The Ties that Bind

There are two types of visitors to Pinedale, Wyoming: oilmen and tourists.  The tourist season is over.

So when I drove through Pinedale looking for a hotel room to organize my backpacking gear and saw several “no vacancy” signs, I knew the oilmen were here.  I could also tell by the trucks – the oil guys’ trucks are fullsize no-nonsense models; lots of four-wheel-drive but few leather seats.  A grayish-brown dust covers the lower two feet of the body paneling.  The trucks are never ostentatiously muddy, like a kid who’s been bogging, but they’re never clean.

So I don’t know why, when I walked out of my hotel room to find a burger and a beer, I put on my button-up Polo shirt and tucked it into my Carhartt pants.  I guess I got used to Georgia, where collared shirts are closer to the norm.  But when I stood in the bar on the main drag in Pinedale, leaning against the wall with a beer waiting for my hamburger, I was far and above the nicest-dressed person there in my collared shirt.  I felt a little self-conscious.

Most of the other folks were in sweaters or tee shirts.  They sat clustered around a few tables watching the Cowboys-Giants game.  I ordered my burger, took a number, then ordered a beer and looked for a spot to sit.  There were a couple chairs at the end of one table, but everyone at that table seemed to know each other, so I didn’t sit.  And there were some folks leaning against a wall by a collection of empty kegs.  I flipped one of the kegs over and sat down on the smooth end.  I had forgotten about the hole in the backside of my pants, but I remembered it when my butt hit the aluminum.

One of the oilmen saw me flip the keg.  “Hey, man, there’s some chairs over here if you want to sit down.”

I thanked him and told the keg had been cold on my ass.  I sat down.  His name was Clyde, and he was a Vikings fan.  Family from Minnesota.  We talked about Favre’s new uniform for awhile, then he asked who my team was.

“You aren’t going to like this, but I’m a Packers guy,” I said.

He said his wife was too.  I met some other folks at the table, and before long a young couple in Steelers jerseys sat down.  His name was Scott, and hers was Tatiana.   Another guy at the table had a Russian wife, and he paid Tatiana a compliment in Russian.  She took Scott’s hand as she thanked the other guy.  All of us at the same table – Georigans, Wyominers, Russians; oilmen, lawyers, who-knows-what.  I drank my beer and ate my burger and we all watched the game and yelled at the screen.

America.  What a great country.