Great job and great pics! You should email Fred Rau at Motorcycle consumer news a link to this thread, An experienced editor/rider like him could select some of the passages and pictures and maybe help you get an article out of this!
editor@mcnews.com

 

Again - thank you all for the truly appreciated compliments. I'm going through my rolodex of excuses and I've selected "moving" and "work". I know, I know.....pretty weak. But, unfortunately true.

It occurs to me, as I carry objects too heavy for my age, that I could happily live out the rest of my life roaming the planet and living out of my saddlebags. Much simpler. And when it's time to move, you just push "start".

But...enough stalling. I should be able to wrap this up this weekend. (promises promises) The next segment closes out day 10 in West Yellowstone. From there we go to Sturgis, and then back to Milwaukee.

Thanks for your patience and support

Btw - I've also been reading trip reports posted up by those who have responded here = Great stuff!

 

At Arco , sort of, we took hwy 22/33 away from Idaho Falls and towards Rexburg, where we would rejoin 20 and head north up to Montana and enter the Yellowstone region. That stretch was not particularly noteworthy as compared to the more scenic portions of this trip. But, it was a nice ride through a pretty state on 2 lane under sunny skies. That’s the problem with seeing so much monumental beauty. the stuff in between becomes ordinary, even if it’s great. Fortunately, we kept this in perspective and enjoyed the hell out of each and every mile.



Heading north out of Rexburg was relaxing. The traffic was light and moving along nicely. To the east we could see the Tetons. I k now them well as I have skied Jackson Hole a number of times. I have always been in awe of the rugged Tetons, but usually as seen from the east. They are impressive to look at from any direction.



We were very excited to be nearing Yellowstone. The narrow black ribbon road took us past ranch homes and pastoral settings. The sun was getting low and casting a subdued light on the landscape for the rest of our ride. I don't really have much more to say about the final leg of our day's trip because we didn't have much to say while riding. We just soaked in the sights with a V twin theme song.





Based on the consistently low overnight temps, I have to believe that water is cold. It didn't seem to phase the folks floating down the river in inner tubes. Temps were in the 80s.



Getting close now.







Cheryl is ever watchful for evidence of the presence of Grizzly Bears in deference to my intense phobia of Ursus arctos horribilis, or any Bear for that matter. She is a cruel woman at times, and delights in taunting me with bear images.



We arrived in West Yellowstone with plenty of sunlight left. We weren't really sure what to expect. Would it be a village of log cabins and tents, smoke rising from the many campfires attended to by coonskin hat wearing travelers? Highrises and malls surrounded by squadrons of winnebagos? Nope - just a smallish tourist town with the usual plethora of T-shirt and salt water taffy shops that you might find near any tourist attraction. It reminded us very much of Wisconsin Dells - our own tourist trap. Was it the Meth and prostitution haven some told us? Not to the casual eye it wasn't. And having spent a lot of time on the road, I can usually figure that out in a big hurry by the telltale "Cash Check" stores, pawn shops, blood banks, vagrants laying about the alleyways, or Duluth MN city limits sign. Not here. During daylight anyway.

You all know our m.o. by now. Unless it's so hot that we need to rapidly bring down core temps in a cold shower, we seek out cold beverages to toast our day's adventure. We felt fresh after a great ride and it was beer thirty. We were certain that because it was Sturgis week, we would find a bar with a bunch of bikes lined up out front. We would pull in to the cheers of our fellow moto-travelers who would welcome us with a a hearty "bro" handshake and a cold frothy beer. It was with no real surprise and feint disappointment that we parked next to one motorcycle and walked into a deserted Bullwinkle's West Saloon and "Casino".



I guess all one needs to do to qualify as a casino in these parts is to have a couple of slot machines. Vegas this was not - the casino was unimpressive. Gambling was not in the cards for us anyway. The reality is, we stopped because they were flying a Packer banner overhead. It was certainly providence that led us some 4000 miles to this spot. And sure enough, Packer paraphernalia was everywhere. Ok...so we weren't greeted by fellow travelers, but at least the bartender would be enthralled by our origins and exploits. We sat at the bar. And sat. And sat. Finally the weary eyed, very uninterested barkeep ambled our way...and looked at us. Normally we are accustomed to a greeting and something to the effect of "what'll ya have?" Not here, not today. We just got staring. Cheryl, nonplussed, exclaimed that we had ridden there from Wisconsin by way of the rest of the western continent and stopped in because of the Packer flag flying out front. More staring...."what'll ya have?". There it is. Took long enough. Someone isn't very interested in tips apparently. We stayed for one beer, paid, and kept the change.

Lamest Bullwinkle ever. But, it is wearing a Packer scarf so it gets a pass.



We followed the Steetpilot to our accommodations - The Alpine Hotel. I selected the Alpine based on a Trip Adviser search rating it numero uno for digs in West Yellowstone. Plus, it had individual cabins which made us feel like pioneers of the old west. Pioneers with a cabin built off of the back paved hotel parking lot. But, it was decent inside. Also, the owner was probably the friendliest guy I have ever met. He was over the top nice. Almost to the point that a city guy like me was wondering what he was angling for. Just when I thought I was going to get handed a copy of Watchtower, he told me I could park the bike right out front of my cabin. He also told me where I could get the bike washed. Accommodating with a capital "A". I recommend this place.

Notice the clean bike - and the clean Cheryl. She showered while I sprayed the 4000 mile bug layer off. Cheryl isn't actually tired. I just caught her blinking.



We walked up the street to find a bite to eat. We found Pete's Rocky Mountain Pizza and Pasta to be busy, but not too busy. There was no wait for outside dining so we sat outside at one of the picnic tables and ordered some disappointing wine in anticipation of a pasta meal. Our last wine experience was back in Sonoma. Sampling the grape in West Yellowstone after that is akin to slabbing along on I-65 north of Indy after a great weekend on "The Tail of the Dragon". I ordered the Elk sausage spaghetti and Cheryl got some sort of Ravioli. While we waited a couple of guys pulled up on bikes - a BMW and a Harley - and got in line. Again, Cheryl the extrovert asked if they were coming back from Sturgis. Indeed they were. We chatted about our travels and, after awhile, asked them if they would like to join us - they graciously accepted. We learned that they were brothers from Canada who had traveled from their respective destinations and met and ride to Sturgis. They had spent a few days at the rally and deemed it "ok" but not quite the "event" that they had hoped. We all agreed that economic times, as they are, have a double edged sword effect on traveling. On one hand, it's nice to not fight the throngs of tourists at places like the Grand Canyon or Yellowstone. On the other hand, it's nice to be a part of something "big" like Sturgis. If it's poorly attended, it detracts.

Before long the food showed up and it was as excellent as the company. We drank, ate, and talked bikes and adventure with our friends from the north. This is what traveling is about. Not just the sights, but the people you meet along the way. I've met many people from all corners of the earth on my travels. It has always been rewarding to share the experience of now with others, setting aside whatever political differences that may exist. We are in the moment. The weights of the world that encumber us have been shed in lieu of two wheels, a map, and stories from the road.

After awhile we said our good-byes and went our separate ways. We were heading in opposite directions but at the same time - early the next morning. The two brothers from Canada are now part of our fond memories from an epic trip west.

Miles - 540

Time - 12 hours approximately

Temps - upper 20s to mid 80s

States - 3

UFOs - 0

Black suvs - about 50

Canadians - 2[

 

Day 11 - Brown water, Freezing Fire and Brimstone, Thieves, No Grizlzy Bears, and the last great leg -

This will be a photo intensive segment. The ride between Yellowstone and Sturgis is amazing.

6 AM. It's dark which I find depressing. It signals the end of many things. The sun now rises later and sets earlier. Summer is drawing to a close and so is our trip. It's the last great leg of our journey today. We get about our business and pack in silence. I know Cheryl feels the same way I do - we could stay on that bike and explore forever.

We wanted to get an early start to make Sturgis before nightfall and experience the last day of the rally. Not that we expected to immerse ourselves in the last vestiges of the annual rally. We just wanted to catch a glimpse of what everyone talks about. But first, God willing, some coffee. We walked across the parking lot to a restaurant that supposedly made good coffee. It was a buffet style log cabin looking establishment. I was skeptical but ordered us a couple to go, which seemed to fluster the young girl at the register. After a long while she cheerfully returned, no doubt proud of her accomplishment, and handed me two styrofoam cups of coffee. She then cheerfully charged me prices that Starbucks could only dream of. We walked back to the packed bike and sipped our brown water. Tasteless. We wondered if it contained any life saving caffeine at all. We were both tired, not having slept well, for whatever reason. We had a mild competition as to who was more tired, me capping my stance with "I'm the pilot and you're the stewardess. If I fall asleep the plane crashes. If you fall asleep we don't get drinks." As you can imagine, that comment did not go unanswered. This is the look I got.



You've no doubt noted her matching riding attire. It was 30ish degrees and we layered everything we could. The lovely powder blue sweatshirt was sourced the night before at one of the t-shirt shops for less money than one would have thought. I bought a burgundy one just like it which I wear as I type this. I had also taken the time the night before to figure out which fuse was blown so I could have heated grips.

The foul liquid was not worth delaying our departure so we ditched it and headed out. The park entrance was very close and we drove right up to the ticket window - no line at all. In fact, I we were the only vehicle in sight. The nice lady took our money and sent us on our way. We cruised along at 40 mph and took in the sights, not having to share the road with a soul. This was not how we imagined Yellowstone.



Ok, so we did have to share the road somewhat



The steam vents were how we imagined Yellowstone.




We pulled over to look around a bit and stretch. It was cold and we were stiff. It was nice to soak in the sun with no wind to wick away our body heat. Cheryl looks for anything to put her hands into to stay warm



Down the road a ways, a much bigger steam cloud covered the road. It smelled of sulphur. We rode past countless chimneys of steam. We could see how John Colter found this a place of "fire and brimstone" back in the day.







Soon we were at another highlight



The parking lot was pretty much empty. We were able to rock star park right in front of the lodge where we hoped to find something resembling coffee after the brown water debacle. They had a cafeteria which served not so bad coffee and also, sold pretty nice fleece gloves for Cheryl. Apparently we weren't the only travelers to show up unprepared.

We made our way over to Old Faithful. There wasn't much of a crowd at all



Living up to it's namesake. It was great to experience this for the first time with Cheryl. Neither of us had ever seen it before.



Ever the girl, Cheryl didn't want another p[icture taken of her wearing the yellow rain pants



This is what happens when you get lazy. A picture of you with pants down around your ankles



After watching Old Faithful we headed back to the bike. As we walked up we could see that someone had been rummaging through our T-Bags tour pack topper. There were various items of clothing, AA batteries, and whatnot strewn about the pavement. We were thinking "What the hell - even here thieves raid our belongings?" But, that just seemed so unlikely. I mean, who would pay to get into Yellowstone and hang out at Old Faithful to rip people off? As we were picking our belongings a woman walked up to us "I saw what happened!!!". She was very excited, and obviously was elated to tell us all about it. Of course, we were equally excited to hear what had happened. It turns out that just after we left, a pair of Ravens lit upon our bike and began to tear into whatever they could, presumably in search of something to eat. These birds had a full understanding of how zippers worked and they had opened no less than five pockets, pulling out and discarding anything that wasn't edible. Fortunately for us they didn't seem to have a command of Harley Davidson luggage latches or we may have actually lost something of value. The woman told us that she and others shooed the birds away as best they could, but they kept coming back. Persistent little devils.

 

If you have never been to Yellowstone, you may not realize how huge it is. It covers 3472 square miles. Our route from west to east was 95.7 miles. At 40 or so MPH and a few stops it took us more than three hours to cross. And that is probably considered a very quick fly by.

It also took us over the continental divide - WARNING - glam shot alert!



Yep, that's me - King of the Dumbasses wearing an AIR jacket in near freezing temps. I am freezing my *** off.




But, the temps became more comfortable as the sun rose. The ride was pleasant and uninterrupted by RVs, or any vehicles at all.



This body of water is called, oddly enough, Yellowstone Lake.





Evidence of the last big forest fire. It was in 1988 and claimed about one third of the park's trees.













cont.............

 

What kind of helmets are you wearing?

 

Great stuff, looking forward to the next installment!

 

We started to see traffic coming in from the other direction. A group of riders presumably heading back from Sturgis



Once you are past the lake it gets very mountainous and twisty. In other words - fantastic riding. Fortunately, we had no one in front of us still. I guess most people were entering the park, not leaving it like we were. The ride was absolutely beautiful and a song kept playing over and over in my head. "From the land of ski blue waters.....waters".... The scenery reminded me of the old Hamm's commercials.



I'm sure they had Yellowstone in mind when they made them. Mountains, rivers, streams, forests....everything but the Hamm's bear was present. And thank God for that. It was at this point that I felt we may escape being torn limb from limb by some murderous bear hiding in wait by one of the slower sections. Those dirty bastards are smart. They know things.

I digress. The ride was great. It reminded me a bit of the Million Dollar Highway because of the sharp drop offs. The only difference was a flimsy effort at keeping one from being ejected into the abyss, otherwise known as a guard rail.



Or guard stone wall anyway. Really...does anyone think that would even slow us down from being pitched over the edge? I guess it might wake up the errant soccer mom caught unawares while texting.



I remember briefly thinking - "Great - one of the few places that can exploit my two phobias simultaneously. I pictured us, again inexplicably, veering towards the rock wall. I get launched over the edge, me and the bike in a bouncing, cartwheeling race towards the bottom. I would certainly survive the fall only to be eaten alive by a Grizzly, who heard the dinner bell clang of the Ultra hitting the wall. I would watch in agony as he threw my intestines around like silly string. Cheryl, no doubt, would land on the right side of the wall unscathed. Ever the consummate photographer, she would video the spectacle for all to see on Faces of Death part XX.

But that was a very brief thought. For some reason the pathetic barrier provided some sense of security and I focused on the great ride down the mountain.





Here's a video of that portion. It's pretty short, but you get the idea. It also gives you an idea as to how quiet the bike is. You can hear wind, us, and maybe the bike - in that order.


After about three hours of great riding and sight seeing we arrived at the east gate. I'll bet during busier times there is a line a mile long wait to get in.




cont.........

 

Just a pair of Bell shorties. I paid full retail for mine, but I found Cheryl's new on Ebay for $17! Can't beat that. They look a little Martianish, but overall work well.

 

Neveda your showing your age, I think the last time, if memory serves me, that Hamm's ran that "from the land of sky blue waters" was very early 70's. Man your old! :-)