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

Renée Jean

Business & Tourism

Raymond Felix brought a brand-new bike to Sturgis this year. New to him, that is.

“We bought it about two weeks ago,” he told Cowboy State Daily. “I traded my Sporty in. I said, ‘We’re going to Sturgis, so I want a better bike.’”

The bike is a 2017 Softail Slim FLS with 5,000 miles on it, “practically new” for what was Felix’s first trip to Sturgis. He went with his family — his mom and dad, Leon and Alisa, and his girlfriend, Yessenia Marenco. 

The four were among hordes of bikers — literally thousands — riding the Devils Tower loop for a Sturgis Rally tradition called Wyoming Wednesday. 

Sundance’s claim to fame on Wyoming Wednesday is a burnout contest that’s been going on for more than half a century in front of the historic Dime Horseshoe Bar.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Legend Of The Burnout"}]

Local legends say the Dime Horseshoe Bar’s burnout actually started inside the establishment, which takes its name from a horseshoe pattern inlaid into the bar top with dimes.

The story goes that a bar patron decided to do a burnout inside the bar and the owner chased him out.

Other riders joined the fun, putting on their own spontaneous burnout event on the street in front of the bar.

It started a tradition that has continued ever since, though these days it’s more of a planned thing, complete with bike mechanics who swap used tires for new, saving the bikers’ good tires for their return trip to either the Sturgis Rally or home. 

The bar has since also built a stage for the bikes, elevating them above the crowd so everyone can see. That also helps keep the smoke over everyone’s heads. 

A set of fans blows the clouds of acrid, billowing smoke away from the bikers. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Big Father-Son Moment"}]

Felix had a dream for his first Sturgis, and watching the Dime Horseshoe Bar’s Burnout in Sundance was it.

But he didn’t just watch the burnout as he’d planned.

Jess Jones, owner of the Dime Horseshoe Bar along with her husband, Casey, is persuasive that way. 

She kept calling for entries, and Felix’s dad, Leon, kept urging Raymond to enter.

“They talked me into it,” he said. “I was like, ‘All right, let’s do it. I’m down for it.’”

Felix’s parents have been coming to Sturgis — and to Sundance’s burnout — since 2011. But until this year, Raymond couldn’t join them. All four work for the same delivery-driving business, which makes planning time off together tricky.

“It’s hard for all of us to take vacation at the same time,” Leon said. “This is the first year we got to do it.”

A friend showed Leon and Alisa all the cool places to go, including Sundance. 

“We love it,” Alisa said. “It’s amazing. Seriously, every year we look forward to coming.”

For Leon, finally sharing Sundance with his son — and seeing him compete so well in the burnout — was not just a great memory. It is a father-son milestone he cherishes. 

“It’s like a father’s dream to have your kid come ride with you,” he said. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hitting Sixth Gear"}]

Felix had been told he probably wouldn’t be able to cycle his engine past fourth gear. 

But when he hit four without signs of strain, he kicked it up to five and then six. 

Smoke, he explained, is the whole point of a burnout. 

“The bigger the cloud of smoke is, the better,” he said. “So you go through first, second, third. You want to keep the gears shifting. But so it handled six just fine.”

Family and friends replayed the moment he hit sixth gear, and Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Check this out,” he exclaimed. “The sixth-gear pin! I was in sixth gear!”

That ultimately earned him enough crowd appreciation that he took third place, along with a $250 cash prize. 

First place, and the $750 in prize money, went to Bill Snider, a regular from Michigan who said he will put the money back into his bike.

Snider was in Sundance hanging out with his daughter, Erica Goble, and her fiancé.

Goble drove to Sundance from Colorado to be with her dad, and said she thought the event was “pretty cool.”

Snider told Cowboy State Daily he spends little time at the Sturgis Rally itself, preferring to spend his rally time in tiny Sundance and Hulett in Wyoming.

“We go over there, but we go over there once, buy a T-shirt and leave,” he said.

In Wyoming, he said, he has found people are welcoming and treat you like family — and that’s what keeps him coming back.

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<title>Why Sturgis Riders Have Packed Sundance, Wyoming, For 50 Years Of Its Annual Burnout | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Sturgis Motorcycle Rally riders have packed Sundance, Wyoming, for its annual burnout for more than 50 years. Legend has it the burnout started inside the Dime Horseshoe Bar. “The bigger the cloud of smoke is, the better,” says one rider.

Why Sturgis Riders Have Packed Sundance, Wyoming, For 50 Years Of Its Annual Burnout

There is just something about the Elk Mountain Hotel that inspires devotion.

Peter Thieriot, for example, was warned that the Elk Mountain Hotel was nothing more than a money pit. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"He bought it anyway."}]

Locals joked that the hotel required a tetanus shot before walking in.

No one was laughing once Thieriot finished restoring it. 

He took the hotel back to its studs, then rebuilt it room by room by room.

Nine layers of wallpaper were stripped from the dining room. Samples of each layer still decorate a wall just outside the dining room, even though Thieriot no longer owns the hotel.

Christine Neel is the hotel’s present-day owner. 

She did what a lot of small-town Wyoming kids wind up doing — leaving Wyoming. 

Her folks packed up and moved to Texas before Neel graduated from high school. She went to Texas A&M, becoming an “Aggie,” with a major in nursing and business.

But when the 120-year-old Elk Mountain Hotel went up for sale in January 2020, she leapt at the chance to take over the tiny boutique hotel in little Elk Mountain, where the elevation of 7,264 feet far exceeds its population of 146 people. 

“I’ve been in love with the hotel since childhood,” Neel told Cowboy State Daily. “I grew up not too far from there on a ranch … I remember going to brunches over there, attending weddings over there, before and after the renovation.”

When she heard the owners had decided to get out of the hotel business, something clicked. 

She suddenly knew she wanted to own that hotel.

“I think it just has a charm like no place else has,” she said. “I’ve always just loved it. So I couldn’t say no when the opportunity came up.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Reborn From Ashes"}]

Neel says many travelers find the Elk Mountain Hotel by surprise when they’re traveling to Yellowstone National Park along Interstate 80. 

It’s a pleasant surprise for most. Tripadvisor shows a 4.8 out of 5-bubble rating, and it’s easy to see why.

At first sight, it’s like gazing into another time and place, and then melting into it with each step toward the hotel. None of the rooms have televisions, which deepens the effect.

There are no air conditioners humming, either.  

Tiny refrigerators and microwaves are the only nod to the modern world — and they do not bother. They’re quiet.

The hotel sits at the base of Elk Mountain, in the same spot where the Overland Trail once had its stage stop, just east of the Medicine Bow River.

The establishment was then known as The Crossing. 

After Union Pacific finished the Transcontinental Railroad, The Crossing fell into disrepair and burned down in 1905.

A man from Wales named John Evans built a new hotel on top of the ashes, naming it Mountain View Hotel. It was white with green trim then, and it’s white with green trim now.

No one knows exactly how or why Evans came to Wyoming. What is known about him is that he was adopted by the Jones family and worked for a time at the Evan's Bro’s Store in Carbon, now an abandoned coal town southwest of Medicine Bow.

Eventually, Evans married his adoptive sister, Mary Ann Jones.

The couple had 10 children, seven of whom died very young. Some of those children are buried at the old Carbon Cemetery.

When the couple moved from Carbon to Elk Mountain to work for J.S. Jones, they had two living children, Joseph and Aubrey. John ran the bar and Mary was the cook. 

They bought The Crossing from Jones in 1903. Two years later, after their son William was born, The Crossing burned down.

The couple borrowed money from Mary’s sister Catherine to rebuild the hotel. 

They had 16 bedrooms upstairs and a bar and dance hall downstairs. It had indoor plumbing and Elk Mountain’s first power plant. In addition to itself, the hotel’s coal-fired plant supplied power to neighbors as well. 

The dance hall quickly became a community gathering spot for dances, parties, political rallies and town meetings.

In the 1920s, John Evans and his boys built an open-air dance pavilion.

Many famous people would come to play at the Garden Spot Pavilion, including Lawrence Welk and Louis Armstrong.

The hotel’s 12 rooms echo some of that history. 

Two are named for both Welk and Armstrong. Others are devoted to famous Wyoming figures Jim Bridger, Esther Hobart Morris and Eliza Swain. 

Another honors someone infamous: “Big Nose” George Parrot.

Each room leans into its historic namesake, with relevant photographs, artwork, and history hanging on the walls. 

The hotel is framed by mature trees and a profusion of pink hollyhocks — perfect for the Victorian architecture.

Inside, the vintage charm continues with a warm mixture of leather, wood, and posh upholstery alongside photos of historical Elk Mountain figures that help tell the hotel’s unique story. 

The restaurant serves steaks and pasta, along with homemade desserts and cocktails. Reservations are required.

Stay there once, and it’s easy to understand why people keep coming back. Because there’s just something about the Elk Mountain Hotel. 

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<title>How Wyoming’s Elk Mountain Hotel Went From Money Pit To Historic Showplace | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Built 120 years ago when an Overland Trail stage stop burned down, many warned its previous owner it would be a money pit to restore. He did it anyway, and now the Elk Mountain Hotel has become a showplace on the National Register of Historic Places.

How Wyoming’s Elk Mountain Hotel Went From Money Pit To Historic Showplace

Jen Kocher - Headshot CSD

Jen Kocher

For the Haux sisters, the enduring mystery of their father’s fate still crystallizes around one stark image: His truck, abandoned in the Red Desert, an image taken from a newspaper article.

Clifford “Russ” Haux of Mills vanished on Nov. 26, 2003, near Wamsutter in south-central Wyoming where he worked as an oil-rig driller. The 42-year-old husband and father of three had gone out with a co-worker to free a stuck vehicle and never returned.

The last image of him is his fading headlights as he drove off into a winter night trying to find a place to cross a ditch.

One minute he was there, the next, he was gone — last seen driving his pickup into a ditch, looking for a place to cross.

For two years, extensive searches turned up nothing. Then a hunter found his purple Ford Ranger less than six miles from where he was last seen. Its front tires were stuck in a washed-out riverbed, with evidence suggesting he’d tried to free them.

His children – Lois, Justy and Chancy – grew up on memories and secondhand stories, left to wonder what had happened to their father.

The story doesn’t add up based on their recollections of their dad: A guy they describe as a “driller through and through” and seasoned “mountain man” who was also a skilled outdoorsman.

“I don’t know what happened out there or the trauma he had to go through,” Justy told Cowboy State Daily. “Anything could have happened.”

The Sweetwater County Sheriff’s Office likewise can’t speculate about what might have happened to Haux after he left the vehicle. But there’s no evidence to date to suggest Haux was a victim, said Jason Mower, public information officer with the department.

“Based on the evidence available, including what was found when Haux’s vehicle was later located, the disappearance has been considered accidental rather than the result of foul play,” Mower wrote in an email to Cowboy State Daily.

More than two decades later, Mower said the case remains active and unresolved with no new leads they can publicly release at this time.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Disappearing Headlights"}]

His daughters have many questions about what transpired the night their father disappeared and how his vehicle went overlooked for two years, given the extensive search efforts described in the documentation shared by the sheriff’s office.

All they know is that Haux and his friend and co-worker left the oil rig the night of Nov. 26 to retrieve his Suburban that they’d gotten stuck in a mud bog on Nov. 18.

In the early morning hours of Nov. 19, Haux’s rig mates returned to camp, Mower said. Haux apparently stayed with the vehicle and was rescued on Nov. 20. The sheriff’s office did not specify how Haux was recovered, though his daughters were told it was by a search plane.

It was this vehicle that Haux and his rig mate were going to retrieve the night he disappeared.

The man named in the report was driving the forklift they’d borrowed from the rig to dig out the vehicle. Cowboy State Daily is not identifying him, as law enforcement has not labeled him a person of interest in Haux’s disappearance.

It’s not clear if they were successfully able to free the vehicle, but when Haux tried to cross a ditch in his pickup, he was unable to do so. The co-worker tried “to knock down the bank of the ditch” that was blocking Haux from crossing but couldn’t, according to the sheriff’s report.

[{"type":"text","text":"Instead, Haux headed south along the ditch, looking for a passable route."}]

The co-worker watched Haux’s headlights fade into the night. That was the last time anyone saw him alive.

When nobody could locate him, Haux was officially reported missing two days later to the Sweetwater County Sheriff’s Office, which launched a 10-day search effort complete with four-wheelers and vehicles, said the report.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Frantic Search"}]

Lois, then 5 and the daughter of Haux’s second wife, Laquana, remembers how frantic her mother was when they got the call that Haux was missing.

Justy, who was 15, learned about it when she tried to call her father to wish him a happy Thanksgiving. She and her brother, Chancy, then 18, lived with their mother in Worland.

The sisters recall the family wanted to help look for him but were told by rescuers to stay put for their safety, given the dangerous terrain.

Meanwhile, the sisters said, Haux’s brother hired a pilot and attempted to search by airplane.  

The temperature the night Haux disappeared plunged from a high of 27 down to 10 degrees with no precipitation, according to historical weather data for Rock Springs from the National Weather Service.

Their dad was a tough man, Lois said, and an avid outdoorsman who they believe would have known how to handle himself safely in the elements. He was also a big guy at over 6 feet tall and just under 200 pounds.

“Our dad was outdoor smart,” she said. “He knew how to start a fire to keep warm and knew not to leave your shelter in a snowstorm or 20-degree weather or colder.”

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

This is just one of the details that doesn’t make sense to the sisters as they continue questioning the narrative, including whether the co-worker was thoroughly questioned after Haux’s disappearance.

Lois said her mother was told the co-worker had been acting like a “chicken with its head cut off” and was acting strangely when questioned.

They have never met the man nor had the chance to ask what he remembered, Justy clarified, nor are they blaming him. But they do wonder if he provided a full accounting of the night in question.

Mower said that the record indicates any interview with him “was fairly cursory.”

“I do not see documentation indicating that he was considered a person of interest in Haux’s disappearance,” he stated in an email.

The siblings also questioned the thoroughness of the search, especially since their father’s truck was found 6 miles from his last known location—  two years after he vanished.

Mower affirmed that extensive ground and air searches were conducted across more than 1,000 miles of remote and isolated terrain, efforts formally suspended on December 7, 2003.

When Haux’s pickup was discovered with its front wheels mired in a collapsed riverbank 

, they found a broken shovel and pieces of wood jammed beneath the tires — signs he had attempted to free the vehicle.

A red suitcase with Haux’s clothes was also found inside the unlocked cab.

Though additional searches took place after the truck was located in 2005, Mower stated there have been no further operations in the 20 years since.

He added that nothing at the scene indicated violence or criminal encounter. Nor was there evidence of meth labs or other hazards Haux might have stumbled into while seeking help.

“Given the remoteness and terrain, that scenario does not appear probable based on what we know,” Mower said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Looked Everyday"}]

Ryan Hasbrouck’s sympathy for the Haux children runs deep. His father, Kenneth, was the tool pusher on the rig where Haux went missing, and he took the disappearance to heart.

Hasbrouck says he felt it, too — he’d known Haux, worked for and alongside him over the years. He described him as a great worker and a smart guy who was incredibly well-liked. 

He wasn’t on the crew when Haux disappeared though; he’d left a couple months earlier to train as a directional driller.

Still, he remembers clearly how it weighed on his dad, who felt responsible. Hasbrouck recalls daily phone calls in which his father listed all the places he was still searching, weeks and months after Haux vanished.

“He looked every day, every night, even on his days off,” Hasbrouck said. “It ate at him.”

Hasbrouck was so worried about his own father going missing that he asked him to check in every day.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"‘Roughneck mentality’"}]

Hasbrouck also said it was common for oil-rig workers to cut across the desert — off the oilfield roads, across open country, no matter the risk.

The official roads built for semi-trucks hauling oil and water were passable — mostly unpaved or gravel two tracks. But they were long. Ninety minutes from town to a rig was not unusual, he said. This, coupled with 12-hour-plus workdays, had a way of making the open desert look like an option.

“It’s the roughneck mentality,” he said. “If they think they can save 30 or 40 minutes and they get to go home, they’re gonna do stupid shit.”

It’s easy to get lost and turned around out in the desert, especially at night, he added.

This was back before smartphones. Just flip phones with patchy service, no maps, no extras — nothing to help if you got turned around out there.

The country doesn’t forgive that kind of thinking, though. Hasbrouck put his own odds at about 50/50

“I’ve ended up stuck a few times, thinking, ‘Oh, I can go this way. It’ll save me 20 minutes,’” he said. 

The math didn’t always work out. One shortcut meant to save 30 minutes once cost him 6 hours after he drove into a snowdrift. Still, he’d try it again.

Hasbrouck guessed that Haux would have chosen to not stay with the vehicle because he wouldn’t want to trouble anyone to come rescue him again. Instead, Hasbrouck believes he would have tried to make it back to the rig but got lost or succumbed to the elements.

He doesn’t suspect foul play, he said.  He knew both Haux and the last man to see him and doesn’t believe he would have tried to harm him.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Definitely not,” he said. “Those two were buddies."}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"‘Tough Country’"}]

As to how Haux’s vehicle was missed during the initial search efforts, Mike Lujan can lend some insight.

As president of the Carbon County Search and Rescue West division, with 35 years of service behind him, he’s done many such searches on similar terrain.

He was not part of the search efforts for Haux, even though the area straddled his county, where Haux’s vehicle was ultimately found. Given the location of where he was last seen, jurisdiction fell to Sweetwater County.

But he knows that country well — it’s one of his favorite places to hunt elk.

“It’s tough country,” he said. “Desert. Draws. Washouts.”

It also can be dangerous. Dusty and muddy with thick sagebrush that can be as high as 4 or 5 feet high. An elk can disappear in it from 200 yards out.

A person could get lost and never be found.

“Outlaws used to go there to hide,” Lujan said. “There’s a lot of ground out there that will never be covered.”

While he was not directly involved in the search for Haux, Lujan said that standard search and rescue protocol would have led teams to trace the trajectory of the headlights along the ditch, as the last witness described.

The original rescuers did just that, according to the report, asking him to sit in the vehicle and point in the direction that he last remembered seeing the lights.

[{"type":"text","text":"It would have been the natural route for rescuers to follow, Lujan said."}]

“You would kind of get a visual of where he drove the vehicle down that wash and try to recreate his travel,” he said.

In his experience, typically people are found within a mile of their vehicle before succumbing to the weather or getting turned around, he said.

He can’t speak to why the purple pickup would have been overlooked for two years by land and air but said both people and objects are easily hidden in the scrub.

Technology is also much better now, including equipment and training and the use of cadaver dogs and search K9s, he said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Finding Needle in Haystack"}]

Still, sometimes, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack in that wild country.

Lujan described one such search for an elderly man who wandered off into the rolling, windswept hills outside Hanna after getting into an argument with a family member.

Despite dozens of people searching on horses, side-by-sides, two helicopters, an airplane and drones, nobody could locate him the first day. It was until the following day that he was found alive, laying in a barrow ditch along a highway outside of town.

It was an area that had been searched, including a helicopter with thermal and heat signatures. Many vehicles had also driven past without spotting him.

It was his dog, Meshach, that ultimately led him to the man within minutes of the search that second day.

[{"type":"text","text":"“In many cases, it’s a matter or luck or prayer,” he said."}]

Thus far, there have been no sightings or other activity to suggest Haux is still alive, but his family said there’s no way he would have just left them.

His DNA and fingerprints are on file in CODIS, the FBI’s national Combined DNA Index System.

Both Justy and Chancy provided their DNA samples along with Haux’s two siblings.

This means if remains are ever recovered that match his profile, law enforcement will automatically be notified.

That hasn’t happened yet — though two skulls have already turned up in the Red Desert area.

, which gave the family a fleeting sense of hope as they waited a year to hear the results.

“I fully believed that was our father,” Lois said, describing the long year of agony waiting for the tests results to come back.

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<title>Daughters Haunted By Dad’s Disappearance In Red Desert Near Wamsutter 23 Years Ago | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Nearly 23 years after Clifford “Russ” Haux vanished in the Red Desert near Wamsutter, his daughters are still haunted. The 42-year-old husband and father of three had gone out with a co-worker to free a stuck vehicle and never returned.

Daughters Haunted By Dad’s Disappearance In Red Desert Near Wamsutter 23 Years Ago

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's general assignment reporter, Clair McFarland.

Clair McFarland

Crime & Courts

The family of Buck Laramore is collecting $400,000 after Laramore’s 2023 death in a shootout with Thermopolis Police sergeant Mike Mascorro, according to a settlement agreement Cowboy State Daily obtained Friday.

 without a warrant April 28, 2023, to arrest him on suspicion of misdemeanor police interference.

The family of a man shot to death in a shootout with a former Thermopolis police sergeant will receive $400,000 in a settlement agreement. A special prosecutor determined the sergeant entered the man's home illegally.

Sharon Lee Hancock, 56