The Snowy Range to Yellowstone
I awoke feeling good and planning to ride a nearby road into the Snowy Range mountains. It was with interest that I realized I had no idea what day it was, nor did I care. That was a first in my life and it came naturally with this new "vagabond" experience.
It soon became apparent Saratoga was known for fly fishing, confirmed to me by a couple of the locals. Breakfast was at a little place called Lollipops in downtown Saratoga. The waitress saw my riding gear and asked where I was headed. I told her I was going to ride across the Snowy Range and then return to Saratoga. She sternly told me that on her drive in this morning from the Snowy Range, she'd been delayed by a young moose who'd challenged her on the road. She said she'd ben forced to back up a fair ways and wait until he decided to leave. She adamantly warned me to watch for him, or any moose for that matter, and take them very seriously as they were dangerous. I appreciated her warning, since I knew nothing about moose and had never heard they attacked vehicles. I knew they had a foul nature but had only imagined an encounter face to face when hiking.
With my moose goggles on and antennae up, I headed back south to catch Highway 130 east into the Snowy Range and across to the little town of Centennial. I didn't see any moose, but I can testify that that highway is fantastic and leads into a set of mountains that are spectacular. It was in effect a miniature version of Rocky Mountain National Park and resembled the Grand Tetons on a smaller scale.
After peaking the crest of the range, the highway meanders downhill to the little gas stop of a town called Centennial. Centennial sits right at the edge of the mountains and overlooks a dry desert valley to the east where Laramie lies.
I stopped briefly and looked around before reversing back into the Snowy Range and a second ride through the awesome scenery.
As I wound down the west side and back towards the highway to Saratoga, I detoured onto a dirt county road that cut across to Saratoga. It was an easy ride, except for an explosion in the bushes near me on a tight curve where an elk suddenly burst out, miraculously turning alongside and then away from me. I had entered a narrow area of aspens about 40 mph and it would not have been fun to have collided.
I passed back through Saratoga and continued on north through the plains until Walcott and Interstate-80. It was getting hot and I had intended to take a suggested side route through Seminole State Park but it was getting late and the heat was rising. I decided to skip it since it would add several hours to my ride time. Instead I took I-80 West until Rawlins, then 287 from north towards Lander.
Though I regretted my decision to skip the ride into Seminole State Park, it proved to be a wise one as the heat during the day was very intense. Had I ridden alone in desert areas I think the heat exhaustion would have caught me.
The wide plains I now rode through were empty and seemed to go on forever. Dropping down into lower elevations, the heat would really soar. I blasted on, enjoying the massive vistas that lay to either side. The long road ahead disappeared into a shimmering mirage of heat waves and sky at times.
The long distances and steady hum of the engine gave one too much time to think... time to think things like "Who came up with the word 'chipmunk'"? And for that matter, why do they always run for your front wheel? If they sell deer whistles in Texas, do they sell moose whistles around here? And what's that new noise I'm hearing - is it something about to explode on the bike? Or is it just the wind?
It's easy to get mesmerized and daydream for hours when droning on, suddenly to catch something out of place, a pronghorn antelope standing right at the edge of the road rather than hundreds of yards away as is normal. Suddenly you grab the brakes hard and sure enough, he trots right across the road not 50 feet in front. He was beautiful and muscled, confidently trotting to the other side while you thank God you missed him.
The hours passed with subtle changes in colors and landscape, until I finally saw "Split Rock" and realized there was hope that the plains were nearing their end. The massive plains were beautiful to me, filled with subtle, variegated colors and gentle rises and falls.
Riding in the intense heat was tiring. It's hard to explain to folks that the wind doesn't cool you, instead it's like having a giant blowdryer on you for hours. The hot wind doubles the dehydration an my Camelbak was well worth its price that day.
Approaching Lander, I crested a plateau to a breathtaking sight of the huge valley it resides in below. Descending the long grade down the winds picked up dramatically as did the stifling heat. The winds were strong and buffeting, and for the first time in my life, was literally blown into the oncoming lane by a couple of huge blasts. I couldn't do much looking around, as I had to concentrate on the wind and road until almost into Lander.
Lander proved to be a nice sized town with plenty of gas and hotels. I was exhausted and stopped for a bit in a McDonalds before pushing on. My goal was to make Jackson, Wyoming before dark.
As I raced along, watching the incredible desert scenery change, I rounded a sweeper and down off to my right saw a Chili Red Triumph Tiger 900 "Steamer" loaded with gear and coming up a dirt road alongside a creek. It was the first adventure bike I'd seen on the trip. I grabbed the brakes hard then looped around and pulled up next to him at the road entrance.
Matt and his red Triumph Tiger
British and German birds of a feather…
Matt was from Laramie and was heading to Yellowstone to visit his girlfriend, camping and fly fishing along the way. He said I'd not make it to Jackson until well after dark and invited me to camp with him ahead at Brooks Lake, west of Dubois. Since I have no real sense of scale in these new areas, sometimes it's just a guess as to making a destination and I did not want to ride in deer, elk and moose infested areas in the dark.
We headed as fast as possible to beat the setting sun. Hwy 287 was torn up for miles and the gravel was tricky at times. In the oncoming lane we passed a few touring bikes, a couple of guys so white-knuckled from the gravel that I could read the fear in their faces. A ways further, a Goldwing sat on the roadside, a woman waving her arms and chewing out the man, I'm sure for the fear inducing sways and near drops in the deep gravel.
We finally turned off onto the campground road just below some incredible peaks with spires and fingers known as The Pinnacles. Shortly in, I couldn't help but notice the "Grizzly Bear Area" warning signs. I’d consciously ignored thinking about the realities of camping in grizzly territory, but now I had to face that fear.
The dirt road wound about 5 miles up through the woods and I was covered with white dust as well as blinded by the setting sun in the clouds behind Matt's motorcycle.
We finally found a spot and set up camp. Matt's altimeter said we were about 9000' in elevation. It was getting chilly and we got a fire going. We set up tents and then congregated next to the fire. Matt dragged out a steak from his cooler, deftly pouring out the large amount of bloody water collected in the packaging right between our tents.
Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but to me the idea of blood on the ground near my tent, as well as a steak cooking on a fire would be a grizzly bear's heaven. A bear has a sense of smell that is 2100 times more powerful than a human and they can smell things up to 20 miles away. By my calculations, that could put several bears right next to my tent just about the time I fell asleep.
I was sort of incredulous that he would be so lackadaisical with blood and steak in a "Grizzly Bear Area". Yes, I know it was a campground but it wasn't exactly a KOA in Florida.
I watched him eat his steak while I ate my Power Bar and pondered my imminent, horrible death at the behavioral hands of a stranger. Matt walked to his motorcycle and pulled off the bedroll he had strapped across the back and reached into the end of it, retrieving a .30-30 lever action rifle with the butt stock cut way down so it was short enough to live in his bedroll undetected. Having the rifle at his side no doubt explained his lack of concern as he slept with it against his side in the tent.
Matt had lived in Cooke City, Montana just outside the northeastern entrance to Yellowstone for years and had lots of info on riding the region, as well as warnings, including "never camp without some serious firepower" - thus the shortie rifle in his bedroll. He also told me never to camp anywhere around Cooke City, because that area is where captured "problem grizzlies" were released into the woods. (As a side note, not too long after this trip there was a news report of a grizzly attacking 3 different people in a campground in Cooke City, killing one and mauling two others!)
Not a total fool, I knew I'd be camping in grizzly territory and had made the decision to bring a .44 Magnum backpacker's pistol with me, based on advice from the folks whom I'd be visiting in Montana. This seemed as good a night as any for a bear attack, so I retrieved it and fell asleep with it across my chest in the tent.
Today's Route:
Brooks Lake to Jackson and Yellowstone
Early light and birds chirping woke me. I checked to see if I was dead and wasn't.
The temp was in the high 30's and got the backpacker stove going, making a cup of hot chocolate with a 12 year old packet I'd carried for years in a backpack. FYI it was still good.
The fresh, cold mountain air tinged with evergreen scent was just like heaven after the heat of Texas and I was excited for the day, heading for the famous Grand Tetons, Jackson Hole and then Yellowstone! I really had difficulty comprehending that after a lifetime of hearing about them that I'd actually be seeing these areas.
Matt and I rode together on the unfinished road until Moran Junction and waved goodbyes. I would eventually learn that in the northern states there are 2 seasons, winter and road repair season.
He turned right and headed north for Yellowstone and his girlfriend who worked there, while I turned left and headed south for Jackson. I knew I'd soon be facing an expensive tourist trap, but I was primed and ready.
First glimpse of the Tetons!
After stopping to look at the Tetons on a glorious day, I passed a large herd of buffalo as I made my way into Jackson and it was indeed packed to the gills with tourists. At an area with numerous shops and cafes I squeezed into a parking slot near a coffee shop where I imbibed on caffeine and patted myself on the back for my achievement. It really was hard to believe I'd made it all the way to the Grand Tetons.
After a bit I decided it was time to move on and took a different route north to Yellowstone National, taking a road closer to the river and mountains for a few miles before connecting back into Hwy 287 into the park.
Jackson Lake
Yellowstone at last!
It was fun seeing the Yellowstone entrance, as all my life I'd read of the place but wondered if I'd ever get there.
Only one buffalo was seen on the ride into the park, and the traffic wasn't too bad. Entering from the south, there isn't much to see from the road since there are so many trees.
Exhaustion hit for some reason and I just didn't have the oomph to ride another couple or three hours to the northeast gate for the night as originally planned. I decided to inquire about a room in the park, but knew it was basically impossible without reservations at least a year in advance. My other option was to reverse back to Jackson for the evening, which I expected would be the next step. The plan had been to ride through the eastern side of the park and out the northeastern entrance to Silver Gate and find a hotel, but again it's easy to look at a map and make plans but realities are different. There was no way I could make it through the park and out before dark.
I stopped in at the Old Faithful Lodge, a beautiful place, amid throngs and busloads of foreign tourists. I walked up to the front desk and said "I know this is the dumbest thing you've heard all day, but is there any chance you have a room?" Shockingly, the attendant said "This is your lucky day. I just logged a cancellation and it's the only room available anywhere around here." I was stunned and did my inner "Thank you Jesus! Happy Dance".
Awesome.
Still doing an imperceptible jig, I wandered out to watch the eruption and then headed to Grant Village for my room.
Still faithful after all these years
After getting into the room, I decided to wander out in the dark to get some exercise and fresh air.
It wasn't very long before a "brown shorts moment" occurred in a dark area of the path I was on. In the near pitch black shadows, I'd walked up on an unseen elk, who snorted heavily just a few feet before I bumped into him. Frozen, I heard his breathing in the dark then his steps a few feet away as he came out into the starlight. Never having been within a few feet of an elk, I couldn't believe how big the antlerless beast was. I would have shrieked but I couldn't.
Since my heart had just gotten enough cardio and God only knew what else lay ahead in the darkness, I reversed back to the room, took a good shower and hit the sack.
Today's route:
