The Ends of the Earth

Lake Yellowstone Hotel to Jackson Lake Lodge, Wyoming. Saturday, June 22, 2024.

I was wrong before. This was actually my eighth trip to Yellowstone (I’m Yellowstone the Eighth I am). Even more reason to be blasé about it. Breakfast at the hotel was very nice, as was the view of the lake.

Rounding the corner of the lake at West Thumb, I figured I might as well see one thermal feature, even if there weren’t any geysers.

Took a pass on Old Faithful, but at least I drank the root beer.

Crossed back to the western side of the divide, this time there was a sign to acknowledge it

and then a 1200 foot swoop down to the Tetons.

Yellowstone and the Tetons go together like peas and carrots, it’s rare to see one without the other, so this was also my eighth trip to the Tetons. I thought I could be blasé about them too, but not a chance. Rounding the bend and getting that first view of them leaping out of Jackson Lake, I was gobsmacked all over again.

In a previous post I described that Road to Damascus epiphany I felt when viewing them for the first time in 1970. Yeah, like that.

When I climbed the Grand in 1977, I wanted to have a celebratory dinner at the posh Jackson Lake Lodge, in the Mural Room with its massive windows.

A starving student between college and medical school, I certainly couldn’t afford it, but I think I even tipped the maître d’ for a mountain view. I should’ve been more specific. The mountain we got a view of was Signal Mountain, a low green hill behind the lodge.

47 years later I can afford it, now that there’s no chance of me hauling my butt up that peak again. They sent me behind the right window this time, and I lingered as long as I could over dinner, just staring.

The sun was setting, and every minute the lighting was different. I wished I had a proper camera. Claude Monet painted the same façade of the Rouen Cathedral 30 times, to catch it as the light changed. This central cluster of peaks, Teewinot, Grand Teton, and Mount Owens (in front of the Grand, hard to see as a distinct peak from this angle), is often referred to as the Cathedral group.

I wasn’t the only one taking pictures. I lingered until after sunset.

and scrambled to be first in line for a breakfast window as well.

The most expensive hotel so far, and the rooms were weren’t even in the main lodge, but in cottage outbuildings. Oh well, as the expression goes, location, location, and location.

Distance 66 miles, 2,228 total. Time 10 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,345 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Pahaska Tepee Resort to Lake Yellowstone Hotel Friday, June 21, 2024

Yellowstone National Park has an outsized reputation as the nation’s (if not the world’s) first national park, one of the largest, and one of the most legendary. Everybody has heard of it, it’s a UNESCO world heritage site. I have been there six times already, and seen all the major draws: Old Faithful and most of the other thermal features, the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, Lower Falls, Mammoth Hot Springs; and climbed Sepulcre Mountain, Specimen Ridge, and Mount Washburn. I’ve seen grizzlies, black bears, bison, wolves, elk, marmots, coyotes, etc. I’ve done Yellowstone.

This time, I was just passing through, on my way to the next highpoint. The first day of summer, today is early in the season, and the crowds weren’t too bad. On my last trip, in August, the traffic was oppressive. It seemed every parking lot had a 2 mile back up, no car could enter until a car left. On my bicycle, I was able to bypass those lines, but it still soured the experience.

Less than a year ago, Jane and I had seen one of the worlds other major thermal areas, on the north island of New Zealand. Impressive, but none can hold a candle to the features in Yellowstone. Even so, I didn’t feel the need to see Old Faithful et al again.

Nope, I was just passing through. But I still got a thrill when I passed the iconic sign.

The place is just special, even when you’re not really trying to see it. It feels like hallowed ground. My 70-hour audiobook, The Dying Grass, was just getting to the part where Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce were chased through Yellowstone by the army. I passed a stereotypical scene, a collection of cars and camera tripods, apparently a grizzly and her cub had just left before their equipment had gotten a chance to capture them.

The only “feature” I was really going to see was Yellowstone Lake, the highest large freshwater lake on the continent, and the source of the eponymous river. So big, it’s hard to capture in a single shot.

but if you zoom in, you can see a bison grazing

and the Tetons rising over the lake, 60 miles distant

I had hoped to have the quintessential Yellowstone camping experience at Grant Village, 55 miles away; but another late start, a headwind, my ongoing struggles with caffeine withdrawal, and the highest pass to date, Sylvan Pass at 8,524 feet, really kicked my butt. At 30 miles I passed the posh Lake Yellowstone Hotel

always booked months in advance, and found that they had a cancellation. So I wimped out. Evening was coming, I felt a little vulnerable on my bicycle when the wildlife would be more active, I had my bear spray at the ready, but still. Cut me some slack, I’m an old man.

The restaurant was sumptuous, I had cassoulet, a combination of Coq au Vin, Jackalope sausage, and white beans. My waitperson, Juneau, was planning a moonlight ice climb of Avalanche Peak with friends overnight, before returning to work tomorrow morning. Ah, to be young again.

Distance 30 miles, 2,162 total. Time 6 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,600 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Cody to Pahaska Tepee Resort, Wyoming. Thursday, June 20, 2024

Almost exactly 3 years ago, I did a post from Wisconsin titled “Uh, Doc, West would be THAT way”. I was heading due east, precisely the wrong direction, to kill time while I waited for the Illinois highpoint, Charles Mound, to open up.

I could have a similar title for today’s ride, heading due west when my ultimate destination is the East Coast. This time it’s because my next highpoint is Wyoming’s Gannett Peak, and the trailhead is west of the divide. I will need to go through Yellowstone and Grand Teton parks to get there, and as I mentioned yesterday, this is the safest way in.

I have only entered Yellowstone from the east once before, 47 years ago in 1977. My girlfriend and I had just driven cross-country in 48 hours, in a maroon AMC Pacer

from Boston to the Black Hills. The next day I climbed Harney Peak (now called Black Elk Peak, see my post https://scottluria.org/2021/08/06/black-elk-peaks/https://scottluria.org/2021/08/06/black-elk-peaks/ ) and that same day we saw Devils Tower and drove across northern Wyoming, so sleep-deprived we were searching for a place to snooze in the car. The Buffalo Bill Museum in Cody did not allow overnight parking, so we drove to a parking area on the reservoir. The upshot is that we never saw how beautiful this entrance road is.

I was very late leaving Cody, had to find a place to buy bear spray, frustrating because it’s possible to rent rather than buy, but not from anywhere on the east side of Yellowstone. I wound up having lunch and an ice cream in Cody also, so I really didn’t get rolling till 1 PM. 4 miles out of town, I passed the venue for the rodeo I’d blown off yesterday.

The east entrance road to Yellowstone follows the Shoshone River, which has carved itself quite a canyon.

Shortly the road pierced the canyon in a series of tunnels, made less scary because you could activate a flashing light to alert the motorists.

Between two of the tunnels was the area where we practiced for the Granite climb in 2016. These were harder pitches than we did.

Next was the Buffalo Bill Dam, which when it opened in 1910 was the tallest dam in the world. These pictures don’t really do it justice, too close to get a perspective. Seems like a smaller version of the Hoover Dam.

The reservoir went on for 7 miles, and delayed my climb towards Sylvan Pass, the lower version of the Beartooth Pass I passed on yesterday. It was pretty late now, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t take any more pictures of this spectacular canyon. Here are some that I got from the web.

At one point, there was a beautiful bison right by the road, but it was at the bottom of a hill and I didn’t want to stop my forward progress. Almost felt like cheating, I’d been warned of the headwinds on this road, but for me it was a gentle tailwind, and made the 2,800 foot climb seem almost easy. I got into the Pahaska Tepee Lodge (the original hunting Lodge of our friend Mr. Cody) at 7 PM, happy to have a place to sleep inside. It was going down to 35 tonight and bears were active in the area. I don’t ever want to have to use that bear spray.

Distance 51 miles, 2,232 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,795 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Red Lodge, Montana to Cody, Wyoming. Wednesday, June 19, 2024

I wanted today to be my first rodeo, but I got in too late. Cody, Wyoming is famous for its Fourth of July rodeo, but it has one every night. It’s about 4 miles out of town, so I didn’t make the detour. I’ve gone to a couple of small-time events in Vermont, but never to a real rodeo. When I saw I wouldn’t make it, cognitive dissonance kicked in, and I decided I didn’t want to anyway, since rodeos abuse animals. Or so I’ve heard, I have no idea if it’s true.

After another night in the sumptuous home of the George’s, Mary made me a double breakfast of eggs, bacon, and delicious gluten-free granola with oat milk. I got out before nine, but not before snapping a photo of Mary and her two dogs, Callie and Two Dots.

I was sorry I didn’t get a photo of Bill himself, who was off on his fishing trip. Also sorry I never snapped a picture of their lovely home; fortunately, Nile did yesterday when he came to pick me up.

Back in the town of Red Lodge, I had to make a decision. The most direct route had me going up over the Beartooth Highway, an “All-American Road,” called “the most beautiful drive in America,” by late CBS News correspondent Charles Kuralt. I had driven it a couple of times and was awestruck. However, it was very twisty, topped out at 10,947 feet, had no shoulders at all, and there was lots of RV traffic, concerning because those drivers are often much less experienced with handling big rigs than truck drivers. The alternative was to go into Wyoming and enter Yellowstone through Cody, quite a bit longer, but less steep hills and better shoulders.

As it turned out, the decision was made for me. The rain we had yesterday was snow up in the mountains, and the pass was closed. As I climbed out of Red Lodge, I could look back across the Beartooth mountains and confirm that for myself.

Crazy, in Vermont, quite a bit further north than here, they reached a record high of 95°.

It was a beautiful sunny day here, highs in the 70s. 10–15 mph headwind, but with my shrinking gut, I’m finding it easier to get into a deep tuck and use my aero bars. This disconcerting sign

was not as ominous as I feared, it was just a couple of miles of firm gravel. I worried I was passing through another services desert when I passed a dusty roadside stop that turned out to be a paradise, the Edelweiss Riverhouse. Wendy served me up a delicious grilled chicken salad, and many ice cold glasses of Pepsi and root beer.

I got an email from Eric correcting my recollection of our ill-fated Granite Peak climb in 2004. I have since edited my blog from yesterday. It seems my slowness on the hike in was the principal reason for our lack of success.

Anyway, the sunshine, though beautiful, was so unrelenting that it was a challenge reading anything on my phone. There was no shade anywhere. Entering Wyoming was fun, but it was also useful to provide that shade, and allow me to read that email.

Wyoming was fun also because it had consistent smooth wide shoulders, which can make all the difference. What a relief not to have to look in my rearview mirror constantly, I got to listen to more of the Chief Joseph story. One more steep hill, I was happy to see that even with the headwind I could tackle a 7.9% grade without walking. Could it be that the dropper post is making me pedal differently, and start to recruit my long-dormant gastrocnemius muscles?

Finally a downhill swoop into Cody, and even though I was too late for the rodeo, I did score a steak dinner at Irma’s, founded by Buffalo Bill himself, and named for his daughter. Touristy, I guess, but reasonable and not half bad.

William F. Cody was a larger than life figure, and dominates the lore of this town. He has a huge museum which I seen before, I was unimpressed with its treatment of Native Americans. Indeed, Sitting Bull had appeared in some of Cody’s Wild West shows, but Bull was unable to adopt to American culture, and wound up giving most his earnings to street beggars.

He went back to his home in North Dakota and shortly was murdered while the Army was attempting to bring him in.

As I was leaving my motel, I chatted with Joe from Lafayette, Indiana, long distance motorcyclist. At one point, he cycled all 48 states in 10 days. His mascot is Goofy, on the back of his bike.

Cody is also the eastern Gateway town to Yellowstone Park, my next destination. The Internet coverage for the next two days will be spotty. I will post when I can.

Distance 69 miles, 2,081 total. Time 10 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,547 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Absarokee to Red Lodge, Montana. Monday-Tuesday, June 17-18, 2024.

Granite Peak is considered by many to be the toughest highpoint after Denali. It’s the only one that requires rock climbing skills. The other tough ones are all ice climbs.

The year we all turned 50, that is 20 years ago, my friends Brian, Eric, and I thought we could do it on our own. Websites said that if you stuck to a certain route, it was really quite doable. They were full of photographs about which ridge and crease to follow. There was no blazing on the mountain, so we printed those photographs and took them with us. This was in 2004, before smartphones. I asked colleague of mine, Geoff Tabin, ophthalmologist and world renowned mountaineer (he climbed the Seven Summits) if he thought it looked feasible, and he responded by climbing 15 feet up the brick wall of our clinic in street clothes. Sure, he said, no problem.

We started off bravely, encountering buff young adults who had done the whole thing in a single day, and who also said, no problem. That was before 26 switchbacks up to the disconcertingly-named Froze to Death Plateau, and we realized maybe we weren’t as buff as we thought we were. Or I should say, I wasn’t buff enough. I was slowing down the group. We hadn’t brought enough food for a multi day trip, so Brian and Eric went back down to purchase more, while I moved the camp as close to the actual Peak as possible. I hunkered down on Tempest Peak, right before a thunderstorm raged and had me cowering in the tent, praying I wouldn’t get hit by lightning. When Brian and Eric returned, we moved to a safer location.

While waiting to start the climb early the next morning, we were amused and l somewhat discomforted by the hordes of mountain goats on the plateau.

They were never aggressive but frequently came close, we had the guard our food, learned to pee some distance from my camp, as the goats loved to lick the salt. Eew.

We got up at the crack of dawn to start climbing the peak itself, but were greeted by a snow and hailstorm. When it cleared, and the day was sunny, we got our first good look at the climb ahead.

Eric was still game to give it a try, but I felt was no way we were going to climb this mountain on our own. We went back down, feeling disgruntled. This might have been the first time we turned back on a mountain.

12 years later, in 2016, the Highpointers Club held their annual convention in nearby Red Lodge, Montana. They offered the opportunity for a guided climb, so a bunch of us signed up with Jackson Hole Mountain Guides. They recommended we hire a porter to haul our heavy gear up to the plateau. I was reluctant to do that, felt like cheating, but then I realized I’d hauled my own gear up that time before, and I wanted to maximize my chances.

You remember on my Borah Peak post the description of climbing classes. Class 1 was a walk up, Class 2 a scramble, Class 3 hairy but doable without a rope, Class 4 you need to rope up. Class 5 you also need to provide “protection”, anchors and carabiners along your way to catch you if you fall. Class 5 climbs are also broken down by difficulty, so 5.1 is the easiest, and it goes up to El Capitan crazy. We had a rock climbing clinic the day before the hike, and they took us up some 5.4 stretches, which they said would be as difficult as it would get.

Of all the guided climbs I’ve taken, only one has been unpleasant, our guide today. He was a martinet, barking orders and pushing us to keep moving. We rapidly realized we were in much tougher terrain than anything we had practiced on, going up dicey arrêttes and chimneys—on one occasion I got stuck, someone had to push me from below and pull from above. We suspected he had gotten off route. When we got to the top, I was so frazzled, I’m not even sure I took a picture, I can’t find one in my files. I remember seeing smoke in the direction of Yellowstone. It would’ve been much easier if we could have rappelled going down, but that took extra effort on the part of our guide and he didn’t want to set that up, so we had to downclimb, even scarier than going up.

It wasn’t fun, but we made it.

I knew today wouldn’t be fun either, getting to the trailhead, lots of vertical and steep gravel. Like on Borah, I dropped my bags at the road junction, but this time the out-and-back was 34 miles. I let some air out of my tires for better traction and flotation, but it didn’t help much with the soft spots and washboarding.

2 miles before the trailhead I passed the campsite where Brian and Eric and I had stayed the night before the hike, I thought maybe we had walked from there and I could turn around now, but I didn’t want to take it for Granite. No, I pushed on until the signs would not let me go further, and documented that I was at the trailhead.

Wow. That’s 23 highpoints I’ve now done from sea level, out of 37 total. Also, my odometer had just rolled over to 2,000 miles. There were a couple of young women there with the forest service, I wanted to take a celebratory photo with them, but they told me they were not allowed to appear on social media. (This is social media?)

Just as well. It was freezing up there, and starting to rain, the washboard was bone-rattling on the way down, but I let it rip, hoping I wouldn’t get a blowout. Reuniting with my bags, I realized I had 26 miles to go, with the steepest hills yet to come. I reached for the rocket fuel I hadn’t touched in days, a Frappuccino, and discovered to my horror that my suntan lotion tube had burst open with the altitude, and coated everything in my rear pack with that sticky zinc oxide goo.

I had started at six that morning, but was behind schedule and was racing for a deadline. Bill George is a Family Practitioner, the brother of a friend of mine, she had connected us and he had offered me a place to stay in Red Lodge. We both had Massachusetts roots, and the final game of the NBA championship was on, we were hoping to catch it in a bar. The Frappuccino wore off pretty quickly, and I had to push my bike up five hills. I hated to keep my friend waiting. He met me in his pick-up about a mile from his house, moosing my 125 pound bike into the truck might’ve taken more effort than just pedaling it. But we caught the last half of the game, the Celtics winning their 18th championship, and all was good in the world.

Bill and Mary have a lovely home and two beautiful dogs; it was raining the next day, so they offered to host me for a rest day as well. That gave me a chance to have breakfast with one of my favorite former patients, Nile Schneider and his wife Linda, who are RVing across the country after spending many years cruising the Bahamas. They have been following me on the blog and altered their plans so we could meet up. What a treat.

I also got to catch up on sleep, make future plans, complete the blogging, and have one more incredible meal, at Prerogative Kitchen. It seemed unfair, one small town having three terrific restaurants.

A day of pampering after a day of pain. And now, finally, I can take it for Granite.

Distance 71 miles, 2,012 total. Time 13 hours with stops. Elevation gain 5,820 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Big Timber to Absarokee , Montana, Sunday, June 16, 2024.

I hadn’t thought of it before, but with my parents gone and being the oldest child, I guess I’m the pater familias. Anyway, today I got the most wonderful Father’s Day gift. Hour-long conversations with my children, one while I was being blown down the Yellowstone River, 15 mph with almost no effort, allowing me to talk in normal tones. All three are doing well and happy, and it warmed my heart.

At Columbus, I got one last sweeping view of the Yellowstone

before turning the corner, into the wind and uphill, back towards the Rockies. Specifically the Beartooth Range, home of Granite Peak, the highest in Montana. It’s hard to pick out the peak in this picture, but it’s quite formidable when you get close to it.

Long day tomorrow, 70 miles, hilly, lots of gravel, as I try to make it to the trailhead. Getting to bed early to leave at the crack of dawn. Hope to rendezvous with a couple of friends, the first familiar faces in over a month.

Distance 56 miles, 1,941 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,361 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Bozeman to Big Timber, Montana. Saturday, June 15, 2024

I read more about Bozeman, it’s the fastest growing metropolitan area in the US. Once a quiet college town (Montana State University), it has attracted the attention of the gentry, who have moved here in droves and jacked up the real estate prices. The motel proprietor in Arco, Idaho had been driven out by this. Bozeman was her hometown, but she could no longer afford to live there, even with her and her husband working two jobs.

The weather has been crazy. The morning news was full of record highs across the country, but there was a winter storm watch for Big Sky, I got out just in time.

A strong wind was blowing out of the west, suggesting maybe I should do the same. Once again, I asked at a local bike shop for the best routes, they were lukewarm about me taking I-90, but it was the most direct and least hilly option. It looked a bit foreboding as I approached Bozeman Pass

but the shoulder held, it was not too steep, and I was up and over in two hours. Once again, I was touched by the historical context.

After that, it was all downhill with a stiff tailwind. What could be more ideal?

I took frontage roads whenever I could, but a lot of the time I was on the interstate, and never felt unsafe. The scenery was stunning as I swooped down into Livingston

and crossed the Yellowstone River, which I will follow downstream for the next 80 miles. Lots of media context, this valley is the site of the hit TV series Yellowstone, also the movie The Horse Whisperer, among many others.

I was purchasing a “nutritious” snack of Coke and a Snickers ice cream bar, when a woman insisted on paying for me. She had been intrigued by my story, and invited me into her RV, where she and her husband made me a truly nutritious lunch of tuna salad, avocado, and mineral water. Allyson and Rick Dennis were from Hanford, Washington, she was in human resources and he had been testing ports of entry around the world for radiation contamination of imports, before they retired. Their RV was meticulously organized, and they seem to be truly enjoying the Van life. Just fascinating to talk to, and I was so appreciative of these trail angels. I hope we can connect in the future.

I know I sound like a broken record, but I just can’t get over the kindness of strangers.

As I continued to blow down the Yellowstone, I realized I was no longer among mountains, but gently rolling hills. I had crossed the Rockies, crossed the divide; I could just cruise on back to the East Coast. But no, you poor schmuck. There are four more highpoint “parking lots” to hit, many more crossings of the divide in service of my OCD. The passes looming ahead are much higher than the ones I’ve done so far.

What’s that expression? Whatever floats your boat.

Distance 62 miles, 1,886 total. Time 8 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,688 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Big Sky to Bozeman, Montana. June 14, 2024.

OK, so maybe I’m embellishing a bit. But it was in the ballpark.

The good folks at Freeheel and Wheel were spot on, the road was terrible. Everything they said, plus potholes and a 3-mile stretch of scarified or grooved pavement. I was on the road by 6 AM, but there was an almost continuous stream of uphill traffic. So common at fancy resort areas, the workers can never afford to live there, so they need to commute every morning.

So yeah, I was “scare-ified”. But not much. I had the equipment and skills I needed. Downhill traffic was relatively light, I mostly had a tailwind, and I never got a sense that the passing motorists were upset with me, I impeded their progress hardly at all. Curiously, one guy going uphill felt the need to give me a good long beep, so helpful.

There was a moose in the river right next to me, but I didn’t dare stop for a picture. The scenery remained surpassingly beautiful, when I was able to look up. Most of the ordeal was over in two hours, just one last 3 mile stretch of construction, not dangerous, but obligating me to push my bike through rough dirt and barricades. Then I was abruptly in the suburban sprawl of a sizable city, able to unclench my hands from the handlebars, and score a fantastic frittata at Feed Café. Maddie at the Comfort Inn checked me in at 11 AM, and I caught a two hour nap.

So unlike the Melancholy Dane, I survived my indecisiveness. Probably a dumb decision, but I feel pretty good about it. I had a patient who summered in Bozeman and offered me a place to stay, but he moved back to Connecticut. That resident of mine (now a cardiologist) who grew up here hasn’t gotten back to me about what to see in this college town. Just as well. I have a route to plan, and a Celtics game to watch.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me…

Distance 43 miles, 1,824 total. Time 5 hours with stops. Elevation gain 588 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

West Yellowstone to Big Sky, Montana. Thursday, July 13, 2024.

I surprised myself in my college, which was all about science and technology, by falling hard for Shakespeare, particularly Shakespearean tragedy. We studied the four major tragedies and discussed how each of their heroes had a fatal flaw. Macbeth had ambition; Othello, jealousy; Lear, insecurity/egotism; and Hamlet, indecisiveness.

In my last post, I described how I went round and round about whether to take the Transamerica Trail home, or continue my journey to the parking lots of previously-hiked highpoints. Eric had ribbed me for similar indecisiveness at the Borah turn off. I finally said OK, let’s make a decision: the parking lots. And I sealed the deal with a couple of expensive hotel reservations.

I needed to top off the air pressure in my tires, so I stopped at the local bike shop, Freeheel and Wheel. I asked for advice about cycling routes, and they brought me up short. My planned route, up US 191 through Big Sky to Bozeman, was a nonstarter. Terrible shoulders, heavy traffic, lots of construction, they strongly recommended against it.

Huh. The reservations were nonrefundable. The alternative routes were hopelessly hilly and out-of-the-way. I was tossed back into indecisiveness. What do I do? Blow off the reservations? Take the Transamerica Trail home after all? I dithered on the sidewalk and finally decided, screw it. I’m skilled at cycling in traffic, I have a neon yellow vest, powerful headlight, reflectors everywhere, and a comically obnoxious rear flasher. I can do this. It’s not clear if Hamlet ultimately made the right decision, or if I did.

My nervousness on heading up 191 was soon dispelled by the beauty of the route. The climb up over Bighorn Pass, my highest so far, was doable, and the shoulders, though generally terrible, were wide when I needed them. Yellowstone Park spills into Montana a bit, and I entered it at a nontraditional place. The entrance signs are typically more elaborate, and always crowded with people taking photos.

Usually the trailheads are choked with cars, but the one for Fawn Pass was deserted.

I walked 30 feet on an actual Yellowstone hiking trail and had a snack under a tree. Only one gentleman came by, carrying a thick paperback, he walked to a bridge and sat there reading it. So serene.

From there, it was downhill all the way to my expensive motel at Big Sky. I kept my earbuds out, listening and looking for passing traffic, and kept checking whether blind curves or oncoming traffic made it unsafe for cars to pass me. I was prepared to run into the shoulder gravel if necessary, but it never was. It was only slightly hairy.

I crossed briefly into Wyoming, which closed a loop of sorts, I had touched Wyoming on the first leg of this bike ride, to Denver. So now I have biked to Wyoming from both coasts.

I had crossed the Madison and was following the Gallatin river, these were two of the rivers that formed the Missouri, which combined with the Mississippi is the 4th longest river in the world. The Madison drained Old Faithful and the other geysers. Flying down the hill right next to the Gallatin river was almost like white water rafting. The canyon it carved was beautiful, but I could only stop at the turnouts, which didn’t afford good photographs. It was just a stunning ride.

Another great barbecue, pulled pork this time, then in early to my motel. I had always wanted to see Big Sky, the largest ski resort in Montana. It was founded by Chet Huntley, the iconic news anchorman; all of you boomers out there remember the Huntley-Brinkley report and their classic sign off , “Goodnight, Chet. Goodnight, David, And Goodnight For NBC News.” Unfortunately, Huntley died at 62 of lung cancer, a month before the resort opened. The Big Sky was also a classic novel I read about the opening of the American West.

The bike shop guys warned me that this next leg, to Bozeman, was the most treacherous. I’m leaving at the crack of dawn, and will take every precaution. Wish me luck.

Distance 48 miles, 1,781 total. Time 6 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,245 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Ashton, Idaho to West Yellowstone, Montana. Wednesday, June 12, 2024.

Another sunny day on US 20, another brisk tailwind. I passed a sign that reiterated what I discussed yesterday

and got a prettier picture of them rising over Henry’s Fork

The day began with a sharp hill, 6% grade, but I can manage if I stop every mile or so to rest. At one stop was a turnout where a large semi truck was idling, the driver had set out safety triangles to warn passing traffic. While I was catching my breath, I saw the drivers, an attractive younger couple, looking quite perplexed. I went over if I could help in anyway (yeah, I’m sure my tiny tool kit was just what they needed) but they only spoke Ukrainian. They were trying in vain to contact their Ukrainian dispatcher, but had no cell service. I had two bars, and managed to download Google Translate and engage them in a slight conversation. It was weird to see my words translated into Cyrillic text. They asked if I had a hose clamp. I told him I would try to inform the police that they were in distress. I did reach the Idaho State Police dispatcher, and he said he would send a patrol car over. My attempt at being a road angel, after having been blessed with so many trail angels.

Further on I passed a long line of cars and trucks, over 200, that were stopped by a flagman. They were striping the road. They let me ride on the blocked off portion of the road while all the other cars slowly passed me. It was a weird feeling.

At a quick stop I met Cindi and Curt, a retired couple motorcycling around the country. They had left from Tennessee and made it here after a couple of thousand-mile days (yikes), and their agenda was not unlike mine, trying to visit obscure out-of-the-way places. We marveled that our bikes had similar belt drive systems. I was surprised to hear their cycles only got 40 miles to the gallon, worse than our Prius.

The next climb was Targhee Pass, not much to look at, but quite momentous.

I was leaving Idaho for the last time, crossing back into Montana, and for the first time crossing the continental divide. In a month and a half I had traversed the Pacific drainage completely, and now was on the Atlantic side of the divide. I’d be crossing that divide many more times this trip, but this felt significant.

Finally, I descended to West Yellowstone, a classic national park “gateway town.” It is the only part of Yellowstone I had never seen, actually it’s just outside the border, as gateway towns always are, free of Park service restrictions. Inside the park, commercial establishments are rare, muted, and carefully regulated to only one or two concessionaires. Outside the park, anything goes. National parks may be America’s Best Idea, but gateway towns can be America at its worst.

Some gateway towns are tasteful, such as Estes Park in Colorado and Jackson, just south of the Tetons. Some are only borderline shlocky, like North Conway and Niagara Falls. And some are completely over the top, like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, the gateway town to the Smoky Mountains. That one is a piece of work, and worth a digression.

Gatlinburg was the end of a long bike ride Eric and I had done in 1995 down the Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway. I described it thusly to my sister:

You know that scene in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy opens the door to her house, and through the drab doorway you look out into colorful Oz. Well, the end of our trip was like that, although possibly I have the metaphor backwards. After 600+ miles of cycling through a tunnel of green, we crossed the boundary out of Smoky Park and entered the most concentrated example of decadent excess I’ve ever seen. Free at last from the shackles of the Department of the Interior, the developers went wild.  Crammed into a 3 mile strip were casinos, trendy boutiques, fast food joints, cable cars, speedways, observation towers, water parks, and no less than five “wedding chapels”. Looming over it all was Dollywood, a huge theme park inspired by the Well-Endowed One herself. Brassy babes in fur-trimmed miniskirts were walking their afghans, jaunty dudes were honking their souped-up Rolls Royces, and everyone was looking at us astride our mounts, grimy, grizzled and blinking in the glare of it all, like we were from Mars.

Bill Bryson did a better job, in A Walk in the Woods.

I feared West Yellowstone would be the same, serving as the principal entrance to the oldest, largest, most famous national park in America, but it was not the case. Just many blocks of the usual tourist fare—pricey, slightly seedy, but nothing over the top. I had fun spotting relic of my childhood image of “Jellystone Park.”

There was at least one diamond in the rough, Firehole Barbecue, that served up the best brisket I can remember, giving Dinosaur Barbecue in Syracuse a run for its money. Among the charming staff were Harley, daughter of the proprietor, and her friend Logan.

I am continuing to listen to my audiobook, The Dying Grass (60 hours long) and it was eerie to think that at the same scene of all this excess, 147 years ago, Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce were being chased by General Howard as they tried to escape to Canada.

I am back on the Transamerica trail again, but still not seeing any cycle tourists. Still too early in the season, although I’m sure they’ll catch up to me. Today I face another dilemma, Hamlet histrionics as my friend Eric calls them. Do I continue doing these highpoint parking lots, which involve a lot of dicey sections, or do I just head home on the Transamerica? After lots of inward soliloquies, I decided to keep doing the parking lots. Jane wants me to be done with this, I can’t blame her.

Distance 55 miles, 1,733 total. Time 9 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,456 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria