The spin in Yellowstone

7/24/09 This is so overdue

Nonetheless.

The road to Yellowstone is a series of rises and falls, not many, just a few, taking you from of the Grand Tetons and you know it. Over your left shoulder those craggy mottled teeth loom no more as an endless field of lodgepole pines creep to road's edge and out of a mountain hollow the ramp into Yellowstone's middle begins. I had no idea what to expect from Yellowstone, I knew about Old Faithful and herds of buffalo and elk, moose, bear, and tourists. But I couldn't recall any photographs of mountains or lakes, rivers or rocks. Geysers and wildlife. Tourists. It was a long ride into the park and the campground so I bee-lined it for there. The campground was full but I learned that they have hiker/biker group sites and that they don't turn the self-propelled set away. That night I shared my site with two guys who were 18 and 19 riding the Great Divide mountain bike route, though they went off-route and headed for the national parks and said they were having more fun as a result. The next day was a big one so I got an early-ish start and headed for West Thumb where there are lakeside thermal pools. I arrived while the air was still quite cool and the steam was rising from the pools all around as though there were pots of water scattered about and boiling in the ground whose steam rose over the lake, the blue sky and morning sun's yellow light as the backdrop curtain.

W. Thumb

I left my bike and cruised the boardwalks, near the bottom through the rising steam I made out the silhouettes of grazing elk having disregarded the 'stay on boardwalk' signs. Tourists. I kept my distance and carried on in amazement at the uniqueness of it all. Heading back to my bike I weaved my way through a bus-load of people and cameras, I heard, 'oooooh, I want to see the deeeer,' finished in a high-pitched exclamation. On my way to Old Faithful I passed a group of people taking pictures of a buffalo grazing at a turnoff near a stop sign and getting a little too close, I had to snap two photos, one of the animal and one a little zoomed out, animal and people. Old Faithful is impressive to say the least. I wonder what it must be like to see freshly tapped oil spurting out of the ground. Then it was on to the Grand Prismatic pool, the Fountain Paint Pots, and some continental divide crossings.

Grand Prismatic. Postcards with aerial shots are easy to come by and quite spectacular.

This was turning out to be a long, long, long day. And I had miles to go including a west to east crossing of the central part of the park at the very end. As I turned east I looked around me and was scouring the horizon trying to gauge the miles to come, begging for x-ray vision to see through the lodgepoles, but I relaxed and ate the remainder of the cookies I'd left Wilson with when I saw nothing ominous. Oh, I was rushed as dark skies were finally overtaking the distant mountains they had threatened to do all day. Then came the sign that read "7% 4 miles" or something like it. I cringed and looked to the road ahead and nowhere but. I only saw a small hump and a left hand bend so guessed it meant I was in for a descent. I was. After the climb. I carried on pedaling up gradual roads and just as the road turned slightly more skyward a pair of bikers on a tandem came down in a tuck battling the wind that was only slightly aiding my ascent. I crested what you might call a false summit to see a grey/white streak running straight up to the top of the next ridge through the forest; the optimist in me likens rock-like breaks in the forest to interesting geologic formations. The steep ascent I'd been warned about was a straight shot up to the top. Long, straight climbs feel like they're never going to end much like judging distances to shores from the middle of a like while swimming is crazy-making so it's best to just put your head down and keep moving forward. I eventually hit Canyon campground and didn't have the steam to do some waterfall sight-seeing, only enough for a shower, gigantic dish of ice cream, some ramen, some peanuts, and a nap. I got up to chat with a few Oregonians camping nearby as I'd been invited for a splash of wine by the fire sometime in the fading light if the storm would break. The storm broke and I was treated to some camp-stew, wine, chocolate, and good fireside conversation. It froze that night. I didn't want to spend another cold night in my "35F" sleeping bag so experimented with an emergency blanket as a way to retain my heat, it worked and I slept great but had a damp sleeping bag in the morning. Another cold one at about 8000 Feet. I made my breakfast and sandwiches, broke camp, put most of my clothes on, and headed south to check out the grand canyon of the Yellowstone. I was afraid that with the heavy fog I wouldn't get to see the waterfalls, let alone the canyon. On my way I passed a buffalo lying beside a tree steaming in the first light of the day, surrounded in a greyness while the condensation sparkled and the steam glowed. Nobody else was around and I left it as alone as I found it. Just as I arrived at the canyon to see the Lower Falls the fog was beginning to lift from the canyon so that I could make out the white cascade of water and see its churned up snaking below, the steep, yellow canyon walls and deep green of the trees above, grey masses of fog climbing into the white clouds parted just barely for the light blue sky of the day ahead to show itself. It was a stunning sight I felt lucky I was there then, for moments alone even at the viewpoints.

I then turned north once more, passed through Canyon, and headed to Dunraven pass, another climb...at the top there was a crowd of people and two rangers. I stopped with them and turned my eyes towards the hillside clearing like everyone else. A grizzly was up there and had just ducked into some trees. A few moments later out popped a furry brown thing about 150 yards above, it wandered about, rooted around in the ground, muzzling into it, turning this was and that way, clambering back and forth, digging, ambling. I watched for a time, snapped a few photos, and eventually left the bear and the people behind. Later that day I bumped into one of the rangers and she told me the bear did come down and cross the road eventually but even then I didn't feel a sense of sadness or disappointment for not having stayed; watching wildlife up close crossing a road to me is far less important than watching wildlife from afar being wildlife. I carried on to Mammoth Hot Springs and the park's north entrance at Gardner MT. Mammoth Hot Springs is pretty neat too. Not a lot of water when I was there but curiously stark and austere where dry or yellow, red, orange, and brown where water trickles and flows.

No camera tricks necessary, black and white juxtaposed with those colors of life.

I ate more ice cream and asked folks about the road ahead and with a fast and twisty descent said goodbye to the park and hello to Montana. Another storm was brewing and I followed the Yellowstone river and road north, all the while pedaling against the oncoming wind. As the day dragged on the twinge of pain I had felt in my achilles as I was hiking the stairs at Mammoth returned and became a regular concern.

The road ahead of me as I left Yellowstone behind.

In the end I had to get a room at Chico Hot Springs Resort. I was unhappy to have to shell out the $48 for a night at the time but it turns out I got a great deal at a pretty swanky place. I soaked in the hot mineral pool, dried my gear, rested, and in the morning decided to take an easier day after three long ones. My achilles felt ok at first, then not so ok, and when I hit Clyde Park I said I was done for the day, maybe two, even three. Then I bumped into another traveler, an older guy with a bike sitting on a bucket with a sign that read "89N". He and his bike were heading for Minnesota and I decided a little distance from him couldn't hurt so I carried on for another 8 miles to little Wilsall MT.