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

Andrew Rossi

Anyone who turns off Wyoming Highway 120 toward Clark will find a paved two-lane road heading all the way to the mouth of the Clarks Fork Canyon. The road extends for 8 miles through some of the most riveting scenery in northwest Wyoming.

[{"type":"text","text":"Then it abruptly ends."}]

The pavement comes to a stop at a bumpy dirt parking lot. The only way to go any farther is by foot, on horseback, or in a sturdy off-road vehicle.

[{"type":"text","text":"It’s officially County Road 8VC. Many locals know it as Canyon Road."}]

It’s also known as “The Road to Nowhere,” “Webster’s Folly,” and “The Road of Death.”

One thing it isn’t is a highway connecting northwest Wyoming to Cooke City, Montana, which is all it was intended to be.

Why the road was never completed is a complicated legacy of the forever unfinished Clarks Fork Road.

[{"type":"text","text":"“It doesn't have a good history,” Cody historian Bob Richard said."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Crucial Connection"}]

It was 1962, and the Wyoming Highway Department (WHD) wanted a road to connect Cody and Cooke City, which would become Wyoming Highway 296. That would give local and tourist traffic access to the Northeast Entrance of Yellowstone National Park.

[{"type":"text","text":"Constant Edward “Bud” Webster had a bold vision."}]

Webster was an influential rancher and car dealer from Meeteetse. He ran Cody’s Chevrolet dealership for 65 years, longer than any other individual in the nation to that point.

[{"type":"text","text":"“He was a leader in our community,” Richard said."}]

Webster wanted the new road to run along the bottom of the Clarks Fork Canyon, following the original North Route to Cooke City through the Absaroka Range.

“It was his favorite project,” Richard said. “Bud was the chairman of the Wyoming Highway Department at the time, and it was his idea to put a road up through the canyon. He developed it.”

Webster was so eager and influential that the Clarks Fork Road began construction. 

[{"type":"text","text":"It would never be finished."}]

By 1969, 8 miles of the Clarks Fork Road had been laid out, leveled and paved up to the mouth of the Clarks Fork Canyon.

At the same time, 37 miles away, construction was underway at the west end of the route. A junction was built at U.S. Highway 212, following the south bank of the Clarks Fork of the Yellowstone River into Sunlight Basin.

That’s when the controversy started to blow, much like the wind in the canyon.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Canyon Vs. Summit"}]

Even when construction began on either end of Wyoming Highway 296, there was controversy about where the middle should go. Should it follow the Clarks Fork through the canyon, or head up and over 8,060-foot Dead Indian Summit?

This was the debate over the “Canyon” and “Summit” routes. Ronald Tabler, a research hydrologist with the U.S. Forest Service, explored both in a 1972 report he prepared for the WHP.

“An obvious advantage of the Canyon route is that it would avoid the blowing and drifting snow conditions that prevail on Dead Indian Pass,” he wrote. “The principal advantage of the Summit route, according to its proponents, is that it would have less esthetic impact and preserve the unspoiled beauty of the canyon.”

Tabler said he prepared his report “in response to public concern about the corridor location.” There was plenty of that to go around.

Based on existing historical records, public opinion was highly against the Canyon route.

In 1972, lifelong Wyomingite and “heavy tax-payer” John Bugas submitted an opinion piece to The Cody Enterprise. In it, he laid out his argument against the Canyon plan.

“It would make as much sense as cutting a highway up the Grand Canyon of the Colorado or the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone,” he wrote. “A highway up the canyon not only is undesirable, (but) it is unnecessary for the needs of the traveling public.”

Bugas’ other reasons to oppose the Canyon route were excessive costs, “desecration” of the canyon’s beauty, and the frequency of landslides and rockfalls.

“I have seen three instances of rock and landslides on both sides of the river that would wipe out any – repeat, any – manmade structure except one of the nuclear bomb shelter type.”

W. Lyle Whiting published his own op-ed in 1972 calling the Canyon route “undesirable,” even after WHD finished the first 8-mile stretch from Clark to the canyon.

“The first section … seems practical until you get near the mouth of the canyon,” he said. “The wind has made the last part of (the road) unusable. The top has actually blown off the road.”

When the Cody Chamber of Commerce did a public opinion poll that same year, only 21% of participants supported the Canyon route. The remaining 79% preferred the Summit.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Chief Joseph’s Highway"}]

After years of debate, the Canyon route was abandoned. Between 1977 and 1992, the existing road over Dead Indian Summit was graded and surfaced into the highway as it exists today.

Wyoming Highway 296, the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway, was dedicated Sept. 12, 1995. The 47-mile highway took 27 years to complete and cost nearly $30 million.

The road over Dead Indian Summit, connecting Cody and Cooke City, had existed for decades.

It was famously used by Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce Tribe in 1877 as they fled eastward from northeastern Oregon to avoid being captured and sent to a reservation by the U.S. Cavalry.

Ironically, Chief Joseph and his tribe eluded capture by following the route Webster wanted for the highway.

Gen. Samuel Sturgis, who intended to intercept and capture the fleeing tribe with 600 cavalry, found that “no trail could possibly lead through” the Clarks Fork Canyon. The tribe saw the unguarded opening, cleverly tricked Sturgis to reposition near the Shoshone River, and used the canyon to escape into Montana.

Richard remembers the old road well. It was functional, but far from glamorous.

“It used to take me a full day to get to Cooke City when I was in high school,” he said. “You didn't travel it when it rained because of the 6 or 8 inches of mud, and it was closed during the wintertime. You only traveled when it was dry.”

However, even developing that route was controversial. Richard remembers many people opposing any permanent road between Cody and Cooke City.

“Everybody that lived in the Sunlight Basin fought it,” he said. “They didn’t want it paved because they felt it would increase the traffic, and I don’t think it did that much.”

Webster was at the 1995 dedication, but by then the abandoned 8-mile stretch of pavement near Clark was already known as “Webster’s Folly.” He didn’t seem to mind and is still credited with spearheading the effort that eventually led to Highway 296.

What little existed of the Clarks Fork Highway remained a curiously well-designed road to nowhere 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Tragic End"}]

Around 2 a.m. on May 5, 2002, five people left the Edelweiss Riverhouse in Clark and drove onto Canyon Road.

When the pavement ended, the 1999 Mercury Cougar they were riding in went off the road and through a barbed wire fence. The vehicle was airborne for 90 feet before landing, rolling several times, and stopping in a boulder field 15 feet below the road.

“The only way I knew it was a Cougar was because I saw the emblem at the side of the road,” David Doyle, then the Park County undersheriff, told The Cody Enterprise the day after the wreck. “The car is totaled.”

The victims weren’t able to get assistance until 8:08 a.m. One of them followed the road back to Clark so they could reach Park County Dispatch.

By the time first responders got to the scene, three people were dead: Amanda Kay Deberg, 20, of Cody, and Justin Mark Anderson, 25, and Michael Lee Sponsel, 18, both from Clark.

[{"type":"text","text":"The other two victims were seriously injured but survived."}]

Lt. Len DeClerq said the vehicle was traveling at 66 mph when the crash occurred. It’s believed that whoever was driving didn’t know how abruptly the road ended, and couldn’t stop.

Alcohol was another contributing factor. Mike Sponsel, who lost his son and stepson in the crash, admitted some of them had been drinking at Edelweiss before the fatal crash.

[{"type":"text","text":"Richard remembers the tragedy well."}]

“The kids got drunk at Edelweiss, were going way too fast, and hit the end of the road,” he said. “They were drunk, and they died there.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Nowhere, No Chance"}]

What killed “The Road to Nowhere?” There are multiple factors to consider, but the idea was borne on ill-fated winds from the beginning.

While public opinion was strongly against the Canyon route, Richard said he thinks the canyon itself dissuaded the WHD from pursuing it further.

“It’s too windy,” he said. “I don’t know how high the winds get up there, but that’s probably what ended it.”

Many people who opposed the Canyon route cited wind as enough of a reason not to pursue it. Because the topography of the Clarks Fork Canyon makes it 

The Canyon route stayed alive for as long as it did because of Webster. However, even his influence and enthusiasm couldn't overcome the significant obstacles.

“He was on the WHD board when those decisions were made, but too many people opposed it,” Richard said. “After a while I think the WHD said 'no more'.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Always At The End Of The Road"}]

Ultimately, the route to build a highway through the Clarks Fork Canyon was deemed too expensive, treacherous and controversial.

[{"type":"text","text":"Nevertheless, the same stretch that was finished is still there."}]

“The Road to Nowhere” is still paved and maintained, offering easy access to the mouth of the canyon and what lies beyond. The dirt parking lot is the staging ground for the Morrison Jeep Trail, a 22-mile trek into the mountains considered a difficult “must-do” for off-road enthusiasts, and it's a great spot to see bighorn sheep and mountain goats.

The route Webster intended also remains intact as a hiking and riding trail. It runs along the northern edge the Clarks Fork to the Hunter Peak Ranch and Campground, south of the U.S. 212 junction where construction started in 1968.

Twenty miles of the Clarks Fork River were added to the National Wild and Scenic Rivers System in 1990. That has ensured it will remain free-flowing, devoid of any development, to preserve its natural beauty.

Richard understands why “Webster’s Folly” was doomed, but he regularly takes tours to the end of the 8-mile road. 

To him, the attempted Clarks Fork Highway is a fascinating piece of Wyoming’s history that will forever remain unfinished.

Road to Nowhere IMG 0997 7 26 26

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

<title>The Story Behind Wyoming's Ill-Fated And Tragic "Road To Nowhere" | Cowboy State Daily</title>

In an attempt to connect Cody and Cooke City, the Wyoming Department of Transportation built 8 miles of road in 1969 and then stopped. The "Road To Nowhere" became known as "The Road of Death" after a car with 5 people drove through the road's end.

The Story Behind Wyoming's Ill-Fated And Tragic "Road To Nowhere"

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

Renée Jean

LANDER — Sophal Thompson put her Fourth of July flags out early this year. By early May, she had one on each of her handmade tables, because she was that excited to celebrate America’s 250th anniversary.

She hasn’t taken them down yet, and she’s thinking she might just leave them there. They tell a quiet story, one she loves to tell.  

“I just love America,” she told Cowboy State Daily. “I appreciate everything here.”

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are not taken lightly by Thompson. 

She grew up in Cambodia and remembers hiding underground when bombs came. This was during the years of conflict after the Khmer Rouge era, when fighting between factions made daily life dangerous.

Villages across western and northern Cambodia were caught in the crossfire. Families routinely dug subterranean dirt bunkers beneath or next to their thatched homes so they could dive underground at a moment’s notice. They might have to stay there for mere hours or days to survive the shrapnel.

Thompson is not sure her exact age. She might have been 5, 6 or 7. But she does remember how terrified she was that she or someone she loved might die. 

She’d already lost her mother when she was 2.

“My mom didn’t make it,” she said in a soft voice. “My real, real mom who gave me a birthday. She passed away because we had no medication. There was no medication, no doctors, because they killed all of them. The Khmer Rouge killed all the smart doctors. Killed all the teachers.”

With no money, no medicine, no doctors or nurses, there was no one left to help her mother survive. 

“My uncle, my dad’s brother, was killed. They killed him because he was a famous boxer,” she said. “He was smart, very successful. They killed all the famous, the smartest, all the rich people.”

Thompson said she first heard about America she was 7 or 8 years old.

Her grandfather had managed to escape the nightmare sometime in the 1970s, before she was born. He finally managed to find her dad. 

“Somehow, he escaped to a camp where Americans try to save us,” she said. “They could put many people in the plane so my grandpa, he just escaped with his family and came to America. Otherwise, they would have all been killed.”

It took him 25 years to find his surviving relatives in Cambodia. 

“When we finally connected, that’s when I heard about America,” Thompson said. “I wanted to go to America. I wanted to be with my grandpa. He is my second grandpa.”

Thompson saved every penny she could from raising livestock on her family’s rice farm. English lessons were $1 an hour. That was a lot of money for a child, especially in a country where $10 could buy a month of food for her whole family.

“My dad told me, like, if you don’t learn English, you can’t speak to people,” she said. “You can’t work. So you have to learn English.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Arriving With Just $10"}]

When Thompson finally boarded a plane to the United States, she had just $10. 

“Just to make sure, just in case you might be hungry on the way,” he told her. “So you can buy a snack at the airport.”

In Cambodia, that was still a lot of money. 

But in America, as she soon discovered, it didn’t go far.

“I applied for work right away,” she said. “I’m not going to waste my breath sitting around. I have to work.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"That’s been her attitude ever since. "}]

When she was a young mother, she opened a day care so she could watch others’ children alongside her own. 

Childcare, she quickly saw, was so expensive it took half her paycheck. A day care seemed only logical.

It didn’t take long for word to spread. She was licensed for up to 10 children — and quickly filled all those spots. Before long, she was juggling two daycares at once.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Dreaming Of A Laundromat"}]

After her children grew older, Thompson decided to try a new kind of business altogether. For years, she ran the Antler Steak House — a restaurant in a gas station. 

“I was cooking seven days a week and training people every other day,” she said. “That was tiring, and I never got to see people.”

So she sold the restaurant and started dreaming up a new business idea, something she’d felt the town always needed when she was a young mother.

That something was a laundromat. But not the boring place she remembered going to with her children.

“I had a baby and my apartment didn’t have laundry,” she said. “So I would pack my baby back and forth in the car. And I always wished that the laundry had a welcome sitting area — like a place to hang out and play with my baby, watch television or listen to music, and get an ice cream or a smoothie for the kids.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Coffee And Conversation"}]

That’s how On-Site Laundry was born, and that’s why it doesn’t look like a traditional laundromat. 

The first thing you notice is a set of barstools and a menu listing several flavors of boba tea, as well as other drinks ranging from beer or cocktails to Thompson’s own favorite, Cambodian coffee.

That menu item is a creamy and sweet conversation starter. 

“I had a gentleman come in who didn’t know where I’m from and look at my menu,” Thompson said with a chuckle. “He was like, ‘Cambodia … why are you serving Cambodian coffee?’”

The man had such a look of perplexity, Thompson wasn’t sure what to think. Was this the start of a compliment, or a complaint?

“Then I found out his wife came from Cambodia,” Thompson said. “So I told him I’m from Cambodia and I want to introduce Americans to Cambodian coffee. It’s really dark and strong and a little sweet.”

Before too long, her new friend had brought his wife to the laundromat for Cambodian coffee and conversation.

“That’s what I really like about being here,” Thompson said, beaming. “I get to meet a lot of different travelers. Different states, different countries. I like to visit with them.”

On-Site Laundry has been in business for a year, but it’s already become a popular gathering place for hikers and bikers doing the Continental Divide Trail or the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

“Oasis is a good word for it,” Haleigh Swabowicz said, munching on a plate of chicken fingers and French fries. “Like you never see anything like this. It’s such a cool concept.”

“It’s an oasis,” walking trail friend Willie Hammond agreed. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

The duo found the business listed on an app for Divide Trail hikers that highlights useful and interesting places, complete with ratings and recommendations.

The rating for Lander’s laundromat is high — and well-deserved, Swabowicz said. 

“To have a shower laundry place is spectacular,” she said. “And food? Like, I don’t even need to leave here.”

Air conditioning doesn’t hurt at all either, Hammond said. 

Nor do toilets and chairs, Swabowicz added, laughing. 

“Hiking the Great Divide makes you appreciate so many things so much more,” she said. “Like having a toilet, what an amazing thing that is! And chairs. Oh my gosh, sitting in a chair is such a luxury for us now.”

The cool decor was also not lost on the hiking duo, who said it gives the place a nice “vibe.”

That decor, Thompson said, was built by hand. Her own hand.

“This building was old,” she said. “We had to put everything brand new. The floor, I was just learning. I did that. But I had never done flooring before.”

She also built the tables and stools by hand, as well as a Ramen bar and the lunch counter where people gather to order food and drinks while waiting on their laundry. All of the wood is burned to give it a cozy, kitschy feel, and that’s something else Thompson did herself.

The tables and stools have also been popular. Customers beg to buy them, she said. 

She finally let four of them go, and already has orders for a few more — though she doesn’t take many orders. She’s not in the furniture business after all.

She also assembled the art on the walls, having no money to buy expensive artwork.

“When we opened this up, we were kind of like broke,” she said. “We put every penny to this place. So I told my husband, I’m just gonna do everything handmade. You can’t go spend a thousand bucks on pictures. But I didn’t want it to be boring.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"When Grit Meets Freedom"}]

On the front counter, there’s a tiny white piggy bank, but it’s not for tips. It’s for Cambodia.

“I’ve been collecting for a couple of years now,” she said. “And I’ve been sending the money to the hospital. Cambodia is still a very poor country.”

She might have left to find a better future in America, but she refuses to forget where she started. 

The pocket change she collects might be chump change in America, but it will buy life-saving medicines that are still very expensive in the country of her birth. Medicines that might save someone else’s mother. 

In Cambodia, Sophal Thompson learned a thing or two about grit. That grit took her to a  small mountain town in Wind River Country.

Washers spin, dryers thump, and flags fly above tables built by her own hand.

They are a reminder of how far she’s come, and an example of how grit becomes something beautiful when life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are allowed. 

“I really, really love America,” she said. “This is my American dream.”

On Site Laundry inset

<title>Lander Business Owner Escaped Cambodia's Killing Fields To Build American Dream | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Sophal Thompson grew up in Cambodia and remembers hiding underground when bombs came. She saved every penny to take English lessons and had $10 when she arrived in the U.S. Now, a successful business owner in Lander, she says: “I really, really love America."

Lander Business Owner Escaped Cambodia's Killing Fields To Build American Dream

Zakary Sonntag

Business & Tourism

Business

Typically, the people who bleed in the emergency room are patients. This past week at Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County in Rock Springs, it was a nurse.

Around 9 p.m. July 20, emergency department nurse Christian R. stepped into a patient's room for a routine medication check. Seconds later, he fled with a broken nose.

“I asked the patient if he’d take his nighttime medication, then he stood up and walked towards me and with a closed fist punched me straight in the face,” Christian told Cowboy State Daily.

He heard a pop when the punch landed. Blood started pouring from his nose as he stumbled out of the room. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"But there was no time to process the pain."}]

The patient chased Christian through the emergency department, catching him more than once and resuming the attack.

“He ended up catching up to me and throwing more punches and then using his knees to try and knee me in the head,” he said. “He did knee me a couple times, so I have lacerations to my lips.”

Christian ran around corners, down two hallways and eventually into the department lobby, where a security worker intervened by tripping the patient.

The patient tumbled to the floor, giving Christian enough time to sprint back into the emergency department, where a colleague pulled him into a locked supply room.

There, surrounded by shelves stocked with gauze, wound-care supplies and medical equipment, the shock finally began to set in.

“I was shocked that he attacked me, but he continued chasing me — that’s what shocked me the most,” Christian said. “The patient had run past countless other nurses and staff, but was just fully focused on me and trying to get me.”

Christian's experience was dramatic. Health care leaders say it’s not unique.

Health care workers are five times more likely to experience workplace violence injuries than workers overall, according to data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

While they make up less than 10% of the overall workforce, nurses and other health care workers experience 48% of all nonfatal injuries due to workplace violence, according to analysis from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"In Wyoming, the problem takes many forms."}]

“First of all, you get a lot of verbal violence as a nurse. People call you all kinds of nasty names and four-letter words and curse and swear at you,” said Tracy Garcia, chief of nursing operations at Cheyenne Regional Medical Center, who’s seen the gamut after working in the health care sector for 37 years. 

Garcia believes emergency department workers shoulder an outsized share of the problem.

“In the emergency department, I've had people slap me, kick at me, throw things at me,” said Garcia, adding that violence has become more common and more egregious over the course of her career.

“Several years ago, we had a physician who was pregnant, and that physician was punched in the stomach by a patient who knew she was pregnant, because the patient was mad at the care the physician was providing,” she said.

Garcia said her hospital averages roughly 50 incidents of workplace violence involving patients or family members each year. She worries what it does for retention in an industry already struggling to recruit workers.

"If people know about this workplace violence and we don’t come up with solutions, they may be less likely to go into nursing,” she said.

Why So Much Violence Against Doctors And Nurses?

The roots of the problem lie in the nature of hospital work itself, especially in emergency departments and other nerve-racking units where pain, fear and family crises often converge, according to Josh Hannes, former vice president of the Wyoming Hospital Association.

People arrive injured, intoxicated, distressed, or terrified for a loved one. Then there’s the intensely personal nature of the care, which can blur boundaries in dangerous ways. 

This makes hospitals fundamentally different from other workplaces, as well as more volatile, Hannes said, adding that the issue has worsened in recent years in part because it’s not well understood.

“It's really an untold story,” he said, offering the example of one of his associates whose head was grabbed and thrown into a hospital door by a patient. "Most people don’t realize the literal danger their providers are in when they're at the workplace.

“People think of police officers or corrections officers and the risks for violence in those professions, and that makes sense, but they don't know this is happening to people who work in places that are meant to be places of healing.”

Hannes said one solution is to treat health care workers more like police officers, by which he means enhancing penalties for violence against health care workers.

That approach has been adopted by many states. Wyoming is not one of them.

Wyoming Among Few States Without Protections

Wyoming lawmakers have tried to address violence against health care workers.

Bills introduced in 2023, 2024 and 2025 would have strengthened reporting requirements, created workplace-safety standards and increased penalties for assaults against health care workers. None became law.

“It got caught up in the whole Freedom Caucus — they said, ‘These are special rights for a class of citizens’— and it went downhill from there,” said former state Rep. Dan Zwonitzer, R-Laramie, who sponsored the first major effort in 2023, adding that stripped-down versions his bill in successive years hit the same roadblocks.

“It had the medical community behind it,” he said. "It had tons of frontline stories talking about what happens and why it’s needed … and we still couldn't get it passed."

Opponents argued that creating health care-specific penalties risked turning the law into a patchwork of protected occupations rather than applying equal justice to everyone. 

In addition, some legal experts say there is insufficient evidence that increasing punishment severity deters violence in hospital settings.

Though nurses like Christian have an existing legal remedy, recourse is complicated where mental health is involved, as may have been the case in Rock Springs this past week, implied Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County CEO Kari Quickenden in a statement to Cowboy State Daily.

“Hospitals throughout Wyoming and across the country are seeing an increasing number of patients experiencing behavioral health crises,” said Quickenden. "Caring for these patients safely and compassionately is one of the most complex challenges facing health care today, and Sweetwater Memorial remains committed to providing that care while protecting the safety of our employees, patients, and visitors."

Reform advocates say this is more reason to establish new legal standards.

A patient attacked a Rock Springs emergency nurse, breaking his nose and chasing him through Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County this past week. "He was fully focused on trying to get me," the nurse said. Health care leaders say this is not unique.

Marlin Lee Moen, 74