(Apologies to Horace Greeley)
Part One…
States 44, 45, 46, 47 and 48:
North Dakota: Theodore Roosevelt National Park ( Land of many cultures and tribes, but primarily the Mandan and Hidatsa): Cycling 34 miles, hiking 5.4 miles
Montana: Glacier National Park (Blackfeet, Salish, Pend d’Oreille and Kootenai tribes): Cycling the Going to the Sun Road, 34 miles, Hiking the John Lake Loop, 2 miles, Avalanche Lake, 4 miles, Running Eagle Falls, 2 miles
Wyoming: Yellowstone National Park (A battleground for the Crows, the Blackfeet, the Bannocks, and the Shoshones): various short hikes, and 5 mile loop at Beaver Ponds; Grand Teton National Park (Shoshone, Bannock, Blackfoot, Crow, Flathead, Gros Ventre, and Nez Perce): Cycling 12.6 miles on the bike trail solo, 33.5 miles with Graham, hiking 4 miles
South Dakota: Badlands National Park (Mammoth hunters were here early, then nomadic tribes of bison hunters, the last of whom were the Lakota, who still reside here): Cycling 12 miles on the Park Loop in extremely challenging conditions, Hiking 1 mile; Wind Cave National Park: Hiking 2 miles
Nebraska: The Lincoln Highway: Cycling 26.4 miles
Plus various hikes and cycling adventures in Crested Butte, Colorado and vicinity
PLUS, we drove. And Drove. and DROVE. Total miles: 7,159: In an enclosed space. With our respective spouses. And no one got divorced. And no one got strangled. Kip passed out a couple times, but I swear, I didn’t do it!
Many adventures awaited us as we loaded up the Subaru on August 7, 2020. Oh wait, 2021. Lost a year in there somehow.
I packed light, but I did bring two bicycles. Ostensibly, one was for Kip, but it was also my reserve ride. Kip brought an entire duffel filled with shoes. Graham and Betsy packed their minivan with pretty much everything they owned. I was super grateful that Graham brought a bike rack that could accommodate his recumbent ride and my road bike.
We departed in tenuous times: our route led directly to the raging wildfires in Idaho and Montana, and Covid was stalking the unvaccinated and spreading rapidly in all the states we planned to visit beyond Minnesota. But we four agreed that times are always tenuous, in one way or another. We had reserves of pent-up energy from our sixteen months at home, and having been vaccinated, we believed that if we didn’t fly and we remained vigilant, we could mimimize the risk. Additionally, driving opened up the possibility of visiting family and friends along the way, which proved to be a joy. Some trips just have to be taken at ground level.
Day One, we drove to Chagrin Falls, Ohio to have dinner with three friends from Kip, Graham, and Betsy’s days at Kenyon College a decade ago… just kidding! Their graduation day is now forty (40!) years in the rearview mirror. Along the way, Kip’s aging Iphone earned a name- Fred, short for Fred Noonan, hapless navigator for Amelia Earhart. We learned early not to rely on Fred for anything. That would have been a good decision for Amelia, but too late to change that, now.
With the help of my Android, we arrived in town to find that our hotel room had been canceled. Not only that, we learned that it was a major holiday in Chagrin Falls: Twins Day. On this auspicious day, annually, twins descend on Chagrin Falls from all over the world to be in the company of other twins. Through the kindness of Townplace Suites’ manager, Dolly, Kip and I were able to get a room (a really big expensive room with a separate room for our bikes), and she took pity on us and gave us a $100 discount. Graham and Betsy (GNB) just stayed with our friends. Crisis averted. Dinner enjoyed by all.
Day Two we headed towards Madison, Wisconsin, where we didn’t know anybody but we thought eight hours of driving would be enough for one day. We were wrong. Before we left Cleveland, I took Kip to a park so he could catch his first glimpse of a Great lake, specifically, Erie. He was suitably impressed, or at least he was happy to take an extra bathroom break, as was I. Then we hit the road with aplomb. There were numerous signs in the area asking us to be prepared to stop. We were. We did.
Ninety minute dead stop on Interstate… yup, 90. Kids were getting out of their parents’ cars and running on the roadbed across the barriers. Next, we had to get through the Windy City. I don’t know how windy it was this day but there sure were a lot of cars. It was a slog to log the miles.
So we didn’t get to the Madison area until 7:30 pm, and that left no time for a bike or a hike or even a run. We set our sights on the following day to try to wrangle Wisconsin for 50 in the Fifties. We grabbed burgers at a brewpub next to the Americinn in Menona, Wisconsin. My burger was topped with peanut butter, which proved surprisingly tasty, but just maybe I should not have chosen a burger called the Edmund Fitzgerald. That was a hard luck ship, probably would have made Whitefish Bay if she’d put fifteen more miles behind her…
Predictably, by seven the net morning, the rain was sheeting down. Just loading the bikes back onto their racks left us drenched. I do not ride in downpours.
We proceeded to Plan B. It was a great day for a visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s home, Taliesen. It was either that, or the National Mustard Museum.
We took a two-hour tour of the house, studio, and grounds, which was fascinating, even macabre. Almost all the furnishings are original. There are two women in their late nineties still living there who were among the apprentices working under FLW in their youth. One was FLW’s personal secretary. You can feel their presence behind the red walls. What stories they could tell… But by far the spookiest story is not theirs, but Frank’s.
FLW was a philandering egotist who had a wife and six children when he up and left them for a mistress and spent some years in Paris. When he returned, he settled into Taliesen with the new wife. A few years later, when FLW was out of town, the butler opened a gas can and poured gasoline all around the house, locked all the doors and windows except one, then set fire to the house. He then stood under the single open window and hacked everyone to death as they emerged, including FLW’s wife, a child or two, and the whole staff.
It is difficult to segue from this tale, and it was tough for FLW to quiet his demons, but he did marry again and spent the rest of his life rebuilding and improving Taliesen to please this third spouse.
The tour ended and the rain abated, but we had a five hour drive ahead of us to Minneapolis, where we were all going to reunite with family we haven’t seen in ages. So when it comes to 50 in the Fifties, Wisconsin edition, it’s back to the drawing board.
Though Betsy tried to convince me to count a museum tour and a scenic drive through farmland as a noteworthy challenge, I reminded her that just visiting a state doesn’t qualify. Yes, my back and feet hurt, but not enough.
We piled into the cars and struck out across the remainder of Wisconsin. Next stop, just over the Mississippi River in Minneapolis, Minnesota, leaving Madison and Minona in our rear-view mirror and Medora, North Dakota and Missoula, Montana beckoning in the distance. Hmm, that’s a lot of Mms.
The drive was scenic and farmy. There are retention ponds huddled right up against the highway. and they draw waterfowl. We saw two pairs of sandhill cranes. We stopped in Reedsburg, Wisconsin at a bar called Beast and Barley and treated ourselves to scrumptious vegan barley burgers and mulligatawny soup. And in the late afternoon, we rolled into the driveway of Rhys and Li-Hua MacPherson. I have family in Minneapolis!
We spent the remains of the day and the evening with my Aunt Pat and my second cousins, Rhys and Kyle, and their beautiful families. I haven’t seen these three in decades, and I had never met their spouses and children, until now.
We had dinner and drinks right along the Mississippi, and then took a brief tour of just a couple of the buildings that Rhys has worked on in his long career in architecture here. He shares my interest in adaptive reuse, most notably this residential and retail adaptation of the ruins of a flour mill:
I come from a small family. My mom is an only child, and my dad had one brother. I have but two first cousins, plus Rhys and Kyle. We were close as young children, but Aunt Pat and Uncle Bruce moved away to Oklahoma and then to Indonesia. We didn’t see each other, and we drifted apart. Now we are reunited through this brief visit and have pledged to stay in touch.
I would love to experience more of Minneapolis. It is renowned for its walkability and a bike-friendly culture. We caught just a glimpse of it in our evening stroll. Everyone was out walking, rollerblading, cycling, and there were street performers and families out to enjoy the sunset over the river.
We parted with fist bumps and smiles, Kip and I and GNB ready to cross the whole of Minnesota and North Dakota on the morrow.
It was nine hours of driving time, but we got an early start, and after fighting construction traffic in Minneapolis, the driving flowed. At the instant we crossed the Red River of the North into Fargo, North Dakota, the plains began.
For a long way, it’s flat: hay, corn, soybeans, and even a few sunflower fields. Wind, wind, WIND. Enormous trucks carrying unfathomably large loads of roller bales take up all the pavement at 75 miles per hour. At one point, I exited the highway in a futile search for gas, and when I climbed the entrance ramp, I nearly collided with one. Note to those who may follow in my tire tracks- there are many exits which have no services. Most are marked as such, but word to the wise; you could run out of gas here, even though you are in the bakken oil fields. After this day, I never let my tank get below half full.
Just as you think you will never see a hill again, North Dakota’s badlands begin to rear up out of the plains, and you trace the Little Missouri River which formed them into Medora, North Dakota, base camp for Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Kip and I checked into the hotel and hot footed it over to the Visitors’ Center. We learned that the full loop road cannot be completed because it washed out in 2019, but we were free to drive to the turnaround point. We headed for an area called Peaceful Valley. Along the way, we saw our first prairie dog colony and a bison in a wallow, sending up a cloud of dust. Just after we parked the car, two bison sauntered across the parking lot twenty feet from us. We held our ground and waited until they got well past.
We were so happy to be out of the car and on a hike at this amazing and undervisited national park. A ranger told us that they were having a busy year, but that the parking lots are never full. That was our experience as well. We saw four other hikers that first day on the CCC trail.
A little later, GNB rolled in, and we met for cheese and cocktails in their balcony room overlooking the bison, antelope, and wolf trophies that festooned the lobby of the Americinn, Medora. We definitely were in Teddy Roosevelt country.
Graham and I planned to ride out at 7 the next morning to capture North Dakota for 50 in the Fifties, and to see what we could see.
STATE 44: North Dakota, Theodore Roosevelt National Park, sunrise ride, 34 miles, hiking, 5.4 miles
Graham and I were among the first folks to enter the park the morning of August 11, 2021. It was so early that the rangers had not yet manned the gate. Our ride began with a steady but manageable climb to a badlands ridge. We were right together, but as I started to huff n puff, I noticed Graham was gone. I turned round and saw him stopped hard by the side of the road. He was fumbling for his phone and casually stated, “I think it’s an eagle.”
He was right. An adult bald eagle perched on a prominent rock outcropping at the beginning of the climb. We weren’t able to get a photo, but we did get to witness it spread its wings and lift its talons, riding the first updraft of the day as the sun peeked past the distant ridge.
We felt like the eagle was welcoming us to the first national park of our trip.
Pedaling on, we came upon a the large prairie dog colony that Kip and I had noted the day before. In the cool of the dawn, the dogs were much more active, burrowing, tussling, and squeaking their warning cries. Graham said, “Hold on!” I like to read the informational signage.”
“I do, too, but look, so do the bison!”
There was a herd of bison standing atop the prairie dog colony, and one was just ten feet from the sign. Though they look placid, and lumber around like cows, they are “udderly” wild and unpredictable. We cycled on, leaving the sign for later in the day, when we would have vehicle support.
Miles down the road, we got our chance to dismount and spend time with the residents of another colony, this one sans bison. We watched them take turns standing guard.
Next up, a big UP. A major climb, and it turned out to be one of my favorite moments in the whole trip. Graham and I had the park to ourselves, and the only sounds I heard as we cranked the pedals were the whoosh of our bike tires and the yipping of the prairie dogs.
As we finished the descent from the heights and rounded a curve, we found ourselves 25 to 30 yards from a big herd of bison working on crossing the road. There was an enormous bull who was grunting, as were others. It was obvious that they were upset by us bipeds astride our strange contraptions. We stood frozen, waiting perhaps twenty minutes for them all to get across.
The big bull kept his eye on us the entire time. At one point, we saw him swing his head in exasperation, exclaiming to a female with grunts and body language, “Hey, you! Ugh! Get across right now!” A second big bull was fifty yards back, and he obviously had to keep his distance. He was hoping for a chance to steal one of the cows.
Once the lead bull was solidly across the road, we edged quickly past, pretending to be cars. Bison pay no mind to cars. Several more lovely miles up the road, we turned around and headed back to Kip and Betsy, who were waiting for us to collect them to explore the park together. When we got back to the area where we had seen the herd, we found they were still hanging around, and we cycled by at speed quite close to some calves and females. What a wild ride! It turned out to be 34 miles, give or take, with several significant hills.
Next we four drove into the park, and Graham got to read all the signs he had missed, and we all hiked, clocking about 3.4 miles total. The prairie dogs were resting, escaping the midday sun, proving me right in my endless refrain that dawn assaults are worth the loss of sleep. At 12:30 pm, the only genus of wildlife we saw up close were grasshoppers. They come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but come they do. With every step we took, hundreds would jump and fly off from the path, the sage, and the mesquite. It was very hot, powderkeg dry, and buzzy with the wings of locusts.
After a lovely explore afoot, we were all hungry, and we headed back to Medora to eat at Boots n Brew, feasting on creamy jalapeno mac n cheese. Later on, we returned to the park for some stargazing. The Perseid meteor shower was in town for its annual show. On the morrow, we faced a long drive to Glacier National Park.
I wish we had more time to explore Teddy Roosevelt, and really, all the parks on our itinerary. I feel like we are getting a graduate degree in driving, and only taking a brief survey course on the western Parks. Still, I wouldn’t delete this course from my schedule for all the oil in the Bakken deposit. And even the driving is interesting, often challenging, especially when you are on a shoulderless two lane road with a 75 mph speed limit, buffeted by cross winds and shared with the occasional massive RV. One note, however: out here, people do not speed.
If you are looking for some reading to give you a deeper sense of North Dakota, I recommend The Language of Cottonwoods: Essays on the Future of North Dakota, by Clay Jenkinson. I usually like to read about every state I visit. So far, I have only managed one book for this trip, but it is recently published and a worthwhile read.
August 12, Driving Montana
After a long but pleasant day of rock n roll and country music on the radio, we started to climb into the foothills of the Rockies and drove along swiftly flowing streams down deep crevasses. Eager to begin our explorations, Kip and I ignored the pleas of the GPS and headed for East, rather than West, Glacier. We hiked the short but sweet Running Eagle Falls Trail and met a local: Two Guns White Calf, and his family.
Further research taught us that Two Guns White Calf (1872-1934) was a Chief of the Piegan Blackfeet in Montana. He became famous for his work promoting the Glacier National Park for the Great Northern Railway. He claimed to be the model for the profile on the Indian head nickel, but this is disputed. In any case, how wonderful to meet a namesake, possible descendant, on our first Glacier trail.
After our short hike, we continued on to West Glacier and then Coram, where we had rented a two bedroom cabin with a grill and a deck and incredibly loud and unbelievably close freight trains, doubtless running on the Great Northern Railway tracks. We were treated to sunset and moonrise.
STATE 45: Montana, August 13-14, Glacier National Park, hiking the John Lake Loop and Avalanche Lake trails, totaling six miles, and cycling the Going-to-the-Sun-Road, 33 miles, 3,400 feet of climbing
Our group had widely divergent morning routines and desired paces, but on the first full day at Glacier, we managed to get out the door somewhere in the vicinity of 9 am and proceed into the park without much difficulty. Parking was already getting tight, but we squeezed into a spot at the John Lake trail, and we meandered through silent, stately woods to a small lake.
Halfway through the hike, we crossed the main park road, and there was a cataract (the good kind) and a bridge over a glacial stream. This part of the hike was very crowded, as folks are drawn to water like children to an ice cream truck. A mule deer was just a few feet from us, browsing unconcernedly.
We tried to have lunch at the Lake McDonald Lodge, but after the line to get in didn’t budge an inch for twenty minutes, we went to a tiny store nearby, and Kip got chicken salad sandwiches he was inordinately excited about. They turned out to be inedible. Each weighed a ton.
Betsy was cooked, done, finished for the day, and she and Graham headed for home. I wanted to hike more. Kip wanted to go home, but he didn’t want to leave me to hike alone in bear country. I was pretty sure the trail would be crowded enough for safety, but he insisted, so we set off for Avalanche Lake.
After a two-mile climb, we made it. But Kip was silent the entire hike, refused to drink or shed a layer, had no opinion on the pace. He was the definition of apathy. When exercise induced asthma collides with altitude, well, it’s suboptimal. Time for another call to the doctor. We were going to need more medication. And, predictably, Kip passed out once we reached the car.
It’s important to learn from experience, so while Kip slept in the car, I bought sandwiches for the next day’s lunch. No more interminable lunch lines for us. That night, Betsy treated us all to a spaghetti dinner, and Graham and I prepped and packed for the big challenge on the morrow, our attempt to cycle the Going-to-the-Sun-Road.
The Sun Road is the only road that traverses the park. crossing the Continental Divide through Logan Pass at an elevation of 6,646 feet. Construction began in 1921 and was completed in 1932, during the depths of the Depression. It is an Historic Civil Engineering Landmark, among other accolades. And it is a bucket list challenge for cyclists everywhere. Notably, it was constructed with both bicycles and cars in mind, and the grade, while constant, is manageable on two human-powered wheels.
Our plan was to leave the house on a certain Saturday at 6:15. We made it by about 7:00. Kip drove to the start point, and once we had unloaded our bikes, slathered on sunscreen, and set our clothing layers for the start, we were off : 7:35 am. The morning dawned cool, and there was blessedly little traffic. Graham and I stopped early on to snap photos of a distant glacier; with global warming and a record heat summer, we weren’t sure we would see any more.
Graham’s bike is heavy, and he proceeds more slowly on climbs than I do, so he waved me on ahead, saying, “Go have your ride. I will see you at the summit.” We separated, and I just kept rolling along, climbing but not pushing the pace, comfortably in my zone, enjoying the views. Compared to photos we have all seen of Glacier National Park, it was impossible not to notice the smoke which occluded the distant scenery. Fires were raging elsewhere in Montana, in Wyoming, and in California. But this was the day we were granted, and it was there to be enjoyed.
At one scenic pullout, I met a guy named Dan, fully loaded on a touring bike. He was wending his way from the Portland, Oregon to Acadia National Park, on a route called the Northern Tier, solo, and self-supported. He was raising money for Homeless Solutions. Before I continued on, I told him if he happened to see a guy on a recumbent bike with a rainbow flag, he should stay away, or he would never make it to the east coast. Graham shares Dan’s passion for helping the homeless, working with Habitat for Humanity on builds worldwide. Those two would never stop talking if they started.
When I negotiated the final switchback and reached the sign marking the summit of Logan Pass, I shed a few tears of joy and gratitude. Of all the plans for this journey, cycling the Sun Road was the challenge I looked forward to the most.
Graham did eventually catch up to Dan, but he couldn’t stay with him, because… turns out Graham has an overwhelming fear of heights. While I was relishing my ride, he was terrified and doing his best to hold it together for most of the fifteen mile climb to the summit. Conquering his fear was much more of a challenge than turning the pedals against gravity.
We were relieved (Graham), and elated (me) to have gained the summit, but we were only half done. The descent loomed. We rode together, hugging the center line, down to St. Mary’s Lake., a huge body of water. This area had recently burned, and we were reminded at every pedal stroke of the wildfires that were raging not too far away.
Then, just a mile from the St. Mary’s entrance to the park and the end of our ride, GNB’s minivan loomed in our rearview mirrors. Kip and Betsy had arrived with perfect timing! After a wash up and a change of clothes, we wandered down to St. Mary’s town in search of a shady place to enjoy our picnic. We found the Park Cafe and treated ourselves to huckleberry milkshakes and huckleberry pie to top off the sandwiches we had brought along. Heavenly. So good, in fact, that we bought a pie to take home. For $45. Yup, you read that right, a forty-five dollar pie.
Kip had succeeded in driving over the pass at 6,600 feet, but white-knuckled Graham took the wheel for the drive back, and good thing… Kip passed out in the backseat, a victim of altitude and lunch. We returned to Coram via the Sun Road, which is by far the shortest route, and the most scenic. Up, up, up, then down the other side. At about 3500 feet, Kip yelled out in a childlike voice, almost as if he had inhaled helium from a balloon, “Kip! Kip’s back!” And indeed, he was.
We would be at altitude for the next several days and thousands of miles. Kip would not be driving any of them. Montana captured, we were headed to MIssoula, the projected start point for our foray into Idaho, once again over the Continental Divide, to the lovely Lochsa Lodge for the night. After one more night in Coram, we waved goodbye to Glacier National Park. Hope to return one day for some back country hiking.
A Sunday dawned, pure and clear. As we packed up our stuff to head for Missoula, Graham and I made the wrenching but obviously correct decision to abandon our plan to cycle to the Lochsa Lodge. Route 12, the only road in or out, was still open, but the fire was within a mile of the pass. Drivers were being instructed not to stop their cars along the route. If cars can’t safely stop, we shouldn’t be out there without a car, breathing the smoke. Hiking out of Lochsa would be out of the question, and at any moment, the road could close, and we would be hard pressed to continue our itinerary. We stayed with our plan to stop in Missoula, but we secured another night near the North Entrance of Yellowstone, in lieu of crossing over into Idaho. We would try for Idaho further south, near Grand Teton National Park. There’s no shortage of routes over the Continental Divide. And we now could plan to enjoy Yellowstone for an extra day.
The drive was on smoky back roads, partially through the Flathead Indian Reservation. Flathead Lake is enormous, but the water and the sky were both white, due to the smoke, so we couldn’t revel in any views. The highlight of the drive was the intersection of two major roads. There was a small pond to our left, and in it, a small flock of trumpeter swans! A life bird for me.
Our house in Missoula was in a double wide trailer, quiet neighborhood. There was little going on in town on a Sunday, but we found a place to sit outdoors and eat middling fish tacos and mushy tater tots. Kip was able to pick up a scrip and to text with his physician, getting new instructions for his asthma meds. I bought lip balm. The sun and the altitude had opened my lower lip. Took weeks to close it. We met up with the Robbs, caught dinner at a brewpub, and retired to our digs. While my companions descended into a heavy conversation about Afghanistan, I curled up in bed with a book about Yellowstone. When Kip finally came to bed, he woke me up to shove me over onto the left side of the bed. I was groggy, but after a fashion, I woke up enough to remind him that he had told me to sleep on the right side hours before… we had a little stifled laugh over that.
Missoula could be called Give It A Miss Oula, though the historic schoolhouse across the street did put me in mind of both my own school, Harding Township School, and the elementary school in Topeka, Kansas which houses the Brown v Board of Education National Historic Site.
A Monday: Missoula, Montana, to Gardiner, Montana, and Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
STATE 46, Wyoming: Two Hikes at Yellowstone National Park totaling 9 miles, 46 Miles of cycling at Grand Teton National Park, plus a 4 mile hike.
I drove and Kip took his meds as we made the four hour drive from red zone to orange zone for air quality. No visibility. Smoke omnipresent. Not too much remarkable about the trip, though I confess, it’s easier to remark upon the trip if I’m not driving, and that is simply not going to be happening anytime soon. We arrived at the Comfort Inn, Gardiner, MT an hour early for check in, so we decided to check out Yellowstone National Park, a 2.1 million acre wonderland. We drove in the North Entrance as far as Sheepeater Cliff and took a walkabout. I got a chance to wade in my Keens in the pleasantly cool water of the Gardiner River. We saw a few thermal features, including the top side of Mammoth Hot Springs. The road moved well, and the parking lots were not filled, despite so many warnings to the contrary as folks venture out from under Covid-19. Kip was back to his old self, decent energy and feeling fine. GNB arrived eventually, and we had dinner and a local beer at the hotel restaurant. Ready to explore on the morrow!
Betsy has zero interest in dawn assaults, so Kip and I hit the trail on our own on a Tuesday, driving right up to the Mammoth area and then hung a left to head out to Roosevelt at 7 am sharp. Our explorations began inauspiciously, with a coyote darting out almost under the wheels of the Subaru. Thank goodness I didn’t hit it.
Next, at about sunrise, an enormous bison passed us, walking in the opposing direction, right along the road., his head bobbing side to side, his body swaying along to the rhythm of his gait. Kip could have run his hand along the entire length of his spine as he walked by, but he didn’t, of course! We drove as far as the Roosevelt Hotel, which was a rustic, log cabin affair. It seemed closed. But horsepacking and day trips are running out of this location, and people were able to ride right up among the bison. So. Many. Bison.
and a good deal of birds, including one with a yellow chest on a reed, possibly a meadowlark but behaving like a red-winged blackbird. Ducks with white bills, just making little noises.
We went back to Mammoth and had zero problem parking at 9:30 or 10 am. We got our second cuppa in the Map Room of the Hot Springs Hotel, which was very Frank Lloyd Wright in style, and was built in the 1930s.
Three and a half hours after the day began for us, GNB were heading into the park. We met at Mammoth Hot Springs boardwalks and toured them together. As one might expect, they were mammoth.
I am not sure what GNB did after that, but I think they headed to the Roosevelt area for a hike. KNK got back in the Subaru with a cooler and peanut butter sandwiches and headed for the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and points beyond.
After a picnic on the Virginia Cascade Road, we explored the canyon at two different vantage points. Yes, it was crowded, and the cars backed up for a brief second, but we found a spot, and there was no issue at all.
The only trouble we had with other park guests was watching some Yahoo lose patience with bison in the road and pull out in anger to pass in the oncoming lane. Just as he was about to pass the car in front of us at speed, a bison took one more step and was almost decapitated by the onrushing car. What an ass. We are the guests here; the bison call the park Home.
Next, we were heading towards Yellowstone Lake (This park is too huge to describe!), stopping at a turnout to check out some birds. They were ravens, favorites of Kip’s. They walked right up to me and we had a good conversation. They were checking out the grill work on cars. They have learned that grills are filled with “grilled” grasshoppers.
On the road ahead, we could see that bison were crossing, and the traffic was stopped, so at 3 p.m., we made a day of it, and turned around. Kip passed out, his blood oxygen at 90%. Mine was also at 90%, but it just doesn’t affect me like it does him.
We did the shopping and headed to our digs for the next three nights, down a rough as that raven dirt road. We had a river, a barbecue, a horse who gladly accepted our extra carrots, and this sunset view:
I was feeling fortunate for the extra day at Yellowstone, because rain was forecast for the next several days. While I was enjoying the touring, I needed to get my heart rate up to garnish the great state of Wyoming for 50 in the Fifties.
GNB and KNK shared a delicious sausage dinner on the covered porch as the rain began. The bikes were stored on the porch, as filthy and bored as our adopted horse, having endured dust and smoke and the muddy, rutted ride up to our digs. They will have to await better weather. But the rain is a godsend for the firefighters and residents of the parched mountain west, so it is impossible to complain.
That Wednesday was a rainy day, but a good day. GNB drove their van, and KNK took the Subaru, and we got a late start. Sort of a planned late start if I recall correctly. This is a better late start than an unplanned one, jmho. Our shared focus was thermal features. They helped to keep us warm, and improved our skin. We saw the eruption of Old Faithful, right on time, and the Grand Prismatic Spring, and many other things. And we stayed on the boardwalks and lived, albeit damply, to explore another day.
Kip was able to pull an all-dayer with the help of numerous Arnold Palmers, and we had a birthday dinner for Graham on the patio. Graham had wrenched his back, and Kip was not able to drive or do any strenuous hike, and Betsy was ready for a day off, so I made plans to hike the following day on my own. I hope I don’t meet the same fate as this hapless hiker at the Grand Prismatic Spring:
On a Thursday, I got to the gate at 7 am with a plan to hike Bunsen Peak as part of 50 in the Fifties for Wyoming. But I was solo, and the peaked were utterly socked in with fog. I would never be able to see the grizzly bears before they smelled me. Not safe. I descended. I thought I’d try Beaver Ponds. I was alone, and singing lustily, If I Only Had a Brain… Just as the hike was going to level out and get really far from all the facilities at Mammoth and the People they entail, discretion took the better part of valor, and I turned. I was thinking I really needed to find some new friends for the day when a couple emerged on the trail ahead of me. They were thinking…”Oh, she’s ALONE. Must not be very smart…”
I asked if they were doing the five mile loop and could I follow along. They said YES! and we were off.
They are Linda and Tom, from Bend, Oregon, both teachers, avid hikers. They have been everywhere five times over. Linda has run marathons and is a cyclist. She climbed Kili. Now Kili is their license plate. They asked me what I did for various states for 50 in the Fifties, and while Linda and I chatted, Tom scanned for wildlife. We saw a badger up close and a herd of elk, including a huge buck. We saw Mountain or Western Bluebirds. Overall, we were a good fit for pace, and we had a really nice time together, lots of fun. Linda gulps coffee… and wine. Me, too!
Back at the car, I couldn’t find my keys and panicked. Betsy and Graham and Kip were about to bring the second set when I found them in one of those pockets you simply cannot find on your backpack even though you are staring at the zipper. So thankful we brought the extra set, and so thankful I didn’t have to try to find two more friends and walk the whole trail again. It seems the altitude does affect me some. I remember driving on the wrong side of the road at Yosemite and blaring my horn at the other driver, thinking for sure HE was on the wrong side of the road!
Kip was not doing very well on the day. Apparently, he dropped all his meds, cold turkey, which wasn’t the best decision. Graham began planning to do some riding as we all traveled the following day to Grand Teton, but I won’t be able join him.
Meanwhile, plans were simmering for Idaho. Graham found another route over the Continental Divide, between Wilson, Wyoming, and Driggs, Idaho. It would be ridiculously hard, and we would have to rely on Betsy to pick us up. And it would take up a lot of the scant time we have available for Grand Teton. So I was getting anxious about all of the above.
Ok, so a Friday dawned. Kip and I got out of the cabin early and did the recycling. The Robbs did the garbage. There was a herd of elk visiting with our horse and sneaking bites of her hay. The weather remained in the iffy realm, but it was improved. We had a long drive to the South exit of the park, so we headed toward Yellowstone Lake, visiting various thermal features along the way, with a quick stop planned at the canyon brink for GNB to take a peek. Rain.
We went over the Fishing Bridge, which was No Big Deal as far as I could see, then we had a thirty minute bathroom break, and we were antsy. Meaning Kip was antsy and I was close to incandescent. Our hike at Yellowstone Lake was called Storm Point, and we all enjoyed it, but the day started at 7:30 am and it was now 1 pm. I was bouncing out of my shoes and jumping out of my very thin skin.
We saw our first sun in three days on the hike. I was dying to ride to Grand Teton but could not. I was losing patience with the pace and just plain in a burgeoning bad mood. As we neared the South Entrance, there was a stupendously deep cavern on the east side of the road which doesn’t really seem to have a name.
Anyway, we said goodbye to Yellowstone, and hello to Grand Teton. They are close together and joined by a Rockefeller Highway at 45-55 miles per hour. We did a couple of pull-outs and stopped at Moose Junction for maps. Then, things started to devolve in the Subaru.
We ended up on the Park road, an especially narrow part that leads to some seldom visited Rockefeller Preserve. Right after that, there is a section of dirt road. We thought, hey, no problem. We have a Subaru. But it turned out to be a muddy and nearly impassible moonscape, cratered and axle-threatening. Other cars, including sports cars and sedans, were also there, misled by GPS. All I could think of was getting on the bike trail. I desperately needed a break. We only had one full day for the park! But with Kip unable to drive and Betsy limited in movement and Graham with back and Achilles issues, what good would another day do us? I was slipping into despair and being really short with Kip. He needed a drug refill, and I just plain didn’t want to do it that day. I know I should have, but I was ready to bitch and I did, and cried, too. I felt the bad stretch of road was my comeuppance for my shitty expedition behavior.
After we checked into our condo at Wilson, Wyoming, I left Kip to get his own scrip. He didn’t want to be around me anyway and said as much. I went out on the bike trail for twelve solo miles to clear my head and try to regain my humanity. Kip got the scrip and did the shopping, which left him all out of breath. This was scary, and I was at my absolute low point for the trip.
I couldn’t relax. I was afraid Graham really wanted to do the Teton Pass and I did NOT. I wanted to be less dependent on others for 50 in the Fifties. I told him I just didn’t want to do it, just to check off Idaho. That felt better. But it does make it very much harder to get that state than it would be on this trip. No way I’m driving to Idaho anytime soon…
I tried to drag myself out of my funk. We had a beautiful condo. We had Grand Teton National Park just outside the front door. I pushed for an early departure for Saturday. No surprise, there. The plan was to hike in the morning, ride in the afternoon, and to try to beat the rain. AGAIN.
S