We heard about the cowgirl who stands beside her headless cowboy. Did she decapitate him? Or does she stand beside her man in his time of need? We set out to solve the mystery.

Along the way we discovered more cowgirls. On the eastern edge of Amarillo, the Big Texan Steak Ranch gives you a 72-oz steak free if you can eat it in an hour, with shrimp cocktail, salad, a baked potato the size of your head, and roll with butter. That may not sound like a big prize, but like the snake who swallowed a pig, you won’t need to eat for six months.

Hopalong Cassidy, who may be in this photo, was our server. She’s the real deal cowgirl raised on a feed lot turning calves into steers, and she could “whup any boy that made fun ‘o me.”

More cowgirl. We continued our quest to find the headless cowboy and his date.

The Santa Fe Chief chugged into the depot. It hissed to a stop and we made a break down Guadalupe Street to Santa Fe’s historic Cowgirl Cafe for wings and sliders and bbq surrounded by a 130-year-old building dressed in bronco bustin’ cowgirl culture.

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The action photos raised an appetite, even though the horses and steers were all looking at me..

Inspired by the historic photos at Cowgirl Cafe, my cowgirl took me to Taos, where a platter of chile rellenos gave me the courage to bust this bronco.

Back in Santa Fe we said hello to Georgia…

The one-two punch of Santa Fe’s rarified air (7200 ft elevation) and Canyon Road shopping kicked my ass. I spied a bench, only partially occupied by an old friend from back home. Tipped my cap to this bronzed bard. He ignored me for a spell, then he leaned over and said, “It’s easier to fool people than to convince them that they’ve been fooled.” I smiled, “That’s a good one. But my favorite from you: ‘Better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.‘ You said that, didn’t you?” The bronze bard sat silent.

Cheryl crossed into her 50th state. Montana’s Madison River valley opened up like a Georgia O’Keefe flower. Big sky.

We found the erstwhile cowboy and his killer date overlooking the Madison River coming out of Yellowstone. From a distance they seemed content. But as we drew closer I heard her complain he wasn’t listening to her. Just past the cowgirl whose boyfriend lost his head, we spied a shotgun shack, a fixer upper we agreed would make a fine one-lane bowling alley.

Helena was hospitable, notwithstanding the obligatory warrior statue on the capitol grounds.

May the road continue to surprise and inspire you.