Friday, July 15th
If I could offer one tip for people thinking of doing a trip like this it would be don’t plan. Or at least, don’t over plan. More or less all the best experiences i’ve had have been a result of not knowing exactly what to do. Today was a great example.
I rode up and down ‘the most beautiful road in America’, and ended the day sleeping in the 2nd biggest log building in the US, a place where Ernest Hemingway apparently used to write, at the gateway to Yellowstone. I couldn’t have predicted either of those things less than a week ago. Or the second one even this afternoon. And both were the result of just talking to people I met by chance.
Not having a plan has at times been a source of stress, but ultimately given the choice again between a fully mapped out route, leaving me to just fill in the blanks, vs a start point and an end point and a few ideas in-between, I’d still take this approach.
Today was another day which felt like several crammed into one, and although I left the campsite from yesterday at 8 this morning, it might as well be last week some time. But it began in the campsite. The bikers drank into the night. Unsurprisingly I was one of the few people up and about at 6am. The picnic table next door looked like the kitchen table after a student house party. I was glad i’d called it a night after two beers, I had a feeling today would be a long, possibly very tough day.
Red Lodge is covered in US flags and it’s hard to look around without seeing someone in bike leathers, or Harley Davidson logo. I didn’t see much of the town beyond that. I picked up some cash and provisions and left, heading directly for the 212 – the Beartooth Highway.
It’s a slow start. I can’t really tell if I’m going up or down. My bike feels sluggish and heavy at the back, i’m have serious doubts i’ll make it over this mountains. I’m definitely in bear country now. The sparse, red dirt landscape of the last day and half has been replaced by thick forest again, and fresh streams which pour out over grey icy rocks.
A roadside sign warns about keeping food locked up, safe from bears. I can’t help but peer into the dark gaps between tress and look for movement or shapes which suggest this animal which i’m undoubtedly becoming preoccupied with.
But the road begins to busy with bikers and cars making the scenic drive. Everyone reassures me that any road with traffic like this is totally safe, but I still look into those shadows.
The first section of the highway is the toughest. A series of long and subtle descents and climbs which take me further amongst the mountains but not up them. An older guy on a racing bike breezes past me.
Eventually the switchbacks and the real climbing begins and remarkably this feels much easier than the previous hour or two on comparatively flat road. Now I know I am actually climbing a mountain it’s easier to adopt the right state of mind and approach and it begins to feel achievable, maybe even easy.
It is surprisingly easy going. The grade doesn’t seem as steep as the Big Horn mountains from two days ago, and the view is even better. Snow capped mountains line the horizon and I wonder how close i’ll get to these frozen heights.
Progress is solid. Car passengers look at me like i’m mad, but i’m used to that. Bikers seem to appreciate what you are doing a little more and I receive the usual mix of thumbs ups and head nods. All these things help.
I keep moving up, I don’t take many breaks, it doesn’t feel like I need them. I measure my progress in terms of feet of elevation, miles, hours and minutes are much less relevant to me on the mountainside. I find an album is a good enough indicator of time passing.
A scenic turnout appears – Rock Creek Vista Point, Elevation 9,190 feet. I know at this point I have probably less than 1,000 feet to go. I pull in and take a break. I ask a biker what the highest point is, his wife lifts his jumper up and a t-shirt with some logo and slogan from a previous year’s ride has the elevation underneath, either 10,900 or 10,090, I can’t remember, but either way the number alone is not an accurate guide.
The next 1000ft pass much the same as before and I arrive at a grassy plateau. Then the wind kicks in. I battle it for another mile and take a break near a small trail people are walking up to presumably one of the highest points on this mountain.
A woman congratulates me and I ask her if we’re at the top. I’m not convinced in her answer and brace myself for more. But a little walk off the bike is helpful for once. At the top of the bank is a snow pack, covered with foot prints and hand marks were people have shaped snowballs. I touch the snow to try and feel some connection between me and the 5000 or so feet i’ve just ridden. Perhaps if it wasn’t for the Big Horn mountains this would have seem a lot harder. I sit on a rock and eat a crushed doughnut and can of coffee.
I head back down and continue. It does get harder. The wind batters me again. And the road does get higher. Checking my position on the map I see it go from 10,489ft, then 10778ft, I take screenshots to help me remember.
The wind dies a little as the road winds it’s way around the mountain. Suddenly the view becomes a lot more dramatic. Below is a a dark lake, behind and beyond are layer after layer of mountains. On some the snow outweighs the green.
A series of switchbacks give me an even greater elevated position. Someone leans out a car and gives me a ‘way to go!’, another one says ‘almost there!’. On one corner I notice three people gathered around a tripod supporting an old film camera. The kind you have to stick your head under a sheet to operate. I talk to them a bit about cameras, and they provide me with probably the most accurate information i’ve received about how far I have to go. Finally, I really am almost there.
I keep checking my altitude – now 10,929ft, and then a sign – “BEARTOOTH PASS SUMMIT. ELEV 10,947”. For such a momentous occasion this tiny brown sign doesn’t feel adequate.
I take a small side road which leads to the vista point. I talk to several different people who all become interested in my bike. A family from France. A guy from Texas. Another from New York. And as I go out on to the rocks to look beyond four people walking their dog – Tim, John, Lisa and Phoebe.
I ask them to take a photo of me then we get talking. John is actually a ranger in Yellowstone. I notice his holstered bear spray and confess my fears. He offers some reassurance, and also might be able to provide me somewhere to stay tonight. The instructions are continue to Silver Gate (10 miles beyond the Fox Creek campground I was originally aiming for) and find a shop with a load of goat and sheep ornaments outside. The instructions will be waiting. I don’t want to be too direct but I assume the chance to stay inside is on the table, something I get quite excited about given the whole bear thing.
From here it’s downhill, at least for sometime. There is a view to the West now. An incredible mountain range. It seems pointless to try and describe mountains but every angle is dramatic, too immense to try and capture with my small camera.
I make the descent wearing my down jacket, and gloves. The wind is harsh, the sun is hidden by cloud, and the cold is very real. The occasional raindrop falls.
There’s a few ups and downs but on the whole it’s downhill for the next 10-20 miles or so. I enjoy the descent a lot more than down from the Big Horn’s. The grade is gentler allowing you to take in your surroundings whilst still gathering speed and staying in control.
The road passes small lakes reflecting the trees around them. And the traffic has quietened. I reach ‘Top of the World’ a small gift shop/general store and I buy a muffin, two cups of coffee, and a Yellowstone pin.
From here it’s down again. It’s less snow and ice and lakes now and just trees. The road snakes through them and I keep my pace up and an eye on the jagged mountains in the distance.
It’s around 15 miles to Silver Gate. After all the down, inevitably came some up. Around 4 miles of climbing which was tough toward the end of the day and without the glacial view of before. The trees are talk and dark and the wind whistles through them. My ears have popped several times. I’ve passed out of Montana, into Wyoming, then into Montana again. I’m looking forward to stopping.
I pass more streams and small waterfalls. I continue to wonder about bears. The time slows. And then it’s downhill again. I hit around 30mph as I enter Cooke City. The first town in 65 miles and a seemingly touristic little hotspot for those wishing to explore Yellowstone. I speed through and almost take out a line of tourists crossing the road.
I stop at a gas station and speak to the guy at the counter there who offers me his couch for tonight. It’s a backup plan, I feel I have to see what the deal is in Silver Gate. It’s three more miles, all downhill.
It’s a cute town, just a handful of buildings, one mile from Yellowstone’s entrance. I go to the shop John described, there’s an envelope from him that the guy behind the counter, Ed, hands me. They’ve got me a room in the Range Raider, an old wooden hotel/lodge next door. As it happens John and Tim are outside. I sign an invoice for $0.00, get given a key, and they show me to the place.
A huge old wooden log building that at various times has been a bar, a dancehall, a brothel. The whole place is like the Twin Peaks set. My room number is 25 and is named Amanda, after the prostitute who worked in that particular room.
I wheel my bike inside. Most of the rooms seem empty. John says how he explained my trip to the guy who owns the place, along with some other buildings in town, which is why they are allowing me to stay for free. I feel very lucky, and glad that i’d struck up the conversation at random on the mountain top earlier.
The place fills out with a few guests later as I cook some food in the kitchen. Like me, everyone seems a little confused about how or why they ended up here, but there’s something kind of special about the place.
I chat with Ryan, a guy staying for a couple of days and checking out Yellowstone. I get some tips. I will be heading into the park tomorrow without too much of a plan or idea about what to see. I will barely be able to scratch the surface in the 2-3 days I think I can allow myself, though that should be enough to take in some of the sites.
I’m already looking forward to a cup of coffee in the morning inside this big wooden bear-proof box.
Map