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

<title>Daily Cartoon 2: Monday, December 16, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Daily Cartoon 2: Monday, December 16, 2024

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Jackie Dorothy.

Jackie Dorothy

Wyoming Life

 years old when he learned that a family friend, Bill Carlisle, was one of the most famous outlaws in America. 

Gillian, now 82 and living in Saratoga, said he only knew the Laramie business owner as a good friend of his grandmother, Olive Peberdy, until one day he overheard his grandma and Carlisle chatting casually about the crimes committed in 1916 and 1919.  

Gillian's Grandma Olive was a frequent guest of Carlisle's at his restaurant in Laramie and he said it was a treat for him to tag along. Peberdy was just one of numerous citizens in Wyoming who admired the former outlaw and thought the law had been too hard on him. 

In fact, thanks to this sympathetic public, Carlisle nearly got away with the train robberies in 1919.

“I thought it was neat because they said he robbed the trains with a toy gun,” Gillian said. “That left an impression on me because I played with toy guns, too.”

According to Carlisle in his 1946 autobiography, “Bill Carlisle, Lone Bandit,” he carried a toy glass gun on his first two robberies but also had a real gun. 

Carlisle fired the real gun into the air to prove he was robbing the train when a passenger thought the whole thing was a joke. 

 into the ribs of a brakeman who also thought the robbery was staged — until the toy gun proved otherwise.

Dubbed the Gentleman Bandit by Wyoming newspapermen, Carlisle

had just a nickel in his pocket when he impulsively decided to rob the Portland Rose, a Union Pacific train near Rock Springs.

 He refused to rob the women and even apologized to them for the inconvenience his robbery caused them. Carlisle tipped the porter and successfully escaped.

“He was a local hero,” Gillian said. “He was always so good to the people that he was robbing.”

Carlisle robbed his second train two months later and again was polite as he passed the hat, collecting money from only the male passengers. He escaped again. 

Now with a reward on his head and headlines reporting on his gentlemanly manners, Carlisle was captured near Laramie by a posse. 

He was a hero to a public that demanded clemency but was instead was given a life sentence.

A model prisoner, Carlisle was hopeful his sentence 

 John B. Kendrick. Instead, in 1919, it was reduced to 50 years, which meant Carlisle would have to serve at least 25 years until he was considered for parole. 

If it had stayed a life sentence, Carlisle said, he could have 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Escape By Delivery Truck"}]

Faced with a lifetime behind bars, Carlisle spent the next few months planning his escape. He worked at the shirt factory at the Wyoming State Penitentiary and decided to stow away in a box

. His plan worked and, when it hit the press, most of the public was on Carlisle’s side.

His first night away from the Rawlins penitentiary, Carlisle had dinner at a sheep camp.

“I told the camp tender that I wanted something to eat, that I had taken only what clothes I needed and a rifle and ammunition,” Carlisle later wrote. “He grinned and said it was all right with him, that he hoped I got away, and that I need have no fear of him or the herder.”

He shared a meal with the two men and then, late in the night, Carlisle said he returned to the railroad at Creston with the intention of heading west. However, the posse was searching all the trains heading that direction from the prison, so Carlisle did what appeared to be the only sensible plan. 

He headed back to Rawlins to board a train going in the opposite direction.

Because he now had the sheepherders rifle, Carlisle pretended to be a guard. Carlisle said he joined a group of railroad men in a shack used for breaks. When they all remained quiet, Carlisle relaxed, thinking he wasn’t recognized.

Then one of the men stared straight at Carlisle in his role of guard and said, “I have got my opinion of a man who will hire out for three or four dollars a day to catch Bill Carlisle.”

Another man agreed, cursing at Carlisle about pathetic guards who would search for 

 for a few measly dollars. Not knowing if this was a warning or if they were truly disgusted with someone they supposed was hunting for the escaped convict, Carlisle slipped out of the shack and boarded the train.

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

Carlisle said the train passed through Hanna, Medicine Bow, Rock River and on toward Laramie as he pretended to keep an eye out for hobos. He had been a fireman on a train three years prior and knew his role well.

When Carlisle was offered a chance to warm up in engine cab, he gladly accepted and joined the engineer, fireman, head brakeman and rear brakeman in the cab.

“Again, the opinion was openly expressed about train guards,” Carlisle said. “I said the pay was good and that I really hoped I would never meet Bill Carlisle.”

The men all laughed, and this eased the tension. They spent the next few miles in conversation.

“I know Bill Carlisle, would know him anywhere,” the fireman suddenly said. “I was in the courtroom during his trial.”

Carlisle said he looked up quickly to see if he had been recognized but the fireman didn’t react, so he figured it was just idle talk. Just before daylight, they entered the Laramie yard and Carlisle said he jumped down from the engine and started across the tracks when the engineer called out to him.

[{"type":"text","text":"“So long, Bill,” the engineer said, “And good luck!”"}]

In Laramie, Carlisle was eating at a restaurant across from the police station. When he went to pay for his bill the waitress told him to keep his money because he would need it.

“I knew I was recognized,” Carlisle said.  “I told her, you take out what I owe. The government is still making money and when I need more, I will probably get it.”

Carlisle purchased a better gun, using the last of his money. He contemplated robbing a Laramie clothing store but discarded the idea quickly.

“As long as the railroad was looking for me, why should I bother a storekeeper in Laramie, or any other place,” Carlisle wrote. “Why not just go ahead and hold-up another train? I could be in no worse position than I was if I were to hold-up a dozen.”

years lay ahead of him regardless and because of his escape, he could not hope to receive further clemency. He decided to hold up a train once more before leaving Wyoming.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Another Train Robbery"}]

Carlisle hopped on a freight train and rode it to the Ohio Oil Camp at Rock Creek. He was once more recognized, but the men were all friendly to him. Later, he was approached and warned that one of the five was planning to turn him in.

Carlisle said he calmly ate his dinner and told his confidant not to worry, that he would soon be long gone. Carlisle described then how he returned to the train yard as a train slowly moved through. He swung up between two coaches and rode for a mile before attempting to enter.

When he stepped inside the passenger car with a drawn gun, Carlisle was shocked. Most of the passengers soldiers and sailors on their way home from France.

“I felt that I would be very fortunate if I ever left this train without a fight,” Carlisle said.  "Some of these men had as much, if not more, nerve than I had. They had fought overseas and would not be as easy to handle as the passengers had been on my other hold-ups.”

It was too late to back out now so Carlisle shouted out to the men to put their hands up. The command was obeyed and Carlisle said he was scared for the first time during a robbery.

“Had I lost my nerve, I wondered,” Carlisle wrote. “It was no time for me to hesitate. This time I did my own collecting.”

He ordered a man to put coins in his cap and moved on to the next seat where two soldiers sat, their hands up and watching him curiously.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Just back from France?” I asked."}]

When the soldiers responded to the affirmative, Carlisle told them to keep their money.

“I would have been over there with you had they let me go,” Carlisle said.

He only robbed about six passengers — all men. He let alone all the soldiers, women and an old couple.

“All I wanted was enough money to buy an outfit of clothes that would allow me to dress so that I would not arouse suspicion when I reached Denver, where I had planned to go,” Carlisle said.

Word had spread through the train that he was robbing it. A young man appeared holding a gun and, not wanting to shoot anyone, much less a youth, Carlisle attempted to disarm him and ended up getting shot in the wrist.

“Wounded, with no thought of surrender, I stood formulating new plans,” Carlisle said. “I would have to take to the hills again until such time as it would be safe; or until I could get my hand taken care of, which might be weeks."

At Medicine Bow, Carlisle jumped off the train. A man leaned out of another car and started shooting at him and Carlisle threw himself down. As he rolled out of range, another man who had jumped out took aim and shot once but then he, too, had to run for cover from flying bullets.

“Every car door was belching forth fire,” Carlisle said. “Passengers and guards alike were shooting wildly into the night and anyone within range of their bullets could have been hit.”

Carlisle ran over ground he knew well and disappeared into the range, leaving behind a small trail of blood.

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

Carlisle spent the next two weeks on foot, walking from one ranch to another, his wounded hand giving him fits. Sometimes he was recognized, other times the families were unaware of who the fugitive was they were hosting.

Carlisle described how they kept track of the posse on the ranch telephone. As the posse passed a ranch, someone at that ranch would phone ahead that it was coming. They kept track of the posse until one day it reached Antelope Basin and failed to show up again.

The posse had given up the hunt for Carlisle and had gone antelope hunting.

None of the ranchers ever turned Carlisle in for the $1,200 reward and, as one rancher wife simply told Carlisle, “Why would we do that?”

In the end, Carlisle was cornered by law enforcement in an isolated cabin and, despite his hands being up, was blasted through the lungs by a rifle. Trying to surrender saved his life because after the shot, when he lowered his arms, the skin closed around the bullet hole.

Carlisle was roughly treated and not given proper medical care by the deputies until he reached a hospital in Laramie. The doctors were furious at the treatment, and this only built more public sympathy.

Carlisle was again a model prisoner and ended up serving 20 years. Thanks to the persistence of Rev. Gerard Schellinger, he was released in 1936 at the age of 45. Carlisle went on to marry and became a successful businessman with his Carlisle’s Cabins, Roundup Café and The Lone Bandit Trading Post in Laramie.

[{"type":"text","text":"Gillian remembers eating at the cafe as a child."}]

“I think the biggest thing about Bill Carlisle is how he changed his life so much,” hesaid. “Usually when someone gets on a bad road, they stay on the wrong there, but Carlisle wanted to do good and was just so well-liked.”

Frontier prison inset Allen Brown via Alamy 8 9 26

<title>Wyoming's 'Gentleman Bandit' Was National Sensation For Polite Train Robberies | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Newspapers dubbed Bill Carlisle the "Gentleman Bandit" after crime sprees in the early 1900s that earned him favor with Wyoming locals. “He was so good to the people that he was robbing," said an 82-year-old whose grandma was a friend of the bandit.

Wyoming's 'Gentleman Bandit' Was National Sensation For Polite Train Robberies

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

Renée Jean

Tourism

Will Grant still has the two horses, Chicken Fry and Badger, that he rode across Wyoming in the summer of 2019 when he retraced all 2,000 miles of the Pony Express trail. 

Chicken Fry was born in New Mexico, and no one knows for sure how old he is.

“He’s had some hard miles on him,” Grant said. “Not a hard life, but plenty of work. So we rope off them a little bit, but not too much, and they’re like trail horses.”

Some of those hard trail miles happened in a landscape that deeply respects its roots. Wyoming, Grant told Cowboy State Daily,  has cared for its Pony Express Trail better than other states.

“You can see it there,” Grant said. “It’s very well marked in Wyoming. Very well marked.”

Mosquitoes in Jeffrey City are particularly bad, while South Pass can be freezing cold even in July. 

That’s left Grant wondering how Pony Express riders kept their feet and their hands warm, given that they were riding through South Pass in January of 1861.

“The winds through there are no joke,” he added.

These are just a few of the gritty details Grant learned about Wyoming as he rode through it on the back of a horse, surrounded by a vast, windswept sea of sagebrush. 

He had known from the outset that he would face the same brutal elements the pioneers did — shifting mud, relentless wind, desert conditions, mosquitoes, and the like.

But, as he wrote in his book, “The Last Ride of the Pony Express,” thinking about the hardships ahead of time and experiencing them firsthand are two very different things. 

That point became starkly clear under the flash of a sudden Wyoming summer storm. Grant and his two horses, he realized immediately, were the highest point on the landscape. They were walking targets clad in iron horseshoes. And there was nowhere for them to take cover. It was just miles of open sagebrush in every direction, as far as his eyes could see.

The crack of thunder overhead filled him with dread as he rode across the land in that gathering storm. He also gained a new appreciation for the 1860s couriers who wrote of learning to read the landscape in between blinding pulses of lightning strikes.

“I learned that the Pony Express as a mail service was a really impressive display of American entrepreneurship,” he said. “There’s no other country in the world that could have done the same thing given the same environmental parameters. There were no horses out there. There was no infrastructure on which to set up a fast horse mail relay over 2,000 miles to deliver a letter in 10 days.”

There were wild horses, and they were a huge danger to a lone rider managing two horses. Grant writes about that in his book, how careful he was to avoid either inciting an attack or losing his horses to that stallion’s wild harem.

The Mongols and the Romans and the Persians did have ancient horse relays to quickly traverse their kingdoms. But these were created in already civilized areas that their empires controlled, and those relays were fed and maintained by the full resources and might of those empires. 

America’s Pony Express was a business venture started completely from scratch, with no empire behind it at all, traversing a vast and empty land that was openly hostile. There were no resources from a surrounding empire to help them through all the places that lacked food, water and shelter. 

Pony Express riders didn’t wait for perfect conditions, though. They rode in all kinds of weather, making a 2,000-mile trip in a just 10 days. 

Grant took his time, compared to them. His journey lasted 142 nights.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Modern-Day Station Masters"}]

He also had something else the original 1860s riders didn’t. Wyoming ranchers — many of them descended from original homesteaders — who helped him all along the way, as did members of the modern-day Pony Express riders. The ranchers, in particular, were an informal network of modern-day station masters, ready and willing to help him all along the way.

Time and again, just as weather threatened to overwhelm him and his small string of horses, Grant would ride up on a private gate to find it already opened to him. The rancher before had let the next farm know he was on the way and to watch out for him.

These ranchers didn’t just grant him passage through their land. They would actively pull him out of a storm, offering secure pasture space and protection from the elements. There were often hot meals and a dry bunkhouse were included, as well as their stories.

“The traveling horseman still finds a lot of hospitality in Wyoming, I’ll tell you that,” Grant said. “People were good to me. Opening pasture gates, no worries. Really good people all along the way.”

There was the time a well-meaning rancher tried to talk him into taking an ornery mule with him … 

But warm hospitality and cheerful dinners and storytelling were more common. It was a powerful reminder that while the physical shelters of the 1860s may have crumbled, the human infrastructure of mutual aid remains intact across the Wyoming plains. It’s been actively kept alive behind the closed gates of modern cattle ranchers, many of whom are still living by the unwritten code of the West, handed down from one generation to the next.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Write What You Know"}]

Grant’s Pony Express ride wasn’t just a history fascination for him. He found in the ride a perfect intersection for the two halves of his life.

“I’m a journalist, and I mostly have been writing for magazines,” he said. “What I really wanted to do is write a book. The Pony Express emerged as a topic that I thought I could shed some light on because I worked as a horse trainer and a cowboy.”

Grant, born and raised in Littleton, Colorado, spent his summers cowboying on a ranch between Chugwater and LaGrange in Wyoming, studying under a foreman named Tim Sussex.

“Those were good years for me because Tim really showed me how to handle horses in a lot of different ways, but really how to be quiet with a horse,” he said. “That is the best thing you can do, get a ranch hand job on the wide open prairies of Wyoming.”

His first degree program was forestry and geology in Tennessee, after which he went back to horses, breaking colts in Larkspur, Colorado, then working for a ranch in Texas. 

In 2008, he went back to school to study journalism at University of Montana School of Journalism.

“I needed it,” he said. “I’d been training horses and doing ranch work for like eight years. I had to use a different part of my brain.”

When he went hunting for a book idea, the old writer’s advice — write what you know — stuck.

“I saw the Pony Express as a way to overlap my expertise with horses and write what you know,” he said. “I decided to dive into the Pony Express and I thought, ‘Well, obviously, I’m gonna have to just ride it. Travel it by horseback.’”

That, he added, was the “best summer of my life.” 

Even if it was the summer of 2019 — not the summer of ’69.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Trail Logic And Life"}]

Spending five months on the back of a horse gave him new perspectives on hardships and life. 

“When things are bad, you can expect they are going to get better,” he said. “If you have a bad camp, then the next night is almost certainly going to be better. And if you have two bad nights in a row, then your odds are even better that you’re headed for greener pastures.”

That simple trail logic helped him keep his morale intact through the inevitable stretches of cold and wet, hot and thirsty, tired and hungry all along the way.

He also learned more about his horses than he expected.

“I’ve been around horses my entire life,” he said. “But I learned a lot about their nonverbal communication. I learned you can tell a lot about a horse by listening to the way they walk.”

Any discomfort comes out in the sound of the hooves striking the ground.

He also noticed things about humans as well, including that they seem to care more about someone who is riding on the back of a horse than they do about someone who is on foot.

“They’re more likely to offer support because of the horses,” he said. “People cared about the wellbeing of the horses more than they cared about the wellbeing of me for sure. Having the animals with you opens up a lot of doors.”

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

These days Grant lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Chicken Fry and Badger have the run of the place, and Grant spends more time “wrangling sentences” than he does cattle.

He’s already knee-deep in his next book, which is about the ancestry of the American cowboy.

The research has already taken him to Mexico, Spain, and soon Morocco. Next summer he’ll tackle history that’s “closer to home.”

Whether that brings him back to Wyoming remains to be seen. But Wyoming will have its thread in the book regardless.

“I’ve got a lot of good Wyoming material built up over the years,” he said. “Horsebacking it across Wyoming for the Pony Express gave me a pretty good look at the country.”

And being a wrangler near Chugwater was a whole other dimension of the state and its cowboys.

After riding the Pony Express across Wyoming and sleeping under its stars, Grant may have left tracks that already blew away. But the stories Wyoming whispered to him in the night still live on, indelible memories that explain the code of the West in ways words never could.

Will Grant 7 N8 A8831 8 9 26

<title>Cowboy Rides All 2,000 Miles Of Pony Express, Says Wyoming Weather Overwhelming | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Cowboy and journalist Will Grant rode all 2,000 miles of the Pony Express trail on horseback. He said the trip gave him a newfound respect for Wyoming weather. Mosquitoes in Jeffrey City are bad, while South Pass can be freezing cold even in July. 

Cowboy Rides All 2,000 Miles Of Pony Express, Says Wyoming Weather Overwhelming

Food

Four decades ago, Chugwater was just one more dot on the map about to be swallowed by the modern economics of ranches consolidating and farms disappearing from “the flats.” 

It didn’t help when Interstate 25 came along in 1959 and whisked travelers past Main Street. By 1970, the population had dwindled to 188 residents.

The town didn’t take the trend lying down. They banded together to fight back and some of them did something a little audacious. 

Five ranching families decided to bottle up their town’s identity — grit, wind and all — and plaster it on a jar of Chugwater Chili spices.

“We were just trying to think of any kind of a business just to keep Chugwater alive,” Terry Baker recalled. “We were all farmers and ranchers who had been trying to think of ways we could help our Chugwater community survive. We just wanted to do our part, basically.”

The business those families started turns 40 this year. From its humble beginnings in a tiny, single-wide trailer, it’s now a large warehouse with a separate office/retail store that ships out hundreds of thousands of Chugwater Chili spice mixes and other products to 600 grocery stores across America.

Baker, a member of one of the five original ranching families, recalls a big brainstorming session that broke into groups at the school gymnasium to wrestle with ideas to help the town avoid vanishing.

Some of the ideas included a historical group, an economic development group and a beautification committee.

“So, like out of that, there’s little 'Welcome to Chugwater' signs that have planters around them now,” Baker said with a chuckle. “And the History Club is the best group and going still. It’s called Chugwater Historical Unity Group, or CHUG.”

Baker’s idea was for a mill that would turn the area’s hard red winter wheat into flour. But she and the other five ranchers were swayed by a completely different pitch, one that came not from Chugwater but from Cheyenne. An agricultural agent told them about a man named Dave Cameron who was a chili wizard, winning award after award at cook-offs.

For reasons known only to Cameron, he had branded his prizewinning recipe “Chugwater Chili” even though he lived in Cheyenne and had no formal tie to Chugwater. 

“I don’t remember all the ideas we took down,” Baker said. “But that particular one was not our idea at all.”

It was a compelling idea, though, and the ranchers embraced it — not least because Cameron had named his chili “Chugwater Chili.”

Baker doesn’t remember whether Cameron ever made them a pot of his award-winning chili to sell them on the idea of buying his recipe, but she does remember the very first championship cook-off. 

“We had thousands of people come out there to the Diamond Guest Ranch,” she said. “It was amazing.”

The festival was all part of an overall strategy to promote Chugwater’s newest business, and build a brand that would one day have national recognition.

Forty years later, the competition continues to be a magnet for the chili world. Many of the best chili cooks in the world call it a “bucket list” competition and make pilgrimages from as far away as Texas and Florida, just so they can say they have been there. 

After the Diamond Guest Ranch kids were grown, the event continued to grow but was moved into town, where it was placed at Staats City Park. 

Proceeds from the town’s signature event are donated each year to nonprofit organizations in town, from its volunteer fire department and community center to its FFA and FBLA youths. This year’s competition raised $17,000. 

The business, meanwhile, managed to ink several deals with restaurants that would exclusively serve Chugwater Chili.

“We made them sign an agreement that they wouldn’t add anything except our spices,” Baker said. “Because people so wanted to add I don’t know chili beans instead of pinto beans, which changes the flavor. You need to do just exactly what it says on the side of the container.”

That was another key piece in the strategy to build a business brand with longevity.

The company, formed by Jim and Marcelyn Brown, Lewis and Viola Voight, Dennis and Terry Baker, Jan and Carl Wilkerson, and Jim and Marc Kaufmann, was about as homegrown as it gets.

“They started packaging in bunkhouses on a ranch and also in basements,” Chugwater Chili’s present owner Karen Guidice told Cowboy State Daily. 

Eventually, they could afford a used mobile home for an office on Main Street.

The ranching families took turns staffing their new office and pitching in to help package bags and jars of chili spice for sale. Eventually, roughly 20 years ago, the business outgrew its single-wide and a modular home was purchased.

Guidice purchased the company 12 years ago after falling in love with the product.

She had been going to trade shows for the business to help promote the product. The word she heard most often was “Wow,” followed by “This is the best chili I’ve ever tasted.”

The product practically sold itself with a single sample. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Smell Of Christmas"}]

When she learned the owners were thinking about selling the company, she decided she wanted to be its new steward. That would be the best way to ensure the town’s namesake would go on helping Chugwater.

Under Guidice’s leadership, the company has grown an average of 25% each year, she told Cowboy State Daily, and it continues to add employees to handle the increased volume. 

In 2026, Guidice built a new warehouse and dedicated manufacturing area beside the original building, creating a footprint about six times the original mobile-home office.

Each jar of spice is still packed in Chugwater and the business now has at least four full-time positions and several part-time as well as seasonal Christmas positions.

The smell of Christmas for Guidice and her employees is chili, because that’s their busiest time. Orders pour in from all over the country for gifts of Chugwater Chili and other products, like its salsa or its dip and dressing mix. 

The store, meanwhile, has a fresh pot of chili going every day. That way any customers can taste-test on the spot.

Chugwater Chili has had many national shoutouts. Perhaps the best-known of these is in New York times bestselling author Craig Johnson’s first “Longmire” novel, “Cold Dish,” where it’s spotlighted as a favorite of a certain sheriff named Walt Longmire. Johnson has told Chugwater Chili that Walt would “definitely” be a Chugwater Chili fan in one of the company’s blogs, and that he’d eat it with a “healthy dollop of sour cream, cheese and green onions.”

But that’s not the only time Chugwater Chili has been recognized nationally. The Food Network spotlighted it in a feature showcasing the 50 States of Nachos, where it praised the ground beef nachos served at the Chugwater Soda Fountain, which are infused with the company’s award-winning secret seasoning recipe.

The Scovie Awards has also recognized the brand numerous times, most recently giving it second place in the stews/chili con carne category and third place for all-purpose dry rub/seasoning.

Several national grocers also carry the brand, including Safeway, Albertsons, King Soopers, and Smith’s Food and Drug.

And then there’s all the status brought by the nationally recognized Chugwater Chili Cookoff qualifier through the Chili Appreciation Society’s International. From there, winners can leapfrog straight into the national championship in Terlingua, Texas.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Recipe For The Future"}]

Chugwater Chili is one of a handful of businesses in Chugwater that have helped keep the town from disappearing.

A small local economy has even been taking shape of late. There’s a food-hospitality cluster that includes the Chugwater Soda Fountain, which is Wyoming’s oldest working soda fountain with old-fashioned malts and ranch burgers, The Stampede Eatery with live music every Friday and Saturday night, and the Buffalo Lodge near the interstate.

There are also core services now, including the state’s first authorized charter school, a Wyoming Department of Transportation facility with a sizable staff, Chugwater Fuels, the Tri-County Mercantile with community essentials, and a fashion store called B & B Vintage that recently opened.

Some businesses, such as Tri-County Mercantile and the restored Soda Fountain, came about from much the same sentiment as Chugwater Chili. They’re owned by people who were newer to town, but loved the community and wanted to give back and see it grow stronger.

Their efforts at revival seem to be working, slowly but surely. The 2020 census estimated a population of 175, but more recent estimates put the number at 228. That compares to a peak of 287 in the 1960 Census.

Looking out at the next 40 years for Chugwater Chili, Guidice is pragmatic — apropos for a business that sells a practical and easy recipe for a quick and tasty meal.

“We’re going to continue growing, and offering a great product to a lot of people in the United States,” she said. “The more we grow, the more we can offer.”

That’s a recipe for the future that is still continuing to serve in a tiny, windswept town along I-25 that refuses to quietly disappear.

Chugwater Chili unnamed 2 8 9 26

<title>Chugwater Chili at 40: How Five Families Came Together And Saved Chugwater | Cowboy State Daily</title>

When agriculture took a nosedive in the 1980s, five ranching families in tiny Chugwater, Wyoming, decided to do something about it. They formed a company called Chugwater Chili, and 40 years later the chili — and the town — are still going strong.

Chugwater Chili at 40: How Five Families Came Together And Saved Chugwater

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

Andrew Rossi

Two years ago, a GMC Yukon flew off a highway in Park County and bounced off giant boulders in Wyoming's Oregon Basin. It's still there and likely there to stay because recovering it would be a fruitless effort, said the owner of a local tow company.

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