Day 6: The Perfect Ride

Rode 320 miles, Posted by the Bug

First things first: I’ve renamed Robb from Darth to Bull, since his black bike's flared nostrils give it the look of an angry cartoon bull. So now we are the Killer B’s: Blue, Bull, Barca, and the Bug. (Check yesterday’s post if you need to identify who’s who.)

Blue led the way out of Idaho Falls this morning—in the wrong direction at first, but at least he did it with authority. After that little two-mile detour, however, everything went right, resulting in the perfect ride.

The 110-mile hop to West Yellowstone took a mere 90 minutes, and by the time we queued up at the entrance to Yellowstone National Park, the temperature had risen more than twenty degrees. We stripped off our leathers, coated ourselves with sun block, paid the $20 motorcycle entry fee (good for seven days sir!), and headed into Yogi Bear’s living room. Alas, we saw neither Yogi nor Boo Boo, glimpsed very few elk, but did at least come upon a “herd” of five bison, who conveniently chose to graze by the road, giving us great photos. (Remember to click up there to the left to see our gallery, now 600 pics and growing.)

After five days of Pacific coastline, Redwood groves, and Oregon high desert, I thought we were maxed out on magnificence, but Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons sent our gasp meters to new levels. First came the geyser fields, including Old Faithful, which erupted right on time at 1:59 pm. We snapped a dozen pictures and by 2:01 were on our bikes, ahead of the exiting crowd. Then, for the next two hours, we saw everything from raging rapids to emerald green meadows to stark gray gorges. I can see why the pass is good for a week.

As we left Yellowstone and headed south to the Grand Tetons, we crossed the Continental Divide (where bathtub drains start swirling in the opposite direction), and glimpsed thick, billowing clouds on the horizon. Rounding a bend above a river, we saw their source: There was a huge forest fire about ten miles to the east, and overhead there were tanker planes—we had seem them taking off from Idaho Falls yesterday—dumping water on the flames. I don’t know how this fire compares with the others that have received so much attention lately, but it was massive beyond description.

The Tetons weren’t snowcapped like I had expected them to be, but they were stunning nonetheless. Dennis called them “God’s Cathedral,” an apt description, since they’re shaped a bit like natural steeples. One peak in particular caught my eye, because it is so sharp, and leans a little to the left, like the mountain in Jim Carrey’s Grinch movie. Its jagged, pointy spire is the range’s natural logo.

Next stop was Jackson Hole, Wyoming, which several folks had called a must-see. We had supper at the Cadillac Grille, in the middle of a pretty resort town that obviously still has plenty of room to grow. Then we were off for our final 77 miles to Pinedale, Wyoming, and our home for the night, the lovely, rustic Amerihost Inn.

After a slice of pie at the Wrangler Café (where they had run out of nearly everything else) we headed back to the inn and settled down on lounge chairs out by the parking lot to watch the beginning of this year’s Perseids meteorite shower. It’ll actually peak sometime tomorrow night, and we’ll be outside in Boulder for the big show, but at least this evening we saw a few streaks of fire in the heavens. Take a good look tomorrow night and think of us. We’ll be halfway home.