For a guy who was born in Wyoming and has spent pretty close to his whole life here, I’m a big wimp when it comes to wind. I can take it for reasonably extended periods when it’s blowing in the 15- to 20-mile-per-hour range, but beyond that, it gets on my nerves in a hurry.
I was born in Riverton, which isn’t exactly the world’s windiest place. But it’s been known to howl through there with pretty amazing force frequently. Then I went to college in Laramie, which is a town that can boast about surviving some mighty horrific gales. And since 1999, I’ve lived in Cheyenne. The capital city is by far the windiest place I’ve been for an extended period of time, and not just in the months when the Legislature is in town.
Even during January and February, it’s not as windy here, on average, as it is in some of Wyoming’s more blustery places. But we get more than our fair share of gusty weather.
You’d think all that time spent dealing with the wind would harden me to its effects. It seems I should be nearly impervious to all but the most powerful gusts. I do have a permanent tilt to my stance that kilters toward the northwest, but I’m far from being immune to wind.
In fact, I think the years I’ve spent fighting the wind may have beat me down. Instead of ignoring it like many of my friends do, I dread it. I get tired of turning my steering wheel 30 degrees into the wind in order to drive in a straight line. I’m sick of hearing shingles being ripped off my roof in the middle of the night. And I’ve given up even trying to fly-fish when the wind’s kicking up past the 15-mile-per-hour mark.
There. I’ve said it. I hate the wind. But with everything else we have in Wyoming, like great big game hunting, lots of places to take a shot at a duck or a goose, some of the best trout fishing waters on the planet, and places like the Hoback, the Tetons, the Bridger Wilderness, and the Red Desert, I think I can put up with a little bit of breezy weather.