Before we leave Casper, I would be remiss if I did not mention the Saturday night traditional KG style dinner at what was reputed to be the best restaurant in Casper, the FireRock Steakhouse out on the east side of town. A local institution, as the story went. The story as recounted by Roxy, anyhow, who heard it from someone somewhere, maybe the Beacon.
As it happened, when it came time to head out there, just after the Saturday races and when everyone had gone back to their respective digs to clean up, what should arise to blot out the sun with the darkening force of a million murders of the blackest of crows and angry evil ones at that who mean you no good at all, each cawing loudly in a chilling crow cacaphony, but the most ferocious dark and black thunderstorm you could possibly imagine, it having picked that exact moment to arise after sort of threatening to arise all day off and on, but mostly sputtering along and not doing so until that very precise moment, because, well, that's just how thunderstorms roll. Buckets - nay barrels - of rain were pouring and crashing down, mostly sideways, powered by a howling wind with Grade 1 lightning and thunder accompaniment. Cats, dogs, and toads from four states away were being poured down. And yet, we had a reservation. At a time. A specific time.
So off I struck on the Interstate in the thunderstorm, because you never want to be late for post time, creeping along at maybe max 25 mph through the lakes on the dark freeway, the poor ChumpMobile literally swimming down the road, the roof threatening to buckle under the pounding, and all the while the windows helpfully fogging over more and more so as to help me see that road ahead even better than I already couldn't see it through the rain.
Somehow by the grace of God, I got there in one piece, the entire 2.5 mile journey taking what seemed like an eternity, parked the rig way out in the parking lot in one of the few empty spots, unlimbered my handy Illinois portable umbrella against the elements, and set out for the door. The wind promptly collapsed the umbrella. I made it inside thoroughly soaked. Meanwhile the restaurant staff was bravely venturing out to the parking lot with umbrellas to escort other guests in. That's how Roxy finally made it, after having dropped his crew off at the entrance.
Then a fine social occasion was had by all, those both soaked and dry, and thanks Roxy for the treat. But after all that, the dinner at the finest restaurant in Casper was - and I'm not alone in this assessment - merely "okay".
And oh yeah, the rainstorm ended almost immediately after we had been seated.
Dave and I went back to the track on Sunday. I wanted some more racin' action and to win back my money from Saturday.
Result = Action, yes, winnin' back, no.