Waterfalls and Canyons

It was pure serendipity that led me to a smartphone app that, totally, made my visit: the GyPSy Guide for Yellowstone National Park. It's a brilliant idea: guiding you through the park, using your GPS location to trigger the narration along the way. It was worth every penny (and then some).

Undine Falls was a quick stop I likely would have missed, otherwise.

Ditto for a petrified tree, part of a redwood forest that flourished here 50 million years ago. It's fenced in to discourage visitors from prying any more samples loose.

There was road work in progress on a key section of the Grand Loop Road through the park, with one-way traffic controls at 30-minute intervals. Traveling clockwise was the solution. I saw a lone bison grazing in a field a couple of times, but saw a herd only once. I was also fortunate never to encounter an animal jam on the road.

A trail ride might have been fun, but advanced reservations are recommended.

I visited Tower Fall, hiking down to the level of the river. It turned out that the best view was only at the top (as the signage indicated). This was the one time that the GyPSy Guide let me down. Along the way, I passed a notice dating to 2013 stating that the trail (leading to an apparent vista point) was closed; I suspect the hillside slid out. It was a nice hike, anyway.

Wait, a hike? What about those bears?

There were enough people clambering around here that I deemed the risk low, even though technically I was not a group of three. (This would be my strategy for the rest of the trip.) Since the trail down was steep, and didn't promise a better view of the falls, it wasn't clogged with tourists. [Just right.]

Soon my GyPSy narrator mentioned that Chittenden Road was coming up on the left, and would lead part of the way up toward Mt. Washburn (one of the highest peaks in the park). “It's a dirt road,” he explained, but perfectly fine in an ordinary car if there hasn't been recent weather to tear it up.

“All right!” he exclaimed. “I see we've made the turn. Now I'll tell you a little more.”

There were a couple of people coming down the trail from the summit, but I stayed on the lower slope; the gusts were strong. I needed to angle my body into the wind, or simply crouch down, to avoid being blown over. That strong.

I had a good vantage point to view the smoke from the Buffalo fire, and during the short window I spent there, the winds whipped it up. A huge cloud of gray smoke suddenly billowed up beyond the ridge to the north.

My plan today was to explore the Canyon area of the park. Heeding my narrator's advice, I headed first for the south rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, to view the Upper Yellowstone Falls before continuing to Artist Point.

Of course I had to take Uncle Tom's Trail, starting at an elevation of 8,000 feet and descending 328 steps down (and back up) the side of the canyon for the best views. I counted the steps on the return trip—it helped me understand where I was, and I didn't feel a need to rest. On the climb, I reassured people that it was worth the descent (even if they couldn't go all the way).

The north rim, with its view of the Lower Falls and more of the canyon, was next. The farthest vista spot, Inspiration Point, was closed; but I took in the view from the rest (Red Rock, Lookout, Grand View). Overall, I managed to hike another three miles today; I didn't track the elevation gain, but there was quite a bit of that.

The late-afternoon light amplified the colors, though some of the canyon was already deep in shadow.

Having decided that I preferred spending time sightseeing more than eating, a sandwich from the Canyon General Store was my dinner.

The light was fading as I headed back toward Gardiner. Instead of backtracking, I headed west to continue my clockwise route along the Grand Loop. As it turned out, this was perfect: with road construction paused for the night, there was no delay (and new sights).

Seeing people out of their cars at the side of the road, I pulled over. Elk, grazing in a field.

In the Mammoth area, there was an elk nursing her calf right on the lawn, thrilling a small crowd nearby. (She moved on before I could stop for a photo.)

Yellowstone, with its reputation for hordes of visitors (more than 3.8 million in 2015), and for visitors doing foolish things, hadn't been high on the list of National Parks I wanted to visit.

I was wrong about that, and now most grateful to be setting that right.

Mammoth Hot Springs

The north entrance to Yellowstone National Park was so close to my hotel that I could easily have walked there—across the state line, into Wyoming. I considered doing that, to buy my entrance pass, but I arrived early enough in the afternoon that there was ample time to start exploring.

My hotel was right on the Yellowstone River. My hopes of drifting off to sleep to the sound of rushing water were dashed by thick smoke from multiple fires burning within the park—best to keep the windows closed.

The guide books counsel that most park visitors never stray off the boardwalks, if they do get out of their vehicles at all; words to the wise for those who wish to avoid the crowds.

But then they caution that you should always hike in groups of three or more people, make lots of noise, and carry bear spray. [So go figure.]

Sadly, looks like it will be the boardwalks and crowded vistas for me. I am a group of one, not three. A canister of bear spray costs $50 (and you can neither ship it nor carry it with you on a plane). The locals hike with guns, not bear spray. Think about it: If the bear didn't smell you, you're downwind of the bear. If you're downwind of the bear, who's gonna get end up getting sprayed?

I stopped at the nearest visitor center, part of the Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District. The lush green lawns attract elk, the elk attract people. The people were pretty well-behaved; the animals seemed unconcerned. Especially as they clustered around the red signs posted: Danger, do not approach animals.

Parking looked chaotic closer to the hot springs. What's a little more walking, after biking some 500 miles? I left the car where it was.

I wandered around the boardwalks, up and down, fascinated by the features of the various hot springs. By the time I was done, I'd covered about three miles.

Yellowstone sits within a giant volcanic caldera, and these places where the planet gives us a hint of the molten, super-heated layers within are humbling. Day to day we go about our business on terra firma, all too easily forgetting that we're not simply spinning around the sun on a solid chunk of rock.

The smoke contributed a post-apocalyptic feel, and colored the sunset.

The crowds thinned out at the upper levels, above the travertine terraces. [Climb stairs? At altitude?] A boy ran ahead of his parents. “This is tiring!” he complained to me. I laughed; he looked to be all of four years old.

Unintentionally, my timing was spot on. Colors were intense in the early evening light, and families headed for dinner.

Dining options in Gardiner hadn't looked exciting, so I chose a bison burger before leaving the park. [Indistinguishable from beef, to my tastebuds.]

Looking forward to a full day, tomorrow.

Grizzly Encounter

I've biked through a few hundred miles of the greater Yellowstone ecosystem. I've seen the Yellowstone River. What I haven't seen is the famous park itself.

Time for a trip to Yellowstone National Park, a few days before the 100th anniversary of the National Park Service.

The route to Gardiner was familiar—right through the Paradise Valley (on the road not taken last Monday). And it was still filled with smoke from the wildfires.

It seemed as though I reached the highway in no time. The trip was going to take less time than I'd expected, with speed limits ranging between 70 and 80 mph.

When a sign for Grizzly Encounter said “next exit,” I decided to visit. I was too hot and tired to take advantage of a tour when we had a rest stop here, last Monday.

When you hope to observe animals, timing is everything. Brutus and Bella were napping in the shade, and were just about to be switched out for another pair (Jake and Maggi).

These bears were all rescued from less fortunate circumstances; they cannot be returned to the wild. Bella had been found as a young cub, orphaned, in Alaska.

Before bringing out the new pair, a guide went into the empty enclosure and left some treats for the bears to find: peanut butter slathered here and there on logs and under rocks. You know that feeling of having peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth? So do the bears.

Maggi was reluctant to come out into the open; when she did, she walked around in tight circles. Our guide explained that she does that when she's anxious; they think she's reacting to the smoke from the wildfires.

Jake, on the other hand, was a show-off. When he sat up like a teddy bear, everyone reacted with oohs and ahhs—and he ate that right up, rolling around and stretching out on his back in the sunshine.

I was surprised to learn that a major food source for them in the wild is ... moths. That's right, moths. Here, one of their favorite foods is avocados—not surprising, given their calorie density.

I was feeling a bit hungry myself, so I fetched an apple and returned to watch the bears. I kept my eye on Jake, and he clearly noticed. He turned his head in my direction and sniffed. I was at least 50 yards away. This is why you need to keep food in bear-proof containers if you're camping in bear country.

Our guide had lots of practical information about staying safe in the wild. Make lots of noise (talk, sing); be a smelly human (don't brush your teeth, wear deodorant, etc.); don't sleep in the clothes you wore when cooking (lest you be mistaken for a tasty human hot dog). We learned how to distinguish between a black bear (which might be brown) and a grizzly. Powerful muscles used for digging form the hump on a grizzly's back.

But she also had a sense of humor. “You might have been told to climb a tree, if a bear is chasing you. If the bear climbs the tree after you, it's a black bear. If the bear knocks the tree down, it's a grizzly.”

So noted. I don't think I could climb a tree, anyway.

The Traveling Circus

Cycle Greater Yellowstone was my first exposure to a multi-day bike tour that was primarily a camping event. I had chosen not to camp, so I was fascinated with the logistics. Other riders commented about similar events that handled larger groups more smoothly, but I was impressed.

By the time we arrived in town at the end of the day, camp had been set up. Some folks pitched their own tents, but the preferred option was clearly the “tent sherpa” option: a tent with your number on it, already set up with a camp chair. You provide the rest.

Some (much?) of the equipment was normally used to support the crews who fight wildfires in the western U.S. There were multiple fires burning in the region; I wonder what would have happened if the gear couldn't be spared for our use?

There was a truck set up with sinks on both sides, and many reminders about hand-washing hygiene.

There was a shower truck, and plenty of clean towels: one of the support trucks was equipped with a washer and dryer.

Happy campers used Laundry Pods to wash (and spin-dry) their clothes.

A small tanker, filled with water, traveled with us. As did a truck to service our fleet of port-a-potties, keeping them remarkably fresh.

An ambulance and a small crew of EMTs accompanied us. They were from Red Lodge, recruited after helping with last year's ride. Two of them were refugees from the Bay Area. (I met a few of those, throughout my stay.) In addition to the usual SAG support, we also had well-equipped bike mechanics and ham radio operators. Not to mention all the course marshals who helped keep us from making any wrong turns.

Volunteers were recruited in each town, but many of the volunteers were not locals. I chatted a few times with one woman who hailed from South Carolina.

Trucks transported all the gear (luggage, etc.). Those of us staying in hotels were asked to leave our main bag at camp, shuttling back and forth with just one night's essentials. That took some planning—and an understanding of the next day's forecast.

Food was catered by Yellowstone Kelly's, an outfit that also gets involved with catering for wildfire crews. In theory, the organizers were to supply us with “mess kits” to cut down on waste (re-usable plate, mug, bowl, etc.). In practice, these didn't arrive in time. It would have been interesting, shall we say, to see that in action—with a three-stage washing/sanitization process—300+ people, breakfast and dinner. Instead we relied on compostable plates and utensils; regrettable, but certainly easier (and faster).

On the road, we had water stops, rest stops, and lunch. At each stop, there was Gatorade and a small bottle-filling station hooked up to a tank of potable water on a pickup truck. Water stops included a few snacks (e.g., CLIF bars).

Rest stops had more serious snacks (e.g., fruits, nuts, nut butters, tortillas). Ice was available on hot days.

The lunch spread was often more than I could consume: sandwich, chips, fruit, cookies. Breakfasts and dinners were different each day. At all stops, it was also possible to drop excess stuff (e.g., jackets, rain gear) that you would reclaim at camp at day's end.

After dinner, there was always a presentation by someone from the Greater Yellowstone Coalition, as well as announcements about the next day's route by Headmistress Jennifer. There might also be entertainment, by a local band (or in Dillon, the Junior Fiddlers).

There were hiccups with the hotel shuttles, and timing didn't work out for me to get a massage or join a yoga session. Overall, I'd say the traveling circus that was Cycle Greater Yellowstone 2016 ran quite well.

Bozeman Redux

Cycle Greater Yellowstone, Day 7: Ennis-Bozeman

This was our coldest morning yet; the weather app on my phone said 27F when I woke up. Without a dining tent, we found the breakfast tables coated with frost. [Have I mentioned that I'm really glad not to have been camping?] My hands are chapped from so much washing and cold-weather exposure, though that's actually a good thing—the organizers have been emphatic about hygiene, to keep us all healthy.

Pro tip: Cover your bicycle saddle with a plastic bag overnight; you'll start the day with a nice, dry saddle. Or in this case, a frost-free one.

Even though today's route would be our shortest, we were encouraged to get an early start. Headmistress Jennifer had negotiated a deal with the highway patrol to have a presence along a stretch of Highway 84 that passes through a scenic (curvy, narrow) canyon.

To get there, we first needed to ride again on Highway 287. The ride was less hair-raising than yesterday's, but we were also on the road at an early morning hour.

At mile eight, we started a four-mile climb. Along the way, a roadside sign educated us about this route: “The road over Norris Hill already existed when it was used in 1864 as an extension of the Bozeman Trail from Bozeman and the Gallatin Valley to Virginia City.”

Once I reached the top, I chose to fly down the other side. The traffic-moderated canyon was five miles ahead at Norris, and I wanted to be sure of getting through it peacefully. With no headwind to fight, I achieved a top speed of 49 mph. [I passed a few riders.]

In the canyon, traffic was slowed by our own support vehicles as well as the highway patrol. It was a lovely ride.

Having left the Madison River in Ennis, we found it again as we rode through the canyon.

I was surprised to see a small flock of white pelicans floating with the current, conserving energy. As I watched the river flow at our rest stop, I also spotted two round furballs (one large, one small) floating along—beavers, most likely.

Closer to town, there was one steep-ish pitch to climb, much to the dismay of many tired riders.

We finished at the headquarters for the Greater Yellowstone Coalition, a familiar sight for me by now (due to its proximity to the Gallagator Linear Trail). Our shortest day of riding, 59 miles with 2,240 feet of climbing.

The end was ... anti-climactic. Lunch was a barbecue, but the promised “ice cream bar, with all the fixings” turned out to be individual frozen cups and some chocolate syrup. [I rectified that later, with three scoops of locally-churned huckleberry ice cream after dinner.]

Riders gathered up their stuff and scattered; only a few packed their own bikes. I found my box—already labeled for the return trip—and set to work disassembling and packing.

Now that it was done, what did I think of Cycle Greater Yellowstone?

I'm glad I did the ride; how, otherwise, would I know that I could?

The route is different each year, and some folks return again and again—I don't expect to be one of them. For me, there was too much riding on highways; the stress interfered with my enjoyment of the scenery.

I also think the event is best suited to those who camp. Camp-based activities, like yoga and musical performances, were too hard for non-campers to take in, what with limited support for shuttling between camp and hotel. Camp was, obviously, the social center; not being there also meant fewer opportunities to get to know fellow riders.

The biggest surprise for me was that, throughout the ride, I never felt tired. Or sore. I expected that I would collapse early each night, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but that was not the case. Not being sore meant that I was in good enough shape. Not being tired, someone told me, meant that I was eating enough. [Eat to bike, bike to eat.] Nonetheless, I dropped a pound—despite the enormous cinnamon bun I had for breakfast one morning. Evidently my body was sufficiently tuned to burn some reserves of fat, which I was most happy to put to good use.

My stats for seven straight days pedaling around in southwestern Montana: 519 miles, 18,865 feet of climbing, and about 15,515 kcal burned. Amazing what the body can do.

Ennis

Cycle Greater Yellowstone, Day 6: Dillon-Ennis

Another rider arrived as I was parking my bike. “What did you think of that road?” he asked. The road was fine, it was the drivers that were a problem. “I'm done,” he replied. “They can SAG me to Bozeman tomorrow.”

I walked past the information desk as another rider was sharing his feelings about today's route. He was a local, from Livingston; I'd chatted with him a few times.

Headmistress Jennifer was on the phone with the highway patrol, making arrangements for some support tomorrow morning.

But I've gotten ahead of myself.

It was chilly this morning, with a threat of some rain (which, luckily, never materialized).

I started rolling shortly after 7 a.m., and was nearly two miles down the road when I realized I hadn't yet started recording my GPS track. By now you'd think I'd have this routine nailed.

Our first stop was near a famous limestone outcropping known as Beaverhead Rock, another critical landmark tied to the Lewis and Clark Expedition of 1805. Here they sought (and found) Sacagawea's people, the Shoshone. We also learned that prehistoric creatures (titanotheres) grazed in these fields some 30 million years ago, their fossilized remains having been found in the 1980s.

We were encouraged to take some time to see the sights along the way; it promised to be an easy day, and we would pass through a pair of historic gold mining towns, Nevada City and Virginia City. These days, they're both tourist attractions.

Piles of broken rock litter the landscape, evidence of the hunt for gold.

I was glad I stopped first in Nevada City, where I picked up a large ginger cookie at the Star Bakery. [The cookie was embossed with—you guessed it—a star.] Nevada City had a more rustic feel; Virginia City was crowded with tourists and souvenir shops; biking safely through there commanded full attention.

The trouble had started much earlier, though. We needed to travel on Highway 287 from Twin Bridges to Ennis—about 45 miles. And so did everyone else.

The shoulder was more narrow than a bike lane (when there was a shoulder). The headwind was ferocious; the crosswinds were worse. The winds alone challenged me to keep the bike upright, but the mightiest challenge came from what I'll call the “wash” (or “reverse draft”) of tractor-trailers traveling at 70+ mph in the opposite direction: generating a massive blast of air. I realized that the prudent solution would be to stop the bike and step off the road if I saw a truck approaching (and, sometimes I did). It was also a challenge not to get sucked into the lane with the draft of the trucks that passed alongside us.

Some of this problem was just bad timing: We were on this stretch of road in the afternoon, when drivers are particularly impatient as they feel pressed to get wherever they're going. Slowing to pass cyclists, or giving us a little more room, was not factored into their plan for the day.

Climbing out of Virginia City wasn't bad; the road was engineered with a second (slow) lane for the climb, so we finally got a break. Once I reached the top, well, I knew what to do. [Go fast. Go really fast. Go as fast as I possibly could, down the hill. Go go go.] Even that was treacherous, as I was buffeted by the crosswinds. I made myself as aerodynamic as possible, hung on for dear life, and hoped for the best.

Last night, one of the EMTs had mentioned that this area was known for strong winds, and he was surprised at how lucky we'd been so far. [Indeed.]

I made it. 72 miles, with 2,565 feet of climbing.

After gathering my things, I realized that Ennis was the town where I'd managed to book a cabin located right next to camp. I could just walk there.

Sweet.