After the previous evening's cardio, I woke up feeling great and ready to ride.
The weather was perfect and the air was crisp, filled with the scent of conifers and freshly roasting bugs on the hot engine cylinders as I gassed up for the day and scored a muffin from inside the station for breakfast.
Gas for the bike and gas for the man
My route was to head up the eastern loop in the park and exit out the northeastern entrance, with the goal of riding over the mountains into Montana by way of Beartooth Pass. In my research, Beartooth Pass was a "don't miss" ride and I was determined not too.
The ride past West Thumb lake was crisp and uneventful, other than spotting the Loch Ness Monster. Either that or it was an overturned canoe with someone desperately waving a paddle. I waved back and continued on.
The rear end of buses and motor homes was the main thing I saw as I went north towards the east gate. Yes, I'm aware that Yellowstone is a major destination for travelers and vacationers, but I hadn't realized just how much so. In my musings and grumblings, I couldn't help but wonder why so many people felt the need to bring such massive amounts of gear and vehicles when traveling. Aside from the house-sized motorhomes and RV's, huge trailers or vehicles were towed behind them, and even secondary trailers were attached to those! One or two occasionally would not a generalization make, however I saw so many that it was shocking and I really couldn't conceive of why people felt the need to bring most of what they owned with them. Maybe it's just the excess of American's obsessive compulsive disorder, but I was mortified at the sight.
All carping aside and despite being trapped behind monstrous, fume belching, carnival-esque RV's, the park was beautiful. At distance and nearby, herds of bison grazed, or kicked up dust from inside little circles they'd made. Beautiful mountains lay in the distance. Acrid, sulfuric smells wafted from the beautifully colored formations alongside lakes or at random geyser pools.
I pulled off at an overlook to view a herd of bison and walked out onto the elevated walkway a few feet above them and watched for a while, surrounded by Asian tourists. As I walked back towards my motorcycle, I saw a large bison just a few feet away from the deck as I trundled past. It was a rush being so near one, but I felt safe being a few feet above him. I stopped to photograph him as he rubbed his neck on the wooden edge.
Suddenly, with little effort, he jumped the 3 feet or so up onto the walkway and stood for a moment. I and a few tourists on the other side of him bolted away, in shock at his huge frame suddenly appearing in our oasis of safety. For a moment we were all unsure what he'd do and whether he'd head either of our directions, but he jumped off the other side and back into the grass. He'd taken a shortcut. With newfound respect for the abilities of such ponderous beings, I clambered back onto the bike and continued.
Reaching the Canyon Junction intersection, where there is a road that cuts west across the park, much of the traffic disappeared. The scenery got much more interesting as I headed north. I had been advised the northeastern area was less touristed and more remote with big vistas, an area where wolves could often be spotted. In certain areas, several cars would be on the roadside with people using spotting scopes on tripods, I'm guessing in search of said wolves far away.
Due to the number of RV's in the park, my ride was extremely slow and often I'd be stuck behind one for long stretches. It became a frustrating game, because I'd pull off to look at something and the behemoth I'd spent much time trying to pass would inevitably lumber by just as I got back on my motorcycle and I'd be stuck behind them again. This process repeated for most of my travel through the park. "Stop sniveling", I hear you say, but after days of full speed freedom through majestic scenery, being stuck behind an RV going 15 mph and blocking the view of an amazing place, snivel I shall.
There were several herds of bison along and across the road and I began to notice that they took no notice of cars, trucks and RV's. However, I also noticed that they DID take interest in the motorcycle. They'd stop whatever they were doing, for the most part, raise their heads and track my movement. To my chagrin, I realized something about the motorcycle concerned them, which concerned me.
Several times I had to slow as they would be near the road, until a moment when a large group wandered onto the roadway directly in front of me. I stopped to wait, with a few cars behind me. One particularly large bison wandered out onto the blacktop probably 30 feet in front of me and stopped, turning to stare at me. I swallowed hard and waited to see if he was going to charge or do God-knows-what. Frustrated drivers behind me slowly crept around me and made their way past him and others on the roadside with no interest from the bison bros, however he kept watching me. After what seemed like an eternity, he swung his body to the right and slowly wandered off the road, following his companions as they took their time. I breathed a sigh of relief and when they were far enough away I rumbled on.
I knew there were bison in the park, but had no idea they had concerns about motorcycles. I'm guessing the size and shape is closer to them or a predator, but no matter what I was on guard for the rest of the ride. A few more minutes down the road, I pulled off to view a waterfall and then got back on the bike in the small parking lot. I pulled up to a blind right turn which was blocked by a large cedar bush, looked left for traffic and was just about to release the clutch and ease into the roadway in a right turn when suddenly a massive bull bison stepped out from the bush and directly in front of me. I hadn't seen him walking on the edge of the road and when he stepped directly in front of me, he couldn't have been more than 6 feet away. The top of my windshield is 5 feet high, and his shoulder and back were above that line.
Most of my wildlife encounters have been in the safety of a car or truck, but when you're sitting on a motorcycle with such a beast that close, it's a whole different thang. I made not a move and he continued his slow, rolling stroll past me and for parts unknown. Two brown shorts moments in less than 12 hours, setting a new record.
I motored on, pondering the idea that my choice of motorcycle travel left me with exciting new possibilities of one-on-one wildlife interaction, with the idea of a bear viewing me as a personal pizza delivery.
The scenery had gotten more grand the further north I rode, and heading through the Tower Junction area was beautiful. Turning right onto Highway 212 for the east exit only increased the beauty.
I was briefly delayed by a string of horses and riders returning from a trail ride and crossing the blacktop. Whereas the lower region of the park was flatter and more arid, with geysers and lakes, the northeastern area was more green, mountainous and featured huge vistas.
Hwy 212 towards Montana was breathtaking and would be a great way to enter the park next time. There were very few cars and people and the roads are smaller and less maintained - it felt like I was back in the 60's era of the park. Here and there were clusters of cars and people with spotting scopes but I could never see what they were looking at. Wolves I heard later.
As I neared the park exit for Silver Gate and Cooke City, I was enjoying the views of lush green valleys when I spotted a dark spot not too far off the road. I slowed down and stopped, only to see a black bear lift his head from the berries he was eating and briefly look at me before continuing his meal. I could see where he'd walked through the grass, a silvery trail catching the sunlight differently than the surrounding grass. This was the first bear I'd ever seen, and I stopped completely to watch him. I left the bike running however.
After a couple of minutes, he seemed to take some interest in either me or something my direction and slowly began to walk towards me. Though I seriously doubt I was his interest, just his movement towards me reinforced my open air access to him, and I snicked the transmission into gear, motoring off as he continued his walk towards the road.
It was a great moment for me to witness a beautiful, fat black bear so close and in Yellowstone National Park.
Exiting both the park and Wyoming, the road in Montana to Cooke City was an incredible ride and again, the scenery was astounding. I stopped in Cooke City for a cup of coffee and sat at an outside table to just enjoy where I was on a spectacular day. After enjoying cool air and sunshine, it was time to continue on for Beartooth Pass.
Outside Cooke City, the road dropped back into Wyoming. I saw a dirt road leading to Daisy Pass and decided I needed some dirt adventure.
A half mile in, the first section of switchbacks had me reconsidering my decision - they were rutted with lots of large, loose rock and sand. The bike was so loaded with gear I had my hands full getting up the rough sections. It was just pick a line, gas it and pray. Not a big deal for a smaller dual sport bike but the loaded BMW was a handful. The new Ohlins shocks probably made the difference between me dropping the bike or not. The handling was much improved.
After a while the road smoothed out to a well maintained forest road and I enjoyed to ride to the top of the pass.
Reaching the top, I was disappointed to find the road blocked with a several feet of snow which had not melted yet despite it being near July. Still, I was at the top of a mountain and it was beautiful.
Heading back down, I shut off the ABS brakes so that moto wouldn't break free and runaway, sweating out the rough last mile of rock strewn road.
Back on the blacktop of Beartooth Highway 212, I raced on, passing the junction for 296 and the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway to Cody, until the steadily climbing road passed the Top of the World Store, where I pulled in to check out the place. The road so far had been really beautiful and this was the only sign of humanity along the way. The owner told me the store is completely snowed in in winter and they are cut off from the world. The pass road gets so much snow it's closed all winter and many times is not completely open until July.
Red Lodge, Montana was my destination and it lay on the other side of the mountain so I continued on. Beartooth highway wound up above the tree line to the Pass and then re-entered Montana on the top. It was a breathtakingly beautiful ride.
The ride over the pass can be described in one sentence... Un bee leave a bull.
At the top of the pass, I pulled off into a gravel lot and walked to the edge, the cold high wind gusts pushing me as I viewed a spectacular vista. It was truly a trip worth taking.
After taking it all in, I rode on with the high winds keeping it interesting. On the mountain top, you cross back into Montana, where the posted speed limit sign changes from 45 mph to 75 mph. I chuckled inside and wondered if the folks in Montana tried to limit the influx of people into the state by encouraging the idiots to plunge to their deaths when they miss a corner. I liked Montana already.
I pulled over to take a picture of the crossing sign, and a lady wandered over and offered to take a picture of me, a rare thing.
The ride over to Red Lodge is astonishing. It is easy to see why it's called a "Don't miss" road and online the suggestions not to miss it were certainly accurate.
From the barren, windswept top the road slowly descended back into the forests as it wound down to the bottom and the quaint and cute town of Red Lodge, Montana. It was a little bit touristy, but still had enough rough edges and character to keep it interesting.
A waitress at a coffee shop told me that more and more bikers were coming to Red Lodge than in the past and they were now holding a rally each year, sort of a mini-Sturgis and the locals weren’t too thrilled about it. They didn’t want the town to become a biker place since it always brought drunken stupidity.
I spotted a Chinese restaurant which sounded great and inquired if they had wifi so I could post some to my ride report. The Asian lady said “Yes, we have fi wi.” Each time I said “wifi” she would say “Fi wi?” and thought I meant “fried rice”. I finally got tickled and said “Yes, fried rice” and paid for my lunch order.
Time was slipping away to make my final destination for the day, Cody, Wyoming. I saddled up and took Hwy 308 east for Belfry, where I could connect to Hwy 72 and ride south to Cody.
The temperatures were much higher on the arid rolling landscape, an unwelcome contrast after the mountains. The road to Belfry contained an old abandoned mine or two to break the rolling landscape.
By the time I reached Cody, I was pretty beaten from the long day and miles covered.
Much to my surprise, the town was highly festooned in 4th of July decorations and flags, with crowds of people. The sidewalks were covered with empty chairs and such. I sidled the bike into a motel parking lot and went in to inquire about a room. The lady said there were no rooms available anywhere, since the National Finals Rodeo was in town for the 4th weekend and Stampede Days. She said the town always filled up for the Rodeo and 4th celebrations. I had no idea of the event and it hadn't entered my mind that an entire city would be booked, but then again my mind had been on many other things concerning this trip.
I asked about camping and she told me they would all be at full capacity. My options swirled down the drain and I realized it was likely I'd have to ride hours away to find lodging. I was exhausted and it was getting late, so my heart sank. She must have seen it, because she said "Let me try one other place". In her phone conversation I heard her say "Hold it. He'll be right there." and hung up, telling me there was one room that had just opened up at the Grizzly Bear Lodge near the Rodeo Arena so I better get there fast. Yet another lodging miracle. I thanked her profusely and followed her directions, eventually finding the place. En route, "Grizzly Bear Lodge" had given me visions of a romantic log cabin lodge with a crackling fireplace and folks drinking mugs of hot chocolate as they sang songs by the fire.
"Derelict Hobo Hovel" would have been a better name for the place I pulled into. It was desperately run down but then again beggars can't be choosers so I creaked open the door to the office and bumbled out the "last room" story. The gravelly voiced lady said she indeed had one room left and I was lucky I got there so fast because she was leaving. I asked about wifi and she said the room was next to the office so I could probably pick up the signal some. That was one plus after my “fi wi” failure earlier in the day.
She led me to the room and pushed open the wobbly door. Inside wasn’t terrible, she handed me the key, took my cash and said goodbye. It smelled of mildew and other things, but at least it was a place for the night. I drug my gear in and laid it all on the floor, dropped my jacket and kicked off my boots, sitting on the bed with my back against the wall since it had no headboard.
As I searched for the wifi signal, some movement caught my eye to my right. Glancing over, I saw a very large grey spider, about 3-4 inches across on the floor by the wall. As if it felt my gaze, it suddenly and explosively darted really fast under the bed. I'm used to large spiders like tarantulas, who move slowly, but this thing ran so fast it freaked me out. I wasn't sure what to do, knowing a huge spider of which I knew nothing about was somewhere beneath me. It was also quite capable of running at me so quickly he'd be up my leg and on my face before I could even scream.
There was no way in hell I would ever go to sleep, then suddenly realized the mattress was against the wall. The headboard was decorative and simply screwed to the wall above the bed, not that it would have mattered. If he decided to crawl up he could get straight into bed with me. I jumped up to pull the bed away from the wall and grabbed the pillow, pulling it away from the edge of the bed. There, beneath the pillow, lay another large grey spider about the same size. He suddenly ran down the gap I'd opened between the wall and bed. I was horrified to think a huge spider had been beneath the pillow I'd just been leaning on and I leapt away from the bed over to my pile of gear near the door.
I had no idea what to do, now trapped in a room with at least two Olympic speed spiders who could be poisonous for all I knew. My first thought was to pack and leave, but then knew I had no place to go. I was desperately weighing my options, of which I had none, when I spotted my tent amidst my pile of gear. The light bulb went on and I quickly put it together, laying it on top of the mattress. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of a solution. After all, I hadn't ridden 2000 miles to get bitten by a spider. A wolf maybe, but not a spider.
I eventually tired of standing and watching the bed, so I climbed into the tent in my clothes, zipped it up securely and laid there until who knows when, when the fatigue of a long and exciting day took me to dreamville.
The Cody Hilton, aka Grizzly Bear Lodge. If you like spiders, request Room 1, previously or possibly also known as Room 19.
The Route:
Cody Wyoming to Dillon, Montana
In the morning, I slowly came to consciousness, remembering the previous evening with my grey, fast-footed friends. It was with some trepidation that I slowly opened my eyes, fully expecting the mesh tent to be covered with spiders, panting and with their tiny fangs protruding through the fine mesh. I was happy to see none, though I took my time to thoroughly scan every inch of the tent walls and was painfully aware they were still somewhere hiding in the room.
I carry a tent for emergencies mainly, I just didn't expect to have to use it in the middle of a motel. Anyway, the bed made a very good sleeping pad.
When I crawled out, the morning sun had illuminated a big gap beneath the door, no doubt the entrance for the spiders and God knows what else.
When I went to brush my teeth in the bathroom, a black beetle fell out of the faucet just before I turned on the tap. I tried to wash him down the drain with hot water but he was unfazed and gave me a dirty look. I washed him down the drain several times with hot water but he'd come zooming back out each time. He obviously wanted the room far more than I did and I left him to it.
Needing a shower badly, I stood outside the nasty thing, fully expecting baby snakes to squirt out the shower head instead of water. Thankfully the shower was creature free, but it was a fast one I can assure you.
It was time to load up, and I stood looking at my gear which had spent the night on the floor. I couldn’t help wondering if my grey and speedy friends had infiltrated it somewhere, only to come racing out and up my arm at some unexpected moment. I'd put my jacket in the tent, but had left my boots out, so I beat the hell out of them making sure I wouldn't feel anything when I slipped my foot in.
It felt damn good to ride away from that motel, though I admit to feeling imaginary bugs crawling on me throughout the day in my gear. Breakfast was had at Granny's in downtown Cody and folks were lining the streets early to see the Stampede Days Parade.
After breakfast I hit the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, with parade vehicles forming up on the street adjacent. The museum was absolutely great! The gun collection is immense and interesting as are the other areas.
There were many Indian artifacts and much of Buffalo Bill's things including a silver saddle.
When I came out, the parade was still staging from the museum parking lots. A senator from Wyoming was there (whose name I don't remember) and he and his assistant ended up standing right next to me. He was courteous and seemed like a nice guy.
Senator is in the blue shirt...
Cody Sheriff's Department
As I waited, the parade entrants leaving the staging area were slowly winding down, so I sat on the bike and waited. Two police cars formed the tail of the parade, so I pulled out and got behind them. Thinking about my destination for the day, I found myself following them down the main street parade route. Though they were the official end, I noticed that people were still watching and waving at me as if I were part of the parade. I did a Queen Elizabeth wave for several blocks. It was a lot of fun and I can now say I was "almost" in the Cody Stampede Days Parade.
Behind the pooper scoopers, a fitting place for me
As an aside, I was posting my trip on the advrider.com forum and was contacted by a guy who said he and his family had seen me in the parade. I laughed out loud and it made my day.
Eventually I tired of the huge crowd of my fans waving and cheering and felt it was time to reduce the size of my big head and head for some beautiful country.
North of Cody sits Hwy 296, also known as Chief Joseph Scenic Byway and yet another road not to be missed in the area. I reversed back north and found it, catching it westward towards Beartooth Highway and Cooke City.
Chief Joseph did not disappoint. It's less dramatic than Beartooth Pass, but is the most beautiful road I've yet ridden. It sweeps through scenery that is hard to believe and I thank God I didn't miss it. It's definitely a must see road. If one traveled Beartooth Pass and Chief Joseph, you’d be hard pressed to ever find anything comparable in the U.S.
I didn’t take more than a couple of photos, unfortunately, but I just wanted to ride and enjoy it.
Rollin rollin rollin, keep them dogies rollin, rawhiiiiiiiiiide!!!!!!
I'd been overwhelmed at the scenery surrounding me for the last several days and it was sad to reach the end of Chief Joseph near Cooke City, but I knew even more lay ahead.
I stopped in Cooke City and grabbed a coffee before continuing on back into Yellowstone and Montana as my destination. The next day was July the 4th and my friends were hoping I would be there for a celebration they had planned. Dillon, Montana was the ultimate goal for this day, as that would put me at my friend’s on the afternoon of the 4th.
Cooke City
After a caffeine break and continuing on back into Yellowstone, I looped around the top of the park and out through the west entrance. The traffic was heavy which made the ride long and slow and by the time I got out of the park I was ready. Luckily, I saw another black bear, lots o' buffalo, elk and a bald eagle on the ride.
The northern and western side featured many thermal areas with formations and small geysers.
West Yellowstone, just outside the western park entrance, was another packed tourist town. I got a sandwich there and headed on for Dillon, Montana.
Going north on 191, I caught 287 west past Hebgen Lake and Earthquake Lake towards Ennis. Earthquake Lake was aptly named, as it was formed when an earthquake brought down a mountainside and blocked the river, creating an instant dam.
Highway 287
Earthquake Lake
The scenery changed and the mountains looked different than in Yellowstone, eventually falling away to rolling hills and wide open valleys between the ranges. Still, it was a beautiful ride. Somewhere on 287 I passed a KLR 650 and a blue and white R1150GS heading towards Yellowstone. They were loaded with gear and we waved. It was good to see some other adventure bikes. I have seen very few so far.
On the way north to Ennis
I wish I had five bucks for every Goldwing with a trailer I'd seen - I probably could've paid for the Ohlins shocks. I didn't realize the popularity of them and only later found out there was a huge Goldwing rally somewhere nearby which explained the massive numbers. Harleys were the second largest group and the rest were a smattering of BMW's with a handful of sportbikes.
At the little town of Ennis, I turned west and traveled on through the quaint Virginia City, then past the old ghost town of Nevada City just a few miles away. Virginia City appeared to be an old mining town that has remained relatively unchanged. The buildings are old, aged black wood like you see in ghost towns but have going concerns within them. The little town was hopping and I went through without stopping or taking photos. I wish I had but was brain-dead at that point and forgot to.
A couple of miles down the road was Nevada City - smaller but with very old buildings and several abandoned rail cars that spoke of the wealth that was there at one time.
Nevada City
Both places looked very interesting and I made a note to come back and spend a day or two there some day.
The day was fading fast and I raced on to Sheridan, where I stopped for a break but got a very, very bad vibe. Don’t know what it was, but just after that, the local cop drove past wearing sunglasses, slowed down and really stared at me. Whether he was the reason I had the premonition or not, I didn’t wait to find out and left as fast as possible.
Twin Bridges was the next town and I was fading with the light, catching Hwy 41 south to Dillon for the night. I found a motel, then went looking for a cheap meal but everything I could find was closed, other than a “Dinner Club” where I had a meal for the night.
No tacos tonight
The next day was July the 4th and I had a party to make with my hosts in Montana. Having left later in June than intended, I'd bumped up against the time frame and unfortunately had to rush through a couple of places but I wasn’t complaining.
It had been a very long day to get within striking distance of the Bitterroot Valley of Montana.
I’d been on the road only 8 days, yet it seemed like a month, having seen such incredible sights and experienced so much already. My head was swimming from the saturation, but also the realization that I’d never felt so alive or experienced so much life as I had in that week plus one day.
The Route: