We woke around 6am to the sound of wolves in the distance, whom had set off several dogs barking in the campground. That was a first for me. I thought the sound was different, and Bill, being a rural Kentucky native, recognized it right away. I was surprised as I unzipped the tent how warm it had remained overnight, I was bracing for an icy chill as I stepped outside, but the air was mild. It was Thursday, almost the end of the first week of our adventure. Today we would ride through Yellowstone National Park, hopefully see Old Faithful and arrive in Provo, Utah, our destination.
Breaking down camp, we loaded up the bikes and I cleaned our bug splattered windshields with Novus, some excellent plastic windshield cleaner. We stopped for a picture next to the Buffalo Bill State Park sign, (Bill’s nickname after last year’s run-in with some buffalo) and were soon back on 14 heading further west, towards Yellowstone, our friends following in their car.
It was another cool ride as we glided through the curves and shadows. More wildlife signs, this time warning us of bear. I was a tad anxious as this was just on the heels of a fatal bear attack in a Yellowstone campground that had just taken place days before. The time was about 7am, and the morning sun had not yet risen high enough over the mountains for us to feel it’s warmth.
We stopped for breakfast at one of the resorts in Yellowstone, the first was a cafeteria which really didn’t excite Bill, who is not a cold breakfast kind of guy. The Lake Hotel had an actual restaurant, but serving a buffet only. It was a very nice place, ritzy, reminding me of the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. High ceilings, white interior, wood carvings, plush carpet. Feeling rather out of place in our jeans and leathers, we were seated near the entrance of the dining room, and visited their buffet. Huge variety of breakfast items, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, french toast, cereal, bagels, muffins and scones, my absolute weakness. Very good food, though they could have thrown a bit more heat on the bacon and sausage, which was pretty close to raw.
Old Faithful was our next stop, which was pretty crowded. I soon wondered if Bill was the only other person here that spoke English. It was a chilly, overcast day, and we walked the loop taking pictures of the various thermals as we waited for the next eruption, which was estimated to be around 1:05pm. Taking a seat on the boardwalk, we sipped hot chocolate, anticipating the show. I announced to a few surrounding spectators, “Okay everyone, get your cameras ready, I’m about to switch lenses. That will just about guarantee that it will go off, just as I’m nowhere near ready!”, which brought a few chuckles from the crowd. We ended up waiting about 45 minutes, and the sprays began, developing into the grand finale showers of water and steam.
Though it was a sight to see, and another check off the bucket list, waiting for Old Faithful to blow had put us a bit behind schedule. We rode out of Yellowstone Park via 20 and into West Yellowstone, Montana, where we stopped for lunch at the Outpost Restaurant. It was nestled inside the Montana Outpost Mall, which resembled Wall Drug, in South Dakota. 20 eventually took us into Idaho Falls, Idaho, where we picked up 15 and continued south and into Utah. This is where we would learn from several locals that Utah is pronounced exactly as it’s spelled. We easterners pronounce it Utaw. Or at least I always have.
Although it was the same scenery for most of the day, the desert mountain ranges on both sides of the highway lined with common sunflowers was breathtaking. We approached a large cloud of what I thought was smoke blowing across the road, and when we got closer, I saw it was a combine harvesting a hayfield, the wind blowing a huge cloud of dust. We rode through it, and the smell of hay took me back to Bill’s Dad’s barn down in Kentucky.
As the sun slowly dipped and eventually hid behind the western mountain range, the temps dropped back down, but we were still miles from our destination for the night, a KOA in Provo, Utah. We decided to find a hotel for the night rather than set up a tent in the dark and cold. Well, I decided. Checking in at the Howard Johnson in Brigham City, I realized that I may just be at the end of my tent camping days. I was so grateful to have a real bed that I didn’t have to inflate and hope didn’t go flat in the middle of the night, a hot shower, and wireless internet. Because of our delay today, we had an even longer day tomorrow. I had no trouble falling asleep. By now we’d put on close to 2,000 miles since leaving Michigan.