They Aren't Called "Choose Your Experience" Books

I used to read "Choose Your Own Adventure" books.  At the end of every chapter there's a choice.  The choices usually go something like "To go into the cave turn to page 25, to climb over the hill turn to page 32."  The author usually left some piece of information, critical to making the "right" choice, out of the story.  Having a motorcycle adventure, or any adventure, for that matter, is pretty much the same.  You can make a plan, you can have an itinerary, and you can know exactly what experience you want to have.  No matter how much you prepare, that last part, the experience, is probably not going to be what you intended.

This Memorial Weekend I tried to have a very particular experience.  As a kid, my family and I visited Yellowstone National Park, and returned to the Seattle area via Grand Tetons National Park.  We entered the park through the Northeast Entrance, driving from Redlodge, MT, over the Beartooth Highway to get there.  For the last 20 years I've wanted to make the trip in something more appropriate to the twists and curves and grades than our conversion van.  So when I realized I had a 3 day weekend coming up, and a floating holiday to spend, I decided to take that Friday and make it a 4 day weekend.  The experience I wanted was to rip over two of the twistiest, most scenic roads I've ever been on.  I can point to all kinds of flaws with my plan, but in the end, trying to have a particular experience was my biggest mistake.

On Wednesday it occurred to me that Beartooth might not even be open.  "Crap!  I'd better check that," I thought.  So I checked.  The Park Service planned to open the road on Friday.  "Perfect," I thought, "I'll have one of the first rides of the year."  Thursday I checked for an update.  There was none.  I packed my gear, including some new photo/video gear.  On Friday morning I hit the road.  It was overcast but warm.  This time I was prepared for the weather.  I had both my thermal and my electric gear stowed aboard the bike.  I had a new camp stove and some dehydrated meals.  This time I figured I'd get it right.

The plan, this time, was to cover 500 miles a day.  I figured that'd leave me time to explore and relax, making the entire trip easier.  As the trip drew closer I got to thinking that if I pushed hard on Day 1 I'd have more time to enjoy the Parks on Day 2.  I got it in my head to push all the way to Redlodge.  I got off to a slow start, and 5 hours in, around 1 in the afternoon, I crossed into Idaho.  I was struggling.  Something wasn't right.  I was tired for no obvious reason.  I stopped for a burger and soda, hoping the caffeine and sugar would help.  I pushed on, but had to stop again, not 30 minutes later, to down some more water and rest.  I was loosing time, and I wasn't happy about it.  Not even half way into the first day and I was off plan.  Climbing back aboard the bike was a struggle.  I probably should have taken the hint, rested longer, and changed my plans.  I'm stubborn.  When I set my mind to something, I do it.  I pushed through whatever slump I was in, but the damage was already done.  As I rode, I tried to remember my navigational options and started calculating backwards to figure out where I'd stop.  Then the rain started.  It wasn't bad, but the sky ahead looked ominous.  It wasn't a good sign.  I started to doubt the pass-ability of Beartooth.

Lighting flashed in the valley ahead.  I stopped at a rest stop and added some thermal gear and changed to my long gloves.  By the time I reached Butte, I was done for the day.  I found a campground stopped in.  Even on Memorial Weekend, they had site available.  A lot of them.  In fact, I was the fool sleeping in a tent.  I pitched camp and started in on dinner.

I knew I should have tested the new stove before leaving.  I had intended to, but there were more interesting things to do.  I knew, when the lighter fell out of my hard case as I closed, I should have picked it up, just in case.  The igniter on the brand new stove didn't work.  I didn't have lighter or matches.  Luckily the campground general store had both.  Disaster averted.  Once going, the stove boiled water in less than 3 minutes.  I had my dehydrated beef stroganoff with noodles, and my evening tea, steeping in less time than my old stove takes to melt ice.  Modern dehydrated meals are actually pretty tasty, especially when you're tired and hungry.

It was still warm when I turned in for the evening, but the locals thought it might get a bit cold.  For most of the night I was fine.  I didn't get cold until the final hour before dawn.  I tried to keep sleeping.  I didn't want to go out in the cold.  I should have.  Movement is the best way to warm up.  My breakfast of oatmeal and tea did the trick.  I broke camp, and road out of town.  The day seemed nice and I thought my concerns from the day before may have been over blown.  Then the rain started again.  To the east it was dark and stormy.  I found a rest stop, added all my thermal gear, and made the decision to turn south. I was skipping the road I most wanted to ride.  I figured, I'd inquire at the entrance gate, and if I'd been wrong, I'd ride the road down, instead of up.  Plunging down a steep and winding road is always more "interesting" any way.  Unfortunately, I wasn't wrong.  The road status board indicated both Beartooth, and the road from West Thumb to Old Faithful were closed.

Entering the park from a new direction, on a gloomy, overcast day, with my plans changed for me, I tried to stay in a good mood.  I like to dine at National Park lodges.  The restaurants are usually top flight.  So when I came into the Mammoth Hot Springs area, I stopped at the Terrace Grill.  Don't.  Don't dine at any "Grill" inside a National Park.  They're disgusting.  In my experience, the Grill's are worse than school cafeterias.  They're very obviously not run by the same people who run the full service restaurants.  The kid at the register was an idiot, the kitchen staff was slower than Antarctic Molasses, and the kids calling out order numbers as they were ready for pickup were in desperate need of attitude adjustments.  It didn't help that I was already struggling to remain enthusiastic, so take this with a grain of salt.  It'll come in handy if you decide to try the Terrace Grill out for yourself.

I road on.  At Madison Junction there's a sign indicating a road closure, but I sure as heck didn't interpret it correctly.  I turned left and headed for west thumb.  I figured it'd be good to see the section of the park we'd missed when I was a kid.  I really needed the extra time I'd hope to buy on Friday to appreciate the sites.  It wasn't until I'd already spent two hours on the east half of the grand loop that I understood the early closure.  Or so I thought.  I couldn't get to the south entrance from West Thumb, so I turned around, road 2 hours back to Madison Junction, and started south for Old Faithful.  At the intersection for West Yellowstone the situation became clear.  I wasn't going to the South Entrance.  The road was closed there, too.  I was invested.  I road toward Old Faithful.  Maybe I'd have a better dining experience there.

"What the hell?" I thought.  "Why do you people have to stop to take 10,000 photographs every damned bison in the park.  They're all over the place this time of year."  All over the place was right.  They were using the road.  A herd of them was headed north on US-89, and they weren't keeping to the North Bound lane, either.  "Oh, crap."  Thoughts of youtube videos demonstrating how wrong things can go between bison and motorcyclists flashed through my head.  I let the cars in front of me pull ahead.  I wanted some room to move in case I needed it.  Even slimmed down from a winter of hard living, Bison are huge animals.  A couple passed close enough I could have reached out and touched them.  I didn't.  Several of them looked right at me.  That was, perhaps, the most nerve racking:  wondering what this enormous beast is thinking as he sized me up.  I had to breathe deep to stay calm.  As the last of the heard went by, and traffic in front of me started to move, I let out long sigh of relief.  The line of vehicles moving northward at a bison's pace  stretched for miles.  Most of them had no idea why they were sitting there, not moving.  The "herd" of pedestrians walking up the highway tends to indicate that word made its way south.  It was scary-cool, and scary-scary.  For a few minutes I forgot about being disappointed by rapidly disintegrating plans to have a very particular experience.

I rolled into Old Faithful Village just after the geyser went off.  To be honest, I wasn't terribly disappointed.  I'd seen Old Faithful (OF) in action on my last trip through Yellowstone.  There are two elements that make OF special.  It's essentially isolated in the Upper Geyser basin, with no other thermal features to serve as distractions, and it goes off with incredible regularity.  Some of the other thermal features are more impressive, but you can't exactly schedule your visit to a geyser that may or may not spout.  As I strolled into the lodge, so did the rest of the crowd.  I thought I'd grab something warm to eat, but I hate lines.  I enjoyed an ice cream instead.  After exploring the village a bit, it was time to be on my way.

The car and SUV in font of me stopped suddenly.  I grabbed a handful of brake and stopped too.  More bison were grazing beside the road.  Cameras popped out of all the windows on the SUV.  We crept forward and around the corner.  "Oh crap.  Again?"  At least they were headed the opposite direction.  Ahead of me, another herd of bison were walking south, going between cars, looking back at the rest of the herd, and not giving a damn about jay-walking.  Looking farther ahead I noticed more on their way.  Up on a hill above the highway they came scrambling down.  I would have chosen an easier route, but they're incredibly nimble for such enormous beasts.  The baby and it's mama were cute.  Every now and then the baby would stop, and mama would nudge it along.  As with last time, several of them looked directly at me.  "Oh shit!  Oh, shit oh shit shit oh shit!"  I intentionally left plenty of room between me and the car in front.  I intentionally left the bike running and in gear.  To my right:  several bison.  To my left:  several more, plus one with an attitude.  He stared at me.  His eyes got big.  His lip curled back.  He started snorting.  "Son of a bitch!"  He started stamping his feet.  He started to veer in my direction.  "I don't want any trouble," I said aloud.  I let the clutch out a bit.  The slowed and it's tone deepened and volume softened.  The bison with an attitude settled down and continued on his way.  "Holy shit," I thought, "that was close."  They're bigger than me with pointier horns.  That was as close to ending up on "When animals attack" as I cared to get for this trip, or any other.  The herd finally passed and we were on our way again.

On my way to West Yellowstone the rain started in again.  I stopped in town to check my maps, but the wind and rain made that a disaster.  Last year I had lunch at diner in town.  I decided to stop in again.  Where the hell is that place?  I decided to get a hotel room in town and figure dinner out later.  "The sign on the door read "No Vacancy."  "What the hell happened to a sign at the road side?"  I was in a foul mood.  I jumped on the bike, grabbed a fist full of throttle, and tore out of town.

Rain and hail.  "Goddamnit!  I just want to get off the bike!"  I don't particularly like being in a foul mood.  I like being wet inside my waterproof riding gear even less.  After an attempt to shortcut west was thwarted by more ominous weather ahead, I finally made it to Bozeman, where every hotel in town was booked solid.  There was a country concert that night.  I wanted to be done.  I wasn't having fun.  I'd been denied the rides I wanted, I was wet, and tired, and miserable.  I wanted to stop to riding.  I couldn't.  I wanted to be home.  I wasn't.  I wanted have fun.  I didn't.  I continued west and once again ended up in Butte.  I got a hotel room, a restaurant dinner, took a hot shower and went to bed.

Good water is key to good coffee.  I poured out my cup of in-room coffee.  It was a reliable brand of coffee from a one cup machine.  The water was the problem.  I knew there'd be better coffee at the breakfast bar included with my lodging.  A decent hot breakfast, some decent hot coffee, and I was ready to get back on the road.  What a difference a pleasant night of sleep makes.  I still wanted to be done with my trip.  It was only Wednesday, but I was headed for home.

I gassed up before hitting the freeway.  I gassed up again before making it to Idaho.  I almost made it out of Idaho when I saw the sign for the Lake Coeur d'Alene scenic highway.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I've driven the road a number of times in the past.  Somehow I figured I was adding 15 minutes to my ride.  Two hours later I was grinning ear-to-ear as I gassed up again.  45 mph is plenty fast enough to have fun on that road.  In the right mood, on the right bike, faster would certainly be more fun, but not on this bike, in this mood, with this much gear on board.  It was a taste of the experience I'd wanted the day before.  I stopped for lunch in Spokane before continuing my relentless ride west.  I was headed for home.  I pushed the bike hard and far into a brutal wind.  Strangely, I managed 215 miles on the tank, and still had fuel to spare.  With roughly 150 miles between me and home, I pressed on just as hard.  Coming home the day before Memorial Day is a lot easier than sitting in traffic for endless hours on Memorial Day.

In retrospect this trip offered me the top two most exciting and terrifying animal experiences of my life to date.  It provided a wonderful ride around a beautiful lake.  It also taught me an important lesson.  You can choose your own adventure, you can't choose your experience.  My having a terrible time was my fault.  I went in with expectations when expectations are just baggage when seeking adventure.  I failed to test my gear, I over compensated for under-preparing my last trip, I under-planned, and I over-reacted.  Basically, because I was so bound and determined to have a very specific experience, I did everything wrong and paid for it.  Despite all that, I'm glad for the experience and lesson learned.

Having and adventure isn't about planning your experiences.  It's about planning your opportunity for experiences and being open to, and ready for, the experiences you have.  That's the difference betwen being and adventurer and being a tourist.  As a tourist you find a guide, or park, or some other controlled environment where, as long as you're okay with a whole bunch of controls, you can pick your experiences from a catalog.  It's a great way to have some incredible experiences.  For the truly unique experiences, toss the catalog aside, be ready for anything, and head out into the world where your experiences can find you.

NOTE:  I have over 1500 time-lapse photographs from this ride.  Rather than blindly posting them all, I still need a few days to find the good ones.