More Updating - August 5, 2007

 More Updating

(August 5, 2007)

 

As I was saying (when I ran out of computer time at my motel) the Garcia family was a joy to get to know. Bob worked on the B-2 bomber for a time; but the idea of delivering nuclear weapons bothered him. He took a job as an economist with the U.S. government. Both Teresa and her sister, Dr. Rose, have taught or now teach college classes. Katie Garcia and her cousin Sabrina, especially, told me they were voracious readers.

Unfortunately, Katie let her enthusiasm carry her away and she revealed to me (and to her parents) her secret for reading late at night: shoving a blanket in the crack under her door. Now Mr. and Mrs. Garcia will be checking regularly.

Earthquake Lake, Idaho.

 

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Touched almost to tears.

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Phillip said he had seen a bear at Yellowstone while the family was there – but no one else was sure. Jessica was funny, too, and obviously a bright young lady. Bob should be happy every birthday. He has a fine family.

The next morning I took a picture of the Garcia's before I left. Dr. Rose and Sabrina were not yet in sight. Dr. Rose then arose (bad pun) and wished me luck. Last I heard as I cycled away, headed for Yellowstone, everyone was teasing Sabrina for sleeping late. She responded in an animated tone from inside, “I’m not sleeping, I’m cleaning up the tent.”

I spent part of the morning enjoying the scenery at Lake Jenny. Then I rode into Yellowstone, crossing the Continental Divide twice, requiring serious climbing. I stopped at one stream and discovered a beautiful waterfall just off the road. A lot of young people were swimming there; some in bikinis.

My wife reads this blog...so I shall pass on to another subject.

I spent two days in the park, watching Old Faithful, taking pictures of geysers, the usual tourist agenda. As I was leaving by the west exit on August 3, I saw my first buffalo. So did a hundred cars filled with other tourists. We stopped to gawk and take photos. That bull was photographed like Paris Hilton on release from prison. There’s one big difference though: the buffalo was probably smarter.

I pedaled out of the park and into West Yellowstone about 6:00 p.m. that night. I tried to find a motel room after three days camping (one night in the woods near Grant Village, which I settled on when all regular campgrounds were full). No deal: except one place which offered accommodations for $129 per night!

I’d rather be eaten by a bear.

So I began asking around, and ran into a bicycler, Doug T-------, who had ridden south from Glacier National Park. He was talking to a local man, Bill (I failed to get his last name). Doug and I discussed options...and Bill explained that he had a piece of wooded land five miles north of town. Said we could camp there. Then he thought a minute and offered beds at his house. “My boys are with their mother. You can have their rooms,” he explained. Then he added, “I’m not much of a housekeeper. So it’s one step above a frat house.”

Still: that’s three steps above a tent.

So we took him up on the offer. Bill isn’t a cleaner, but he was fun to talk to and a philosopher. He and I shared notes on divorce (not my present wife – the one before – and – damn – the one before that, for me) and how it affects kids. He filled me in on local environmental issues.

Doug trims trees for a living in Virginia and loves climbing. He has a tattoo of a chainsaw blade on one bicep. Doug is a hippie trapped in the wrong decade. He once spent a year hitching round the country. Then he got picked up by a recently-released convict headed north to see his girlfriend and enter rehab. Unfortunately, the ex-con had the brilliant idea of stealing a car to make the journey. A police chase ensued. The car spun out and rolled. Doug rolled with it but suffered only minor scratches and decided to end his career on the road.

Doug and Bill were a pleasure to talk to. And if Bill reads this: good luck with the two boys, 12 and 14. He is committed to being part of their lives.

His license plate reads: TWO CUBS. It reminds him of the boys.

I wish I'd remembered to take the two women's names.

The last two days have taken me north. I passed Earthquake Lake on Route 287. It was created by a landslide of 80,000 tons of rock in 1959, triggered by the fourth strongest quake ever to hit the United States. I stopped to eat lunch at Cabin Creek Cafe and mentioned to the waitress I was riding to raise money for JDRF. She smiled and asked with a hint of hesitation, “Can I contribute?” Almost before I could say “yes” she was off to find her purse. She returned with $20, half hers, half from another waitress.

The gift was so spontaneous I was touched almost to tears.

                    

Once more I camped that night in my own “roadside campground.” That is: I found a good patch of trees along the North Meadow Creek, seven miles north of Ennis, Montana. So I slumbered peacefully to the sounds of the bubbling brook.

Today I rode north on 287 and 359, through gorgeous country. Twice I had to climb three miles or more. I hit Interstate 90 and rode west for fifty miles. I had to climb eight tough miles to get to Butte. But in Butte I am.

I’ve completed 3,300 miles. Only 900 to go.

 

*Fifteen years later, going back over my story, I realize I should have taken a picture of Bill’s license plate, among others. 

I originally included Doug’s last name; but later, I wrote about my story in more detail and left it out. During one discussion, he told Bill and me that he liked smoking marijuana and riding. “There’s nothing like flying down a mountain when you’re half baked,” he explained. 

I still haven’t tried that myself. 

As for Paris Hilton, if you’ve got nothing better to do, you can still see her getting released from jail if you click on the YouTube link. 

Then you could watch Larry King Jr. do a seven-minute interview. Or you could go pick belly button lint.

Forest fires in Montana left me riding in a gray haze.

These pictures are from a car trip to Yellowstone;
but you can see all of this from the seat of a bicycle.

Buffalo checking out the tourists.

My son-in-law, Alex Donaldson, atop Mt. Washburn.
My first long trip on a bike, in 1999, started in the middle of Yellowstone and I rode back to Ohio.
Passing Mt. Washburn, my first day, I thought, "Holy shit. I'm really doing this."

I was fifty at the time.

My wife atop Mt. Washburn in 2018.

I can tell you, that once you pass Mt. Washburn (center of photo),
you get to coast downhill for the next fourteen miles.
I did that in 1999, and did it again in 2007 and 2011.

Tourists at the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River.

Rushing, emerald water.

Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. The Lower Falls is 308 feet high.