Outlaw & The Girls
Tipton Getaway

We didn’t plan it that way, but that’s the way it turned out. I suppose the structure of this trip in search of the Outlaw Trail was partly the reason the guys just weren’t interested. Visiting historical sites along the highway, spending time in towns, and driving on back country graded roads just didn’t turn them on.

Eyebrows were twitching and whispering walls were buzzing as the word spread that Outlaw was taking three women out into the bushes of Wyoming in an attempt to connect the outlaw trail from Tipton to Hole in the Wall. The fact that Rambling Rose was bringing Loco Weed with her seemed to be forgotten. We’re not sure if that’s because he wasn’t a driver or simply because so many people were having fun with the idea that it was just Outlaw & the Girls.

When Dennis (Pass Patrol’s next door neighbor) came over to tease Outlaw, it kind of backfired on him. He said, “Just you and three women! Can I go?”

“You’ll have to bring your own girls,” Outlaw answered with a grin. “You cain’t have none of mine.”

By the time the group left Denver, even the Internet was buzzing with the news.

The group consisted of Outlaw in Blaze, Sunshine in her Bronco, Magnolia in her Cherokee, and Ramblin’ Rose & Loco Weed in her Rodeo.

Our first stop was in Laramie, Wyoming. We took the tour of the prison where Butch Cassidy was a prisoner in his early years. Butch was released before his term was complete on the promise that he wouldn’t rob any banks in Wyoming. Unfortunately, the governor forgot to make him promise to leave trains alone.

Our gang managed to get out of the prison before anyone recognized us so even Loco Weed got out without being locked up. That night we camped in the Medicine Bow National Forest. The next day, we stopped at the ghost site of Wilcox where the Wild Bunch held up a train June 2 of 1899. It’s just a sign post along side the railroad tracks now.

Since we were in the area, we stopped in Medicine Bow. The TV series of the Virginian from years gone by was adapted from a novel with the same title written about a ranch near Medicine Bow.

By mid-afternoon, we were in Tipton where the Wild Bunch used just a little too much dynamite trying to open a safe and ended up destroying the entire train car. That happened August 29, 1900.

We cut cross country on a possible Outlaw Trail getaway path for Hole in the Wall. Along the way, we stopped at South Pass City which is a preserved ghost town.  We then visited the ghost town of Miner’s Delight. There are still several buildings standing. The forest service defines Miner’s Delight as being in a state of “arrested decay”. Apparently that means they are not restoring it but trying to keep it from falling down.

From South Pass City, we followed the Oregon Trail and Pony Express Trail going east for 25 miles.  

Eventually, we headed north and sneaked in the back way to Hole in the Wall; the most famous of the hideouts on the outlaw trail.

Since Loco Weed’s birthday was so close, we decided to throw him a birthday party at a camp just west of Hole in the Wall. Of course Outlaw voted to throw him in the creek, but the girls thought it would be more fun to cook an apple cobbler in the Dutch oven and put a candle on it. Magnolia found an old candle stashed away in her miscellaneous box while Sunshine prepared the Cobbler. Because Loco Weed’s camcorder was not low enough lux to record by candle light, Outlaw lit up his Warn lights and turned night into day.

The Tipton Getaway Trail will be written a little later and will appear in 4Wheel Drive & Sport Utility Magazine. Overall, the trail was mostly graded dirt, however, the section across the Oregon Trail and the section into Hole in the Wall were 4Wheeling.

We covered 295 miles from Tipton to Hole in the Wall and only 25 miles was paved.

Don’t be too concerned if you didn’t get an August issue of Campfire Tales. No else did either. We just didn’t have time to get one done! We have extended subcription expiration dates for one month to make up for it. Memberships will not change since Campfire Tales is free to members.

1996 has been a phenominal year for Pass Patrol. Book store sales are the highest they’ve ever been. That causes lots of problems but they are all good problems.

The number one biggest obstacle I’ve encountered is Time. I would love to buy an extra week now and then. Sunshine has been helping me get orders filled promptly. It has been all both of us could do just to keep up with book store orders during July and August.

We also signed up another national chain this year. Barnes and Noble now has Pass Patrol books on their computer and some of their stores are beginning to stock selected items on their shelves. We considered that to be quite an achievement since B&N told us a few years ago that they would not buy from us unless we went through an approved distributor. I expect that as time went on, they could no longer ignore the large number of customers who were asking for our books.

We’re over the hump for ‘96 now that school has begun and things will soon be back to normal.

Those of you who subscribe to 4Wheel Drive & Sport Utility have already seen the September issue with “Trails of the Ancients”. The October issue will have “Devil’s Highway” in it and that should be followed soon by Miner’s Run, White Rim, and Castlegate Getaway.

The single most gratifying experience for me as a free lance writer is when editors call me looking for a story they feel I can deliver. Those of you who receive Amoco’s RoadSmart Magazine will find one of my stories in the winter issue.

The Outlaw Trail series I’ve been doing has generated a lot of interest from a lot of different magazines. Since I promised the initial series to 4WD&SU, I’ve put off responding to those inquiries.

It doesn’t seem all that long ago when I couldn’t find anyone to publish my stories. I first came up with the idea for guide books about the Adventures of Pass Patrol and Trails & Tales of Pass Patrol in 1984. Publishers turned me down and said there was no market for such books. Being determined, I purchased a printing press and did it myself.

Now publishers CALL ME offering to publish my books. Maybe some day, when Dino (my printing press) finally dies beyond repair, I’ll take them up on it. For now, I kinda like the control and flexibility that only self-publishing can offer.

While on assignment from RoadSmart Magazine, I ended up near the old mining community of Crown King in the Bradshaw Mountains just north of Phoenix. I found lots of great 4Wheel drive trails, pieces and parts of old ghost towns, and then I found Kelly.

It started in the usual way. I read a book about the original Senator Highway and the Peck Mine. I located the road and the mine on a map. Then I went looking for it.

On the east side of the mountains, a narrow rocky unmarked path branched off the main road. After a short distance, it branched again. According to my map, the left fork was the most direct way to the original Senator Highway so I tried it first. I came to a chain laying across the road and decided I might be getting into private property so I turned around and took the other fork. It was extremely rocky and had not been used in a very long time. The sharp rocks gouged at my sidewalls, but the BFG All Terrain's lived up to their name.

Eventually, the road entered the back side of what used to be the Swastika Mine, then made a sharp switchback toward the top of the mountain. In order to make that switchback, I had to pull into the driveway of the Swastika and turn around. As I did that, a man walked out of one building and asked where I was going.

“Just exploring,” I answered.

“Gets mighty rough on the other side of the mountain,” he responded. “Liable to scrape all the paint off that pretty new Blazer.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. Ain’t nobody used that road in years. You’ll find it just past the Peck Mine. Kelly lives up there.”

I thanked him for the warning and continued up the mountain. The road wound back and forth along narrow switchbacks until it crested the top. According to the book I had purchased in the Crown King General Store, that crest was the site of the ghost town of Alexandria, but there is nothing left.

I followed the main road downhill and found myself at a dead-end in someone’s driveway. I was trying to figure out how to get turned around when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw someone coming from behind carrying a shotgun. I decided the best move at that point would be to make no move at all.

“Howdy,” the old timer said as he stepped up to the passenger side of my Blazer. “I’ll move my truck so you can get turned around in my yard.”

He walked past the Blazer, then turned around and walked back. “Soon as you get turned around, how about coming in to visit for a spell.”

“Sure,” I answered, still feeling a little uncomfortable with the circumstances. After all, here I was, twenty miles from the nearest road, in a dense forest, at an old shack with an Old Timer who carries a shotgun. “I was lovin’ every minute!”

As we started toward his shack, the Old Timer introduced himself as, “Kelly.” “This was the Peck Mine,” he said. “My sister is part owner of it. She lives in Denver.”

As soon as we started talking, I realized I had nothing to fear from Kelly. He seemed pleased to have some company.

“Everything in this house runs on twelve volts,” he said proudly. “Them solar panels in the yard charges up these batteries under the table and that’s all I need.”

He had a refrigerator, TV, VCR, fans, lights, and other miscellaneous equipment all running off his batteries.

“Did you see my Range Rover,” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

If not for the Ranger Rover emblem on the back, no one would have guessed what it was.

“A woman rolled it off one of them mountains by Crown King. Insurance paid it off but left it up to her to get it back on the road. I told her I’d like to have it. She handed me the title and went home. I got some equipment and pulled it back up the mountain. Ain’t it a dandy?”

The Rover’s top had been crushed and was completely removed. The windshield was formed with sheet metal. The sides were so mangled there was not a smooth panel anywhere.

“It’s only got 12,000 miles on it. By the time I got it up the mountains, squirrels had eaten all the wiring so I had to replace the fuel injection with a carburetor off an old junker on the other side of the mountain. After that I was using leaded gas and the catalytic converters plugged up so I replaced them with straight pipes.”

Kelly flipped a switch on the dash and the motor came to life. “She purrs like a cat.”

I asked what the two huge tanks were for behind the driver’s seat.

“I don’t have well water up here so I use the Rover to truck in what I need.”

We went back to the shack and Kelly pulled a brochure from a stack of papers and magazines. “You know anything about these things?” he asked pointing to a satellite dish. “I’m getting tired of watching these old videos.” He pointed to a wall completely lined with videos. “I think I’m gonna get me one of these things.”

We were discussing the benefits of a dish when my cellular phone rang in the Blazer.

“What’s that?” Kelly asked.

“My office in Denver is calling,” I explained.

Kelly was impressed that a phone call from Denver could be reaching his shack. “How do I get me one of those things?”

As I stood up to leave, Kelly handed me a six pack of beer. “Give this to Virgil & John at the Swastika and they’ll let you take the short cut off the mountain. It’s a whole lot quicker.”

Kelly followed me to the car. “You know where I live,” he grinned. “I’ll expect to see you again someday.”

I handed Kelly a copy of 4WD&SU with the Ancients story in it. “I sure do thank you. After I read it, I’ll pass it around to all the other guys around here.”

As I started the motor, I wondered just how many people like Kelly were living in the mountains on private claims.

I headed back over the mountain to the Swastika and drove into the driveway. The man I had talked to earlier walked toward the car.

“Are you Virgil?” I asked.

“I’m Virgil,” came a voice from another shack down the mountain on my left.

“Kelly sent you a care package,” I said holding up the six pack.

John was still coming toward me as Virgil rushed up the stairs from the level below. “I sure am glad he did that,” John smiled. “Virgil’s been trying to get me to go to town and get him a six pack for the past two days. Guess I don’t have to go now.”

Virgil and John were younger than Kelly, but friendly and talkative. John explained that his father owned the Swastika but hardly ever visited it.

“What you doing up here,” Virgil asked.

“I’m a writer,” I answered. “I just drive around and look for things to write about.”

“Must be good at it to be driving a nice car like that.”

We spent some time talking about writers, tourists, politics, and most other subjects they were interested in.

“Next time you come up here, you can write about our brewery,” John said. “I’ve saved up some money. Me and another fella are gonna build us a brewery and get into some of that easy money.”

Eventually, I decided I should get back to work, so I headed for the Blazer.

“Take the shortcut across our property. It’s a whole lot quicker and ain’t so likely to bust up that pretty truck.”

As I started off, Virgil called, “You know where we live. We’ll expect to see you again some day.”

I’ve never seen a bear in the woods. But then, I haven’t gone looking for one either. Fact is, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings one little bit if I never saw one.

Can’t say that I especially care to sleep with one either. I would just as soon the bears get their own tents.

On the last night of our Miner’s run trip at about 3a.m. I was suddenly awakened by a loud noise outside my tent. I listened intently as something knocked things off my folding picnic table which was sitting about two feet away from my tent. I reached for mother and realized she wasn’t in the tent with me.

(Mother is what I named my 357 Magnum. When I bought it, I told the salesman I needed something that if a bear happened into my tent, I could convince him he had the wrong tent.)

I grabbed the flashlight and flipped it on. The entire tent glowed like a UFO and pulsated as I waved it around and flipped it on and off. Whatever had been outside, left in a hurry.

The only other persons in camp that night was TC and his wife Pat. I could hear voices coming from their tent and knew they had been visited too. Going back to sleep without Mother at my side was not easy. I tossed and turned most of the night dreaming about bears and listening for our friend to return.

The next morning, I met TC near his tent. Our visitor had turned over their ice chest and ate everything in it. He had left a huge fang hole in their plastic butter holder and a long scratch across the top of their picnic table.

“Did you see it,” I asked.

“Are you kidding! My gun was in the Jeep. Wasn’t no way I was gonna stick my head of the tent.”

“What do you think our chances are for a return visit tonight,” Pat asked.

“I’d say pretty good since you folks fed him so well.”

“I think we’ll stay in a motel.”

I went back to my tent and picked up everything our visitor had knocked off my table. Since there had been no food for him to get, nothing of mine was damaged.

It was a good lesson. After nearly 15 years of carefree uneventful camping near St. Elmo, I had dropped my guard. This time the flashlight trick had worked. Next time Mother will be with me just in case it don’t work twice. Always keep your ice chest locked inside your vehicle.

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