Sometimes, you just want to drive a hundred miles – no more, no less.
That’s how we ended up at the Little America truck stop in Cheyenne. I thought I knew what was coming, having prided myself on inside knowledge gained by riding around the country on a motorcycle some 30 years ago, when I was a young moron who had read Jack Kerouac once too often.
I had heard of Little America – even read an obscure novel set there – but never actually been to the place. Still, I felt sure we could find a groaning, greasy breakfast there, and probably Conway Twitty’s greatest hits, on eight-track.
Apparently, you’re never too old to be dead wrong.
No semi in sight
We rolled off Interstate 25 toward the piney windbreak that surrounds the Little America complex and saw not one semi-
truck, only the torn-up Sinclair gas plaza (it was being remodeled). The process of fueling up, which I thought was the whole point of a truck stop, had been shunted.
That’s when we became aware of a “nine-hole executive golf course,” conference rooms, oversized guest rooms and an Olympic-size pool. Little America is fancy, though its beginnings were not. Its founder, known only as Mr. Covey, was herding sheep in western Wyoming during a blizzard, which he survived by imagining a friendly oasis in the barren plains. It would be poetically just, he thought, to name that place after Adm. Richard Byrd’s Antarctic outpost. The first Little America opened in 1934.
Cheyenne is the second in a chain of eight acquired and developed by Sinclair chairman Earl Holding, who bought the outfit from Covey.
“It grew with the needs of the community,” says Gilda Merritt, director of sales. “Even 20 years ago, if you were passing through Cheyenne on a road trip, you might have assumed we were nothing but a fueling station, with all the trucks around. But it was always a place to rest your head, and this particular one was designed for banquets. Food has always been a nice, upscale product for us.”
No kidding. Sunday Brunch in the Western Gold Dining Room was enhanced by a pianist playing excellent boogie-woogie. Brunch runs $21.95 for adults and includes a buffet of oysters, “sheered” eggs, smoked salmon and other delicacies. Sensing sticker shock – as well as seriously casual clothing – the hostess kindly suggested we come back for “a special occasion.”
A regular breakfast
On to the coffee shop instead, with its vintage mid-’60s booths and crisp black uniforms. Our waitress, Agatha, had a luminous quality, as if she were actually Audrey Hepburn playing the role of a waitress marooned on the wind-swept plain. The table next to us filled up with seniors. It was hard not to eavesdrop on their polite conversation and wonderful names.
“Calvin, this is Henrietta from our church.”
“Dwayne, this is Meredith and Norma.”
“Would you say a blessing for us?”
“Lord, we ask you to bless this food. And we understand that belief in Jesus Christ makes all the difference. Amen.”
They all had the daily special, beginning with vegetable soup. In spite of the menu, which offered “fruit, delicately arranged” and salads made with baby greens, we ate regular American breakfast food.
Antarctic stuffed penguin
Afterward, as we walked past the authentic Antarctic stuffed penguin in the Little America lobby, past its high-rent gift shop – limited-edition bronzes and crystal figurines – the piano player swung into Henry Mancini’s “The Pink Panther.” A few seed caps floated in the sea of cowboy hats, but most people were decked out in their Sunday best. Clearly, Little America is the kind of place you take your grandmother for her birthday.
It still offers $5 showers for truckers, but the oasis has morphed into a resort, and why not? Though I have to think the atmosphere has changed since the sheepherding days.
Hey, for all I know, Johnson’s Corner has become a day spa.
Robin Chotzinoff is a freelance writer who lives in Evergreen.
