Day 53: All the Way to Jackson

Thank you, Tetons. Thank you, sky. Thank you; Wyoming, Indian Paintbrush, Queen Anne's Lace, Lupine, Aspen, Sagebrush, and asphalt. Thank you fog and geysers and bacon and eggs. Thank you Bonesy.

Wednesday was my birthday and the most glorious day of riding so far. I sort of lost track of how long it'd been since the last update (which itself was woefully short on detail), so now I feel like I have enormous catching  up to do, and of course even if I kept up in the first place I could never capture all of this. So I think we'll just focus on the birthday ride and fill you in on the rest by way of providing some background information.

OK. So we were wicked tired after that climb a week ago, and it took us two days to make it the hundred miles to Cody (we wanted to actually push on another 18 miles up the Shoshone river on the second day, but we were just whipped, and Bonesy's parents treated us to a motel and we watched Harry Potters 4 & 5 on TV and slept a lot). Cody -- "A small town with a big city attitude!" -- is at the mouth of a canyon that stretches fifty miles and climbs about 2000ft to the East entrance to Yellowstone, and somehow it took us another day to get up there. Again, we'd wanted to make it another 27 miles into the park, but by now were feeling so tired that I think we both started getting a little nervous. It should also be noted that there was some gnawing concern regarding Grizzly bears: during our week-long approach to Yellowstone we were alerted via text messages -- by no fewer than five people -- to the recent fatal mauling of a hiker who had evidently "done everything right." Bonesy had been concerned about bear activity from the outset, and my bravado regarding the ursine threat had worn awfully thin by this point in the trip. Point being, we were carrying minimal food and planning on eating exclusively at restaurants and gas stations, which added stress to the whole situation because it meant that we were going to be limited on our ride-routing by the admirably sparse development of services in the park. Then there was the whole "Yellowstone in July" thing which, take it from me, vacationing readers, just do not go to Yellowstone in July. Lodging is booked like, a year in advance, including campgrounds. Including campgrounds!

So when we arrived at Fishing Bridge (the first "village" -- or concentration of parkgoer services -- to be reached below the 8600ft Sylvan Pass that constitutes the park's natural east entrance) under skies the color of the lupine lining the fire-scoured hillsides above us, the ranger we asked about camping was like "geez, yeah, it's just such high season right now," and directed us 45 miles south to a campground without potable water. It's now about 3:30, and in the mid fifties and certainly not getting any warmer, and it's been raining on and off since noon, and this alarming weariness has not left us. The wind began to howl.
"I can suggest some nice places to stay just outside the park," she offered the two of us, clad as we were in spandex, cycling gloves, and dripping raingear.
"No," I was surprised at having to clarify; "we're on bicycles."
She said, "oh, gosh, OK. Yeah, I would head south [to the aforementioned campsite, dry and distant]."

Anyway, patient readers, we went to the nearest campsite, about two miles away, and sure enough it had a sign saying "full." I pointed this out to the woman working at the registration window, and she said perhaps the most welcome words we'd heard all trip (bear in mind, readers, the grisly prospect of being dismembered in our tent all because I left a powerbar wrapper in my sweater pocket or something): "Well, we are full, but never too full for hikers and bikers." May the creator bestow blessings upon Xanterra -- the park's principal concessionaires and operators of the Bridge Bay campground -- and its employees in measure commensurate with their treatment of us and all cyclists foolhardy enough to visit Yellowstone National Park.

Alright, still with me? We had planned on getting up early, leaving our gear at the campsite, and riding light up to the falls at Inspiration point, then coming back for the stuff and riding south to the edge of the park, there to stage the following day's 67 mile trek to Jackson. Well, after eating some pretty weak sandwiches at the Lake Lodge, we were spinning back to our tent contemplating another whole day of riding with rabid tourists in rented RV's careening past, paying more attention to the admittedly impressive scenery than the winding, shoulderless roads. Bonesy bravely broached the subject of bailing on Yellowstone, which had become more something to survive, or at least endure, before our impending vacation in Jackson. To be fair, she actually couched it in terms of the century ride it would entail -- something that, near the very beginning of the trip, I had idly suggested as a potential birthday celebration. So we went to bed early.

The next morning, we woke up at 5:30 and hit the road in less than an hour -- I wearing every long-sleeve article of clothing I had, as well as a wool hat. Our fingers were cold, and the morning fog still hung over Yellowstone Lake (which, by the way, looked an awful lot like Lake Champlain when we arrived the day before but now looked like the largest alpine lake on the continent, which it is) as we rode the narrow piney road along its shore. Stopped for breakfast, at which to celebrate my birthday I had both orange juice and coffee, and ran into two sets of touring cyclists while there. It turns out that all touring cyclists in the United States manage to converge on Yellowstone (Riding Bar Harbor to Key West? A quick detour will allow you to see, and potentially be charged by, free-grazing bison!). I think a later post will deal exclusively with the variety of tourists we've met: with the variety itself, mind you, and not necessarily with any of the cyclists themselves. This is getting long winded, isn't it?

So then we rode over the continental divide, and I peed on both sides of it. Woah! Then we crossed and followed the Snake River, and while our road continued to climb gradually back to 8300 ft, the river plunged ever deeper into a canyon to our immediate left. Like, immediate, readers. Pretty spectacular. Then -- and this might be the best part of the whole unbelievable day, buried inconspicuously right here in what, like the sixth paragraph? -- we descended. It had been overcast all morning, and then I swear less than ten minutes before we hit the pass it just cleared off and the sun shone brightly on an unbroken four mile descent through the sweetest-smelling air I have ever had the pleasure of breathing. Wildflowers on the roadside dissolved into a fragrant blur as species blended in different proportions, creating mats colored everywhere from dark purple to magenta to creamy white. In front of us, the Tetons loomed, craggy and perfect, slicing cumulus clouds so sharply that they might have burst and drifted tattered into Jackson Lake.

We spent the afternoon riding past those mountains -- like someone's idea of what a mountain range should look like -- first through forested hills along the lake and then across wind-blasted flats. The last thirty miles into Jackson were, like, real windy, and right in our faces. There was no shade. It was exhausting and somehow invigorating at the same time. Spiritually, I guess. From town it was another ten miles to Bonesy's cousin's house. Most of that was on a rolling bike path while the sun settled out of a cloudless sky, dipping behind the mountains just as a near-full moon rose in front of us. Then we had to climb this ridiculous grade to get here, but at that point it was all just icing on the best birthday cake ever. You know, we were either going to make it up here or fall off the bikes, and we didn't fall off, so we made it. Showers. A cold beer each. Sleep like the dead. There could be no better way to spend my birthday than with 112 miles and a whole day spent outside, cradled by lakes and mountains and sun and clouds, starting swaddled head to toe and ending up in nothing but my shorts. Getting rained on and getting a little bit of a burn on my nose. Finishing with a climb to a gorgeous view and a beautiful quiet home to rest in. So thank you.

Regarding the home, we have to thank cousin Becca and her husband John in a big way. This is the most beautiful place we could hope to rest before the push to the coast. We're sorry to have missed you and your son, but please understand how grateful we are for your generosity and for the mental and physical rest it affords us. I think we're going to take a full 3 days off, and I'm sure it will be hard to leave even after that.
Ride on, just not quite yet.

HARRY POTTER FEELINGS AND EMOTIONS: AHhhhh!!! We waited in line for two hours last night for the midnight showing, and we didn't get in!!!! There was a woman in the crowd after they closed the doors wearing a t-shirt that said "relax, it's only a movie," and she was telling everyone outside how sorry she was that we didn't get in. I was almost as disappointed as when I turned 12 and didn't get my letter of admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!!!! But now I realize that it's only going to be THAT MUCH BETTER when I finally get to see the movie!!! I have begun to see how Harry and I are very much the same person -- in the trailer it says that every moment he has lived has led up to THIS, and that's exactly how I FEEL! I think I am being tested to see if I am courageous enough to persevere!! I wish I had a time-turner like Hermione has in the PRISONER OF AZKABAN so that I could GO FORWARD IN TIME to TONIGHT when I have seen HP7:t DHp.2!!!!