Buffalo Bill’s Grave

There’s something strangely poetic about Buffalo Bill and I ending our journeys in the same place. On my way back home from Traviata at Central City, I saw a sign at the exit reading “Buffalo Bill Gravesite,” so you know I had to go. Recently I have decided to no longer hesitate. Life has become all the more colorful ever since I began saying yes, taking that detour.

The road curved up at a 7% grade and finally came to Lookout Mountain Park and Buffalo Bill’s grave site. Nestled on a small summit, shaded by pines.


And with what a view:


The museum was closed, but the gift shop would remain open until sunset. I wandered for a moment, aimless, among personalized keychains, plastic Native American dolls, poster prints of Sitting Bull. And I knew that Col. Cody would be saddened and infinitely confused by it all. Or would he be?


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