As we packed to leave the next morning for Jackson Hole, several campers talked to us about the bikes and our trip, one man named Ron from New Jersey being particularly interested. He'd met a rider in the Snowy Range the week before who'd ridden to Tierra Del Fuego and now having camped by us he was quite interested. The fire had been lit and he was seriously considering an adventure bike.
It felt good to finally be on the bikes and moving in the heat of the day, our goal to make the Jackson Hole area and find a campground before it got too late. Finding any accommodation near Yellowstone is difficult but we planned to get there early enough to set up camp and relax for the next day in the Park.
At a gas stop in Fort Washakie, a big diesel pickup pulled in and the crew of 4 guys hopped out, asking about the GS's. They worked for Columbia, a helicopter company that flew big twin rotor choppers to fight fires. They’d just driven in from Colorado to support and fly out of Dubois to fight a forest fire burning in the area. We talked about having seen a chopper or two scooping water from a source right in Lander and heading for the mountains the day before. It sparked a conversation about the difficulties and politics of scooping water to douse fires. Apparently each load, 2600 gallons for the larger size, had to be logged exactly by the copilot for remuneration, and water sources such as lakes in national forest lands were subject to government environmental regs as well as red tape and bureaucracy delays in approval. When it came to Indian reservations the water could be considered "sacred" and there were other issues as well. All in all, the chopper pilot we were talking too said it was a ridiculous morass of red tape when compared to the imminent destruction looming at times.
We motored on in the coolish breeze, eventually being passed by the crew in the diesel truck as they blew by, honked and waved. As we rolled into Dubois (pronounced "Dew Boys" if you go through in the future) a white plume of smoke could be seen ahead from the fire. The downtown area of the town was closed for "National Cowboy Day" so we detoured around and stopped to drink some water in front of the Jackelope gas stop - a cheesy tourist trap that we simply had to go in.
Dang it was good day - spotted not only a Jackelope but it was being ridden by an Iron Butterfly. Surprised I didn't see a unicorn, leprechaun or a yeti getting coffee and a Twinkie...
Rolling out of town towards the plume of smoke was interesting, especially as we got closer and could tell the road was leading straight to it. The girl behind the register at the Jackelope had told us the road had been closed since the fire had gotten so out of control, but apparently was still open today but warned us it might be closed soon.
The rode led slowly into the canyons, directly towards the tower of smoke. I told Kim it might get interesting depending on how close we got but I was more concerned that the road would be open. A few days before, the highway from Pinedale to Jackson had closed due to a fire and folks had to backtrack through Dubois.
As we neared the area, the cloud grew in size and I was glad to see the heat was carrying the smoke high rather than blowing through the valley. We passed under black clouds, changing to a golden orange as the sunlight beamed through from above. Eventually it was clear we would be riding directly by the fire and as we rolled under the main cloud we could see orange blazes erupting, a lone small helicopter with water scoop appearing like a mosquito against an elephant. As the cloud loomed above, the sense of being insignificant in the world was driven home, immersed in a sense of apocalyptic destruction never felt in either of our lives.
The event was mesmerizing and overwhelming, and we had to pull over to watch it. I told Kim we'd probably never be in anything like this again and to take it in as much as possible. It was truly beautiful, overwhelming and magnificent to observe. The lone chopper made circles overhead, it's dumps of water seeming pointless against the immensity. As we watched a second chopper, a large twin rotor with a scoop much larger appeared in the smoke. Obviously it was the one the crew we'd spoken to were associated with, being much larger.
We watched in morbid fascination, moving ahead a few hundred yards at times, and watching the crews stationed near the road and across the fields near the residences at the base of the mountain. The fire had made its way down near the highway, less than a quarter mile or so away. We watched the choppers dump water on the ground ahead of the blaze, being directed no doubt by the string of firefighters positioned every 75 yards or so in a long line along the front edge of the blaze.
Sudden huge eruptions of flames would shoot into the air as dense areas finally ignited from the heat in almost explosive fashion. It was a sight we could have watched all day...
Finally, it was time to move on as we were unsure if the road ahead would be closed. We both talked about the scenes and feelings for the next hour and even the rest of the day, the majestic mountains ahead clear in the sunshine beyond the pall.
As we began the downhill towards Hatchett and Jackson, Kim was about 50 yards ahead and cruising at 70 or so. As we passed a very large opening of grass, a steep downslope from the woods above, a patch of tan caught my eyes. It was a mule deer running at full speed down the hill to the highway, directly on line to impact Kim like an anti-aircraft missile. She had glanced to her right for a second and I yelled in my headset "DEER! DEER! DEER!" She swung her head to the right, hitting her brakes as hard as possible, the deer hitting the highway about 15 feet in front of her at full run and suddenly panicking, spinning to it's left and running parallel about 15 feet away. It was as if the deer had been shot out of a rocket launcher from the woods and arced to trace her path for interception. I've never seen anything like it as he had a good 100 yards of open slope in front of him and yet he ran at full speed down a steep slope, redirecting his path to hit her. When he reached the highway it was if he suddenly came out of a trance and awoke, bolting away back up the hill. It was a very close call at high speed and shook us both up. What a bizarre moment.
The ride to Moran Junction was uneventful, as though we needed more emotional stimuli for the day. It had gotten late with our fire watching and I knew we were screwed in finding any reasonable form of accommodations or campground. We rode far enough towards Jackson to see the buffalo herds and Grand Tetons before heading back towards Hatchett to check for camping. We were beat, it was hot and the thought of all the tourists in Jackson was just too much.
The small NFS campground was full, but a mile down the road we we got a tent site at a private campground.
As per usual we were both beat from the long day, emotions and heat. About the only good thing about the campground was that it had no need for bear precautions and not having to “bear bag” everything was a relief.
The next morning was cold and frost covered the tent and all our gear when I got out. It was a surprise after the heat but felt great.
The road through Grand Tetons National Park was a spectacular gateway into Yellowstone, the Tetons never failing to impress. A pause by Jackson Lake to reflect on the beauty and let streams of vehicles go by was the only stop before entering Yellowstone.
I'd warned Kim about the crowds and the Park Ranger who welcomed us at the toll booth warned us to be extremely careful with the cars and drivers there. She said in her 15 mile drive from housing to the gate each day, there'd been many close calls and she said she always warns bikers to be extra careful.
These guys took so many selfies from so many angles we finally just gave up on getting a shot of ourselves and rode on...
We hit the main lodge to see Old Faithful, the thousands of tourists sporting dripping ice cream cones and cameras always fodder for people watching. After she blew, we headed up the Grand Loop on the eastern side, stopping very little but enjoying the views as we entered the northeast corner particularly. It is my favorite part of the park, offering grand vistas after the pine tree laden roads in the south.
Yep, still faithful...
Oddly enough we saw almost no wildlife, just an occasional solo buffalo in the distance. My last trip trough had been rife with animals crossing the road, but not to be the case this day. It was not until we neared the northeast entrance that we began to see large distant herds along the river in the valley to our right.
Our goal was Cooke City to try to find a motel and stage for Beartooth Pass and Chief Joseph Highway, but both our cell phones were having issues and I'd not been able to call ahead to find a room. As the day got later I figured we'd have a problem getting a place and that turned out to be true. We hit Silver Gate and Cooke City, only to find that there were no vacancies, but the Super 8 manager called every place for us and found the last room available at the Grizzly Lodge in Silver Gate.
It was right at dark when we finally got in, Kim so exhausted from the heat and long day that she went straight to bed. The manager said we might see some bull buffalo wander through the motel lot as they had been in the town recently.
As I unpacked the bike, a big, burly guy came over and offered me a cold beer. His name was Frank and he had a couple of GSA's, exploring Canada from his home in Montana. We talked bikes for a long time, until he and his friend returned to their packing. He said they were going to camp in the Park to fly fish and always stayed at the Grizzly to get up and into the park at 6 am to find camping spots.
Kim eventually awoke, absolutely starving so we walked to a small cafe adjacent to the motel. Kim went outside to the bathroom area as I perused the menu. She returned quickly, coughing and saying someone must have sprayed a lot of bug spray near the bathrooms and she'd had to leave. She told me one of the wait staff was outside in the back coughing heavily. Just as she told me that I began to cough as well, then I heard coughing in the restaurant and saw our Jamaican waitress running outside and coughing hard, struggling to breathe. We went outside and she told us someone had sprayed bear spray behind the building.
Though it took a while, eventually it settled down and we were able to eat. When we returned to the motel, Bob the manager asked about the meal, and was surprised to hear about the bear spray incident, because apparently it was the second time in just a couple of days. He recounted how one of the waitstaff had gotten drunk and angry one night, popping the top on a can and purposely dousing the other waitstaff as they slept in the housing. He said it was one of the more exciting things to happen recently and now he had yet another tale of bear spray at the same place to spread.
We laughed about it and went back to our room before wandering over to the camp fire pit to watch the stars. Oscar, one of the employees who was off work, sat with a big can of Foster's and slurringly told us snippets of his life as he wasted away. Sleep came easily as we told him goodnight and hit the sack after a long hot day.