Day 9: Sunrise to Sunset

It’s amazing how the early mornings seem to just happen from force of habit. I’m now waking up earlier than normal and getting out of bed with a sense of purpose. Today I woke up to the cold air of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. As you may have guessed from last night’s posting, this isn’t a favourite city of mine. None the less I was here and had a long day ahead. The route today would take me through both the Grand Teton National Park and its more famous brother, Yellowstone National Park. I’d been to Yellowstone in 2010 and while it is spectacular, I’d seen all I wanted to see. The Tetons were the bonus today. Beyond those two, I was headed either north of the parks to Butte, Montana or if I felt like being crazy, all the way to Spokane, Washington.

With that in mind, and knowing how long it takes to get around Yellowstone, I gassed up the Fusion and made north for the Tetons. After crawling through road works (the entire country is being resurfaced, or at least that’s what it feels like) I drove up on the plateau to reveal the Teton mountains ahead. At the gate, the ranger took $25 to let me pass through both parks and I headed toward the lakes at the foot of the Tetons, Jenny and Jackson. I’d left myself enough time to see both parks and get out on time, but inevitibly I spent more time than allotted. The Tetons themselves are mighty impressive natural wonders, but the lakes are the real USP – unique selling point. Both lakes, Jenny the smaller and Jackson the larger, are phenomenally beautiful serene oasis’s of calm. The crisp cool air from the high plains and not a puff of wind in the air made for a remarkable ambiance lakeside. Shame about the idiots who were fishing at that hour though screaming and laughing their heads off. Walking back to the car I stopped into the visitor center at Jenny Lake to find it was originally built in the 1920s as a photographer’s studio, and now hosted the NPS’s literature and sales material along with some rangers. A scale model of the entire valley lay ahead of the door and beyond that, past the comfortable looking sofa, an open fire burning real wood gently warming the cabin and filling the space with a scent of pine and spruce smoke – sweet and festive. I thought about how lucky the two park rangers assigned to this station were to work in such a space. Then to break the silence sharply, a German woman asked some question about free tours. Then I noticed three Amish women in the room (who’s distinctive bonnets had gone completely unnoticed to me until then) and I decided to head out and continue the journey or I’d sit on the couch in front of the fire and start begging for cocoa and a pipe.

Further up the valley I pulled over at one of the boat slipways to Jackson Lake. Jackson is a multiple of the size of Jenny Lake and as such attracts more visitors of the boating kind. Row after row of Dodge Ram and Chevy Silverado trucks with trailers carrying all types of boats and pleasure craft were queuing to get onto the water and make some noise in this peaceful place. I turned to continue the journey and noticed a sign for a church on the left, and went in for a look at what a church in a National Park was up to. A seemingly small well proportioned log cabin among the trees greeted me and as I climbed the steps to enter, a deft silence came over the place. Inside, two people who’d belonged to the Colorado registered Chevrolet rental parked out back were reading the notice board. I sat down so as not to appear like a tourist but a worshiper (just in case they thought I was being sacrilegious by taking a photo and turning on my heels). Eventually the woman broke the silence to note to her husband/partner/long suffering that there was an amazing difference between what the church cost to build in the early 20th century, and what it cost to renovate in the 21st century. Both turned out to be British and probably from southern England judging by their accents. I didn’t ask if they were visiting the former colony to see how the natives were getting on nor let the cat out of the bag about it being a small world. Instead I opted for my token American accented ‘good morning’ and bid them adieu. Outside, I walked down the shoreline and took a panorama which you can see here.

That more or less concluded proceedings in Grand Teton National Park. If I were to review it, I’d say it’s a nice place to go for a walk or a hike, but there really isn’t much point in advocating a pleasant day by the lakeside because of all the noise being made by pleasure-craft. Next, Yellowstone. After navigating through yet more road works, I finally came upon the South entrance and duly breezed by the ranger brandishing my receipt from my early morning meeting with the other one. I had two objectives in Yellowstone; see the Yellowstone River Waterfall again, and take in the Mammoth Terrace properly (I’d only managed a few quick photos last time). I decided that no map would be needed and followed the signs to Old Faithful – seeing as I was here I may as well visit it. For those who haven’t been, it’s nice but a bit over rated. Personally there are far nicer geysers and springs in the park, but they all require a long walk – most visitors to Yellowstone don’t seem to want that. I lined up with the assembled masses and listened as the older men in a group took turns joking with one another about it being old and slow to erupt. I find it incredible how older Americans seem to enjoy the outdoors so much. From the accents and the chat I overheard, they’d come from Texas and Florida to visit Yellowstone, and that wasn’t the first time they were there either. With their wives and friends, I put their average age at about 70. When I think back to my own grand parents, most of them didn’t live to see their 77th birthday and none of them would’ve undertaken a cross country road trip of over 2000 miles to stand in a pair of shorts on a boardwalk to watch a geyser erupt. It’s such a different culture here, one which embraces the outdoors (that being said there are millions of Americans who will live their entire life without ever leaving their own State let alone visit a National Park in another state) – but what I admire are the masses of elderly people walking around at these sites, far from their homes and families. That to me is the true American dream; living your life fuller than the rest of the world.

After picking up a rather bland and tasteless turkey burger at the Geyser Grill (I hadn’t really eaten since that complimentary Oreo cookie with a side order of disgusting coffee in Jackson that morning), I felt the confidence of knowing Yellowstone better than anyone there present, to discard the GPS and the map and navigate to the Yellowstone River Falls. I headed north toward the west entrance, east toward the east entrance and north again toward the northeast entrance. Taking a turn at what I thought were the falls I took some photos and continued along the path, my confident exuberance fading. Eventually, I caught a glimpse of Mammoth Hot Springs village and knew my goose was cooked – I’d missed the falls completely. And by now I’d used up all my time in Yellowstone and knew that I wouldn’t make much of a visit to the Mammoth Terraces. After pulling in to look at some Elk (they just wander around the village eating things, much like the tourists) I turned up to the terraces, parked the car, ran up the boardwalk, took about 40 photos and remembered the sulfuric smell of the geysers as their scent permeated my nostrils. Back in the car and racing through the village, I turned the corner on Yellowstone at 4pm Mountain Time.

Now the real fun would start. The GPS was set to Spokane, Washington. I figured I’d get as far along as possible before pulling over and sleeping at a motel along the route. At this stage I’d been awake for over 10 hours and driving for all but 8 of them. What lay ahead was a 7 hour drive along a quiet highway. I made a mental pact with myself that I’d pull over for food and gas at about half way, that being about 8pm. Breezing through southern Montana, I marveled at the difference between it and its neighbor, Idaho. Montana was much prettier, had mountains (surprise surprise) and lots of neat organized settlements and villages. The irrigation machinery here didn’t seem to have the same purpose as in Idaho either, gently watering land as opposed to the fierce intent those across in Idaho had. The drive was long and after making my pact I was doing well. I knew that I’d be stopping at Missoula which was about half way to Spokane. What I hadn’t accounted for was the sunset that blew me away. We’ve all seen sunsets, but this was amazing. And because I was heading west, it prolonged the experience. Cruising along the highway at 75mph I was treated to a natural spectacle I’d never experienced before. A bright yellow sun turned to bold red in a matter of minutes before getting darker as it played hide-and-seek with me among the Montana skyline. As it slowly set, the sky turned from yellow-gray to bright vibrant pink and then deep lilac and purple. It was truly remarkable and I was so annoyed that I couldn’t stop to enjoy it, but that would be too dangerous. Instead I opted to try to capture it as best I could with my iPhone, but alas, no camera can replace or capture the spectrum of colors and sensations as the human eye.

Pulling in to get gas, I was relieved to get off the Interstate. They’re fantastic roads but the monotony is mind-bending. Food was the next requirement, not really because I was hungry, but more the activity would wake me up and refresh me for the 3 hours ahead. I pulled in at the Five Guys location across the street and tucked into a delicious burger and fries (needless to say 80% of the fries went in the bin though, everything here is way too big to eat on your own!). Back on the interstate, it was now dusk and the sun was long since gone to bed. Quickly I noticed something different about the road – there were not indicators such as CatEye or BottsDots. What had been a pleasant journey until then now became a test of wills – fighting to see the roadway in front while dealing with oncoming traffic on the other side of the interstate who failed to dim their beams. All I could do was hope to find some more traffic to follow and use as a guide. Eventually I spotted red lights in the distance, looked at the GPS to find a relatively straight stretch of road and quickly caught up to my “fall guy” who’d light the way (literally) for me. 3 hours of this ensued along what I can only surmise is one of the most specatular stretches of highway in America. I can tell this despite it being pitch dark. The road was curvy and challenging, winding its way through the mountains and also had plenty of bridges (the surface on a bridge is different to the Interstate highway on land so you can always tell when you’re on a bridge from the high-pitched whine of tyres on routed concrete). I was annoyed I’d missed it in daylight as it did feel like a great ride, unfortunately all my time was spent on concentrating on following my shepherd.

Eventually reaching Spokane after a ridiculous 17 hour day and crossing into the last of the time zones before going back over them again, I was relieved to get to the motel. So relieved in fact, its inadequacies just fell by the wayside.  Tomorrow, Canada. Adieu!