Day 19-Saco River Beer: For Appreciating Giant Rocks and a Nighttime Cliff Dweller
October 7th, 2025
With Custer in the rearview mirror, the Royals hit the road early — clean sheets, fresh laundry, a few good local beers, and a fresh box of chillable red in the fridge. Next stop: Devils Tower, Wyoming — a short hop of 151 miles.
As we roll through the Black Hills, traffic is nonexistent, though we pass evidence of big forest fires along the way. Soon, we cross into Wyoming, and the landscape opens into vast plains with distant, rugged mountains on the horizon.
Not long after, we come to a dead stop — maybe ten cars and a few RVs ahead of us. A young guy from Pennsylvania leans out of his SUV window and says, “Looks like a bad accident. We’ve been here twenty minutes already. Usually, when they stop you this long, it’s a death.”
After waiting about twenty minutes, I hop out and chat with two motorcyclists in front of us — Claud and Stephan, from Germany, touring the western states and having a blast. As I start telling them we’re doing the same, a helicopter suddenly appears overhead. A few minutes later, traffic begins to move again—Bingo — back up to 60 mph with only 50 miles to go.
The scenery shifts again as strange buttes rise from the plains, and soon we see Devils Tower looming in the distance. “Wow,” I say — it’s gigantic, just like I remembered from passing through with some king-crabbing buddies back in 1979 on our way east for Christmas.
We arrive at the base, and I walk the full three-mile perimeter trail. Impressive and spiritual, to say the least. We find a spectacular campsite just outside the park, with an unbeatable view looking straight up at the tower. Unbelievable!
Dinner’s at the Diamond Bar — good old Wyoming ribeyes (Jess’s favorite and her real birthday dinner ❤️). Behind the bar is Stephanie, who tells us her story. The restaurant is part of the same family that owns the 10,000-acre ranch surrounding Devil’s Tower. “During the day, they’re working the ranch — eight generations now — moving 800 head of cattle and cutting hay like crazy for winter feed.”
When I ask if she’s from around here, she laughs. “No — I grew up in San Bernardino, California. My husband’s from Florida. We met in the Army in Iraq. He’s retired military now, and I’m a child therapist. I just tend bar a few nights a week.” She smiles. “We moved here over ten years ago to get away from it all — and we love it.”
After a delicious ribeye dinner, we head back to camp. I crack open a special Saco River beer I brought all the way from Maine and sip it under the moonlight, staring up at Devils Tower. A small light flickers halfway up — a climber spending the night on a ledge I’d seen him scaling earlier. “Crazy,” I mutter. “That guy’s got guts.”
As darkness settles in, we crawl into our warm bed, grateful for the day and the wild beauty around us. The Royals sure hit the jackpot today. 🍀🍺
