One More For The Road

[{"type":"text","text":"Trying to convince someone that Chick-fil-A is not fast food...."}]

One more for 1 9 25

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

<title>One More For The Road: Thursday, January 9, 2025 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Trying to convince someone that Chick-fil-A is not fast food....

One More For The Road: Thursday, January 9, 2025

 Trying to convince someone that Chick-fil-A is not fast food....

Kolby fedore

Kolby Fedore

Wyoming Life

Sunday morning, I threw some clothes in a bag and headed east, Sturgis-bound.

For hundreds of miles, Wyoming unspooled beneath a great blue sky, the prairie rolling toward the horizon through cattle, sagebrush and long stretches of nothing at all, until the earth began to rise and the plains folded themselves into the dark, pine-covered ridges of Meade County.

[{"type":"text","text":"Motorcycles seemed to materialize out of thin air."}]

One became three. Three became 20. Packs merged with packs until the highway itself appeared to be migrating toward Sturgis, chrome flashing in the sun and the low thump of exhaust echoing off rocky bluffs.

I left the interstate for an old highway where limestone walls rose around the road, waterfalls spilled from cliffs and disappeared into the trees, and the air seemed to change as the prairie vanished behind me.

[{"type":"text","text":"I had crossed into the primal kingdom of the Black Hills."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"A crow cawed from somewhere above, and a shiver ran down my back."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Too late to turn back now."}]

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

For most of the year, Sturgis is a South Dakota town of close to 7,000 people. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Then August comes."}]

, transforming the place into a temporary city of chrome, leather and humanity, with Main Street as its pulsing center. I was told about half-million people were there Sunday.

Somewhere near the entrance, a 66-year-old Louisiana man was waiting to show me the ropes.

Manny Myers was sitting in a low-slung, tricked-out trike customized down to the smallest details, his gray beard hanging down his chest in two long braids and not one but three packs of Marlboro Blacks riding in the pocket of his sleeveless orange shirt.

The Pantydropper — the name of this wild beast — was painted with ghost flames and built around a 350 V8 car engine sitting obscenely exposed in front of us.

The name is a nod to the toll, but "You get a free ride," he told me with a smirk, because he knows my aunt.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"It goes zero to 100 in a second,\" he said."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"This was not reassuring."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Biker, Not An Enthusiast"}]

Manny has been coming to Sturgis for 50 years. His first rally was when he was 16, after hitchhiking from California, but his love affair with motorcycles began more than a decade before that.

[{"type":"text","text":"He was 5 when his father got a Honda 305 and began taking him for rides."}]

Manny remembers there wasn't much talking, just his father in front of him, the road rolling beneath them and Mother Nature whispering into his little ear.

[{"type":"text","text":"One day, Manny looked at his father."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Dad, are we bikers?\""}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"No, son,\" his father told him. \"We're enthusiasts.\""}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Five-year-old Manny thought about that for a minute."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"You might be an enthusiast, Dad, but I'm a biker.\""}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Sixty-one years later, not much has changed."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"We climbed aboard."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Winding Turns"}]

Manny took the wheel first, steering us away from Sturgis and onto the old highways that twist through the Black Hills.

The Pantydropper was impossible to ignore. The exposed V8 growled in front of us as Manny worked the turns, his two gray braids lifting in the wind and a Marlboro Black burning between his lips. 

Motorcycles were everywhere, traveling alone and in packs, and riders waved as they passed.

[{"type":"text","text":"Manny waved right back."}]

For a while, I was content to sit beside him and watch the world go by, the road winding between walls of pine and rock as he handled the trike with ease.

[{"type":"text","text":"Then, without warning, he pulled onto the shoulder and scooched over."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Your turn.\""}]

The mini ape-hanger handlebars felt awkward in my hands, and The Pantydropper was harder to steer than I expected, requiring actual muscle to wrestle around the curves.

[{"type":"text","text":"But it had a windshield and seatbelts, so I hit the gas."}]

I was terrified, but I didn't want to let my new friend down, and "bikers don't like pussies," he had told me earlier, so there was that.

We passed the Boars Nest, where people crowded an outdoor deck strung with star-spangled bunting and flags.

Then we zipped around another corner and there, rising unexpectedly from the trees, was a 60-foot stone bust of Abraham Lincoln.

[{"type":"text","text":"The Great Emancipator stared at us solemnly."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"The trees became a blur."}]

Beside me, Manny smoked his cigarette, totally unconcerned that a reporter he had met only hours earlier was now piloting his baby through the Black Hills.

Laughing like little kids, our hair whipping wildly in the wind, I began to understand.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"'Ah, Shit'"}]

It was about 4 p.m. when we decided to turn around and head back toward Sturgis, but this time when I hit the throttle nothing happened.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Ah, shit,\" Manny said."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Apparently, a wire had come loose."}]

The Pantydropper could still idle, so we began creeping down the highway at 2 mph, and before long a procession of motorcycles and cars stacked up behind us.

[{"type":"text","text":"Manny considered the problem."}]

Then the sprightly senior climbed out of his seat and scrambled onto the front of the trike, one leg on the hood and the other still in the cab, until he was hanging halfway out of the machine.

[{"type":"text","text":"From there, he began operating the throttle by hand."}]

His Marlboro Black was still burning from his lips, bobbing above the exposed V8 engine.

Suddenly, we were hurtling angrily down the highway again, The Pantydropper roaring like a demon from Hell with Manny clinging to the front while I steered.

[{"type":"text","text":"It was going remarkably well."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Until I saw flashing lights."}]

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

[{"type":"text","text":"A South Dakota state trooper was behind us."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"We pulled over."}]

Manny climbed down from the front of the trike, and the trooper approached.

[{"type":"text","text":"He looked at both of us with complete horror."}]

He asked Manny to go sit in the patrol vehicle for a minute, then turned his attention to me.

[{"type":"text","text":"It slowly dawned on me what was happening."}]

He appeared to want some reassurance that I knew this strange, double-braided man, that I was OK and that I had willingly climbed aboard.

[{"type":"text","text":"I assured him I had."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"I was, in fact, there voluntarily."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"I was a journalist."}]

The explanation did not make the situation sound any more reasonable. If anything, it seemed to affirm for both of us the peculiar lunacy of a reporter hunting for a good story.

I don't know what Manny said inside the trooper's car, but somehow he talked his way out of a ticket and came back with an idea.

We rigged a jumper cable to the lever he'd been pulling, creating a makeshift throttle he could operate from inside the trike.

Then we fired up the horses, reins in hand, and off we went, me still steering while Manny worked our homemade throttle, winding our way back through the Black Hills toward the gathering thunder of motorcycles in Sturgis.

[{"type":"text","text":"Manny was cackling."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hell-Raiser To Helper"}]

Having survived our run-in with the law, we crested a hill and spotted a sign advertising $20 steaks.

[{"type":"text","text":"We pulled in, and he told me what Sturgis was like a half-century ago. "}]

It was rougher then, with fewer rules and considerably more danger. These days, he considers much of it a tourist trap.

The old outlaw mythology is still everywhere — leather, loud bikes, nearly naked bodies and enough skulls and flames to decorate the gates of Hell — but now it shares Main Street with families on vacation. During the day, little kids weave through the crowds while motorcycles rumble past despite women walking around wearing almost nothing. 

Manny has watched Sturgis go from a place your mother might warn you about to a place where somebody might bring their mother.

[{"type":"text","text":"Manny has changed, too."}]

There was a time, he said, when he came to Sturgis mostly to "fight and drink."

Today, the old hell-raiser has become something of a helper. He told me he spends much of his free time trying to make the world a better place, and when he comes to Sturgis now, he isn't looking for the trouble that once drew him here.

[{"type":"text","text":"He just wants to ride."}]

He gets up early and cruises the old highways while the rest of the rally is still sleeping off the night, following the roads wherever they take him, much as he did as a little boy riding behind his father in the hills of California. 

His trikes draw attention everywhere they go. People stare from the roadside. Riders turn their heads as they pass. Strangers wave, and Manny waves right back, like the unofficial mayor of Sturgis greeting "the peasants".

[{"type":"text","text":"Eventually, we climbed back into The Pantydropper and rolled toward town."}]

We ended up at "The Beach," a little sandpit where bikers gather to do burnouts. One man revved and revved until his tire blew apart.

[{"type":"text","text":"I climbed out of the death trap, grabbed my things and waved goodbye."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"It was getting dark, and Sturgis was just waking up."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Goodbye, my sister in the wind,\" Manny called after me."}]

Kolby 3 wheel sturgis 2 8 10 26

<title>Sturgis 2026: Climbing Into A 3-Wheeler Called The Pantydropper Was Not A Good Idea | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Climbing into a three-wheeler called "The Pantydropper" with a 50-year Sturgis veteran who boasted "it goes zero to 100 in a second," ended up with me at the wheel and the flashing lights of a South Dakota patrol car behind us.

Sturgis 2026: Climbing Into A 3-Wheeler Called The Pantydropper Was Not A Good Idea

Anna-Louise Jackson

Tourism

 Following the directions from the Interstate 94 exit to the Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library, you might wonder if you’ve missed North Dakota’s new tourist destination, so seamlessly does the building blend into the prairie.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"That’s exactly the point. "}]

The architects who designed the library, which opened lasrt month, want visitors to draw as much inspiration from the exhibits inside the 95,000-square-foot modern marvel as they do from taking in the vast sweep of landscape outside.

And on a recent visit, it seemed that vision had been realized. 

While library visitors spanning all ages could be found crowding around the library’s many high-tech interactive elements, they also took time to relax in a rocking chair or trek up to the library’s roof to enjoy a 360-degree view of the 93-acre site. 

But be forewarned: The library is quickly becoming a popular tourist attraction, so you might want to book tickets ($26 adults) online in advance. 

In the first few weeks, 40,000 visitors flocked to the library, its executive director said.

While tickets are still available for most days in August, the website cautions that it’s the busiest month in Medora. 

“The Library expects to reach maximum capacity on many days and walk-up tickets may not be available,” according to a notice on the website.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Why North Dakota"}]

Word about the new library has spread, thanks partly to a pre-opening visit from President Donald Trump and a healthy dose of media coverage.

There’s also a novelty factor: Unlike most presidential libraries, where planning begins shortly after the president has left office, this one only started to take shape about six years ago and more than 100 years after Roosevelt’s death.

Though Roosevelt hailed from New York, the library’s planners chose North Dakota because of the significance it 

 held for the 26th president. After the death of his wife and mother on the same day in 1884, he retreated to the then-territory, where he owned the Elkhorn Ranch on the banks of the Little Missouri River.

In 2020, planners launched a competition for architects and unanimously selected a design inspired by a leaf atop two pebbles that was the brainchild of Craig Dykers, the library’s lead architect and co-founder of Snøhetta, a Norwegian architectural firm. 

In addition to the building’s design, Dykers wanted to give visitors a variety of opportunities — from a kidney-shaped boardwalk loop through the grasses next to the library to its living roof — to appreciate the uniqueness of the Badlands.

But as anyone who has visited this part of the West before can appreciate, the summer heat can be relentless, especially with little shade covering.

If you’re visiting this summer, you might want to opt for a morning entry and budget time to explore the boardwalk and roof when it's still relatively cool. The temperature can easily top 100 degrees.

The designers were well aware of how harsh this landscape can be, though, and planned for ways to provide visitors respite from the elements.

Most of the parking spots are shaded by a solar-paneled roof, which means your vehicle won’t be roasting in the sun all day. Many outdoor seating areas are shaded and the corridor that serves as the library’s main entrance is entirely under cover.

That shade was helpful because there was a long queue and about a 20-minute wait to bypass security and actually enter the exhibit.

At check-in, you’ll be handed an interactive RFID-enabled wristband and have the option to personalize your visit by registering basic information on an electronic kiosk and taking a photo, all of which come in handy for unlocking the exhibit’s many interactive elements.

As the gal greeting visitors said over and over: “You don’t have to do it, but I highly, highly recommend you do.” 

The library might well rank among the country's most technically advanced, and some of those elements work better than others for learning about the legacy of this one-of-a-kind dynamo.

The exhibit more or less winds you through Roosevelt’s life chronologically, though a central exhibit hall you’ll return to frequently can be trying to get through. 

After check-in, you’ll be greeted by the voice of actor Nick Offerman, who is heavily featured in the exhibit and invites you into the Roosevelt home, where the future president overcame a challenging and asthma-afflicted childhood.

From there, you’ll see the future conservationist's budding fascination with animals and nature take shape, navigate eccentric obsession with taxidermy in college, his falling in love and enduring a double whammy tragedy that forever shaped his life.

One of the exhibit’s most poignant moments is a dark room that holds only Roosevelt’s diary, opened to the page where, on Feb. 14, 1884, he marked the page with a large X and wrote, “The light has gone out of my life.”

That diary is one of relatively few original items on display; most others are replicas. That’s owing to many of his belongings being displayed elsewhere, namely at the Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace National Historic Site in New York City and Sagamore Hill National Historic Site on New York’s Long Island.

But the items don’t have to be real to get a real sense of what shaped this man.

You can step inside a replica of his log cabin in North Dakota, sit around a campfire as cowboys joke about the “dandy,” head into battle with the Rough Riders in Cuba, track his political rise and fall, experience the shenanigans of the Roosevelt children during their years in the White House, tag along for his near-deadly post-presidential expeditions, and stand in the family’s summer home when more tragedy strikes and word goes out that “the old lion is dead.”

All throughout, there are display cases to pore over that contextualize Roosevelt’s sometimes-complicated legacy, tap your wristband to generate a photo of what you might have looked like during one of Roosevelt’s many eras, and you can even ask the late president a question of your choosing, which he’ll answer thanks to the magic of AI.

A young visitor asked AI. "Teddy how many countries existed" when he was president and, after a long delay, he offered a thoughtful response.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Keep an Open Mind"}]

Along with Offerman, you’ll hear a number of familiar voices throughout the exhibit, including George W. Bush, Barack Obama, Garth Brooks, Oprah Winfrey, José Andrés, and Doris Kearns Goodwin, who each take their own spin on reading Roosevelt’s famous 1910 “Man in the Arena” speech.

But one thing that’s surprising is that you won’t hear much of Roosevelt himself, even though some recordings of his speeches still exist.

Even without his voice, you might be surprised by what you learn about a politician who wouldn’t neatly fit into either of today’s dominant political parties. 

A familiar refrain throughout the exhibit is a visitor beginning what amounts to a fill-in-the-blank sentence by saying, “Oh wow, I had no idea that he ...”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"All of this is intentional. "}]

The experiential elements in the library are intended to go beyond exploring Roosevelt’s legacy and encourage visitors to think about their own civic obligations, as Edward O’Keefe, chief executive officer of the Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library Foundation, 

“We wanted to build a place where you can learn about, and from, Theodore Roosevelt, where you can connect with friends and family and nature so you can decide what change you want to see in the world,” O’Keefe said in a piece published by Fast Company.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Other Things To Do"}]

While the library has many places to sit and take a break from the exhibits, there’s also an on-site restaurant with options that are very good — albeit a bit pricey. If you arrive hungry, plan your meal accordingly, as many menu items were sold out by about 3 p.m.

Nearby Medora is teeming with plenty of kitschy tourist shops and you can easily drive the 36-mile loop in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park in about two hours, with enough time to stop and snap photos of bison, prairie dogs, or a herd of wild horses. 

Medora might seem more bustling than in past visits, and while there are more lodging options now it remains a tourist trap of sorts. More plentiful (and affordable) options are in Glendive, Montana, about 60 miles west on I-94. 

There’s an additional bonus to staying over the border in Montana: Glendive is home to Montana’s largest state park, Makoshika State Park, where you can walk among badland formations where the fossil remains of many types of dinosaurs have been unearthed. The park’s entrance fee for nonresidents is $8.

Anna-Louise Jackson can be reached at: Jackson.Anna@gmail.com

Roosevelt Library 2284640338 8 9 269

<title>Visiting The New High-Tech Teddy Roosevelt Library In Medora, North Dakota | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Cowboy State Daily's Anna-Louise Jackson visited the new Theodore Roosevelt National Library in Medora, North Dakota. She highly recommends the journey as it offers a winding and interactive high-tech journey through the extraordinary life of America's 26th president.

Visiting The New High-Tech Teddy Roosevelt Library In Medora, North Dakota

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Jackie Dorothy.

Jackie Dorothy

 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.”

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.

One More For The Road: Thursday, January 9, 2025

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