Our next challenge is Beartooth Highway. I've been trying to get up and over it for the past three years. After an uneventful night in the tents by a rippling brook, with no intrusion from Yogi and Boo Boo, we eased out of the campground moving deliberately onto the hardtop that would carry us 10,947 feet above sea level.
The road twists, turns, switches, angles, and climbs this monster of a mountain, but it's in no way different than a hundred other roads that wrap around a mountainside. The difference is in the view. It's beautiful beyond description. The dang thing is breathtaking! No, I mean I have a hard time breathing up there. Halfway to the top and moving becomes a chore. We meet a group of people that are climbing that rascal on bicycles. I ask 'em if they could yodel for me and they say "sure, for five bucks". There are plenty of pools of water, and one or two big enough to be called a lake. It isn't cold, but there's still snow on the ground.
After Beartooth, we roll through Cody and Lake Wyoming, on our way to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. We crest a curve in Yellowstone, and there in the ditch is a Blue Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic Electra Glide lying on its side. The ranger says the rider was found pinned under the bike and is in serious condition. He must have rounded the turn then seen one of the many large animals in the road and hit the ditch to keep from center-punching the critter.
Out of Yellowstone, the sky opens up spilling water over Mother Earth. We saw it coming so we're already suited up. Our plans were to stay at a resort in Thayne, Wyoming but we figure setting up tents in rain just won't do. We check prices for a room in Jackson Hole, but to our chagrin, the range for occupancy permits runs between $130.00/ $329.00 for a single. Check the sign, is this Aspen?
We end up at a rest area. Matt pitches his tent behind a semi-enclosed picnic area, and I sleep on top of a picnic table under my plastic space blanket. The mercury drops into the 30s. In the A.M. Matt asks if I slept on that concrete table underneath a thin sheet of plastic? Yep!
I usually carry a Sterno, mess-kit, hot chocolate, powdered milk, and H2O just for such occasions, but elected not to this run because I was already over-packed. We break the fast with Granola Bars 'n' water and hit the trail. U.S. 89 leads us through the corner of Idaho and into Utah and Interstate 15 south. We burn some miles on I-15 to U.S. 6 west, a two-lane that carries us to Nevada.
At the border of Nevada and Utah we find a couple of Harley riders on a bench under a shade tree. One has a case of road rash on his arm and both knees. I carry a well-stocked first aid kit, so I ask if he'd let me dress his wounds? I clean the damaged areas with peroxide, apply triple antibiotic, and cover it all with sterile pads and toss him a couple Ibuprofen for pain control.
At Borders Inn, a half mile away, I find the best chicken strips I've ever had. On the walls, ceiling, posts, and doors were $1 bills with people's names and towns. We motor on so we can make Vegas before it gets late. U.S. 6 takes us to U.S. 93 so we lean left and motor south.
Along the way I spot an older man on a bicycle, loaded for the long haul, with a dog on a rope. Jim Smith took Social Security at 62, bought a bicycle, got a dog, and hit the trail. He has ridden east to Kansas, north to Washington, south to San Diego and all points in between. This is Jim's second dog, her name is Palomina. Jim doesn't worry about snakes or scorpions any more after a couple of close calls. Says he feels close to God sleeping under the stars and is celebrating his 74th birthday this month.
In Vegas, I motor to a Casino then call my nephew Darrel to come get us. He wheels in on a 100th anniversary Wide Glide that looks like new. He traded it for a car and $1500. We do some maintenance in Vegas: oil filters, and an electrolyte check on the battery.