type and his past record is a definite indication that would not hesitate from using violence in order to obtain his freedom … committee recommends maximum supervision.”

The federal prison record states that Campbell had a daughter with his second wife “of whom he is very fond.”

“In all probability his asocial activities were conditioned by associates and environmental influences,” his record states. “He has always been an oil field worker but was unemployed for three years prior to his arrest.”

Campbell’s potential parole date was May 11, 1951. Where and when he was released from prison is unknown. 

A search for information about his life after prison was unsuccessful.

The website Find a Grave states that Campbell died in Amarillo, Texas, on Nov. 20, 1974. He was buried after a gravesite service in Rose Hill Memorial Park in Tulsa.

Campbell and Alcatraz 6 21 26

<title>From Casper To Alcatraz: Former Bus Driver Hit No. 2 On FBI’s Most Wanted List | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A former Casper oil worker and bus driver in the 1920s careened into a life of crime with the infamous Karpis-Barker gang that included murders, kidnappings, and robberies. He was the FBI's No. 2 most-wanted before being caught and sent to Alcatraz.

From Casper To Alcatraz: Former Bus Driver Hit No. 2 On FBI’s Most Wanted List

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's Feature Reporter, Andrew Rossi.

Andrew Rossi

Dubois, Wyoming, is a name that, to this day, is 

. It's pronounced “dew-boys” instead of the French “deh-bwah" as a deliberate slight to U.S. senator Fred Dubois, after whom the town was named — by Dubois himself.

The locals wanted their town’s name to be Tibo, the Shoshone word for "stranger" or "white man.” It was an affectionate moniker for Episcopal priest Father John Roberts, one of the first white homesteaders in the area.

There’s another strange name that factors into Dubois' strange naming history: Neversweat.

It’s a relic of Fremont County’s early history of bustling wilderness outposts in the mountains of western Wyoming. But was Dubois almost named something as unsavory as Neversweat?

“It's one of those stories where there's some truth in it and some that's not true,” said historian Steve Banks. “I read a little quip one time that said, ‘If you're going to tell a historical story, you have the truth and the myth, and you want to print the one that gets the most attention.’”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"You’ve Got Mail"}]

While Dubois’ history of human habitation stretches back thousands of years, it didn’t become officially incorporated as a town until 1914. Before then, Dubois was one of several small settlements that stretched from Riverton and Fort Washakie into the mountainous wilderness beyond.

“It started out with the first post office called JK,” Banks said. “That was named for J.K. Moore, a prominent settler in this part of the world at the time. That means he was a guy who owned a nonmilitary store that sold dry goods and things like that.”

The Dubois Post Office was officially established on Aug. 6, 1889. It's first postmaster was Charles C. Smith.

Having a post office was an important mark of distinction for any Western settlement. It gave residents an address where their mail would be delivered.

Back then, post offices were handed out like candy. Banks could recall the line of short-lived post offices that settlers and visitors would find as they moved westward.

“There was Morton, Pavilion, Crowheart, Burris, Lenore, Tipperary, Black Mountain, Leesdale, Duncan, Dunoir, Dubois, Dennison, Neversweat, a second Dunoir, Diamond G, Hamburg, and Bar G,” he said. “That's how many post offices there were.”

Many of these places are long-gone, but can still be found on Google Maps in the 21st Century.

Why so many post offices? Banks said it was because of the primary industry, railroading people to the region.

“It was primarily due to tie hackers,” he said. “Many people who lived up here simply to be a tie hack, cutting down pine trees to use for railroad ties for the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad. Each of these places was a tie hack village.”

As the tie hackers moved throughout the mountains, new post offices were established every 15 miles or so. That way, mail could be distributed more effectively to the growing population spread along the route.

“There was getting to be quite a population up here,” Banks said. “These were little places where they could collect the mail. Otherwise, they would have to go clear to Lander, which had the connection with the railroad.”

Banks said this scattered system of post offices worked well in the early 1900s. Mail would be picked up by stagecoach in Lander and delivered to each spot along the way to Dubois and beyond once a month.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"'Never Sweat'"}]

Dubois is a name that, to this day, is spoken out of spite. It's pronounced “dew-boys” instead of the French “deh-bwah" as a slight to U.S. senator Fred Dubois — who named the town after himself — and hated it when people mispronounced his French surname.

One More For The Road: Friday, November 8, 2024

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