Day 4; Tuesday, June 1st, 1999
Start: Five Springs Falls USFS Campground,
Wyoming
End: Arco, Idaho
455 Miles
We are definitely on vacation now! To wake up in this place,
along a creek in the Rocky Mountains, well,
we sure aren't in Ohio anymore. The morning
feels good, the air smells good, there's
a carefree feeling that didn't exist in the
first three days of this ride.
It was cold last night, Joe's thermometer
got down to 35F.
Joe tells me he walked to the falls
while
I was still asleep, and that it's a
pretty
nice way to start the morning. I suppose
it is, but I'd rather eat. We make
a simple
breakfast, and then take off.
We ride west on US Route 14A through
several
small towns, past many ranches and
such,
and into Powell, Wyoming. It's pleasant,
but not like the scenery and curves
behind
us. Many farms, and lots of irrigation
canals
bringing the water down to the farms.
We stop at a department store to pick
up
some things, and a little old man starts
telling us about the Indians (motorcycles)
that he had as a younger man. Does
the love
of motorcycling ever leave those who
are
infected with it? Not judging by this
gentleman.
We leave Powell, head west on 14A,
and about
10 miles outside town we turn north
on Wyoming
120 along the Clark's Fork of the Yellowstone
River. Wyoming 120 becomes Montana
72. We
take that up to Belfry, Montana; and
then
head west to Red Lodge.
We get to the base of Beartooth Pass in Red
Lodge, Montana; and there's road construction
and a sign saying that the pass is closed.
Shoot! So Joe motors up to a construction
worker and asks why. Snow; is the answer,
but they've just about got it cleared. Then
the worker says: “those motorcycles you’re
on fall down in the snow, don't they?” Well,
yeah; sorta... "Well", says the
construction worker; "we'll let you
go, you'll probably be alright but if you
get into a spot that's bad, just hang out
for an hour or so and we'll either clear
it or it will melt." So off we go.
We start up Beartooth Pass, I'm in
the lead,
and it's wet and rainy but not slippery.
It's a gray day, but the visibility
is good.
We're soon up into the heavy snowpack,
but
the road itself is clear and just wet.
We
continue up, but I'm a bit nervous
as I don't
know the exact temperature.
Now the snow begins to fall, and it's starting
to stick, but just a few patches here and
there. We continue up.
Travel books tell of all the wildlife
and
scenery visible in Beartooth Pass.
We don't
see anything like that, as we have
our hands
full just paying attention to the road.
Now it's starting to blow and drift
a little,
sometimes covering half the road, but
we
simply go around in those spots. We
continue
onward and upward. This is a huge contrast
to the honeymoon trip, with it's perfect
weather through Beartooth - this is
the flip
side of the coin.
At the summit, the snow is falling heavily,
lots of wind and the snow is blowing every
which way, visibility’s very poor, the road
is completely covered edge to edge with snow
at the top, and thinking it's just a powdery
covering I head into it. Uh-oh, feels about
like hitting a speed bump; I don't like abrupt
moves in snow - the snow covers a layer of
ice, the bars go full lock to the left and
I'm down on the left and sliding through
the snow......
Damn!!!
I open my eyes, and the first thing that
I see is "TOYOTA" on the grill
of the purple pickup truck behind me, with
the young kid driving it bearing a horrified
expression on his face. Dad always told me
this would happen someday if I kept riding
"that bike" in the winter. But this is the first day
of June! I get up, nothing on me is hurt
(am starting to really love my ‘Stich), look
around and the people in the oncoming cars
are also absolutely horrified at what they've
just seen. Must have looked pretty bad. I
hit the kill switch, not even sure if the
engine was running or if my heart is pounding
with the ear plugs in....
Joe rides over (slowly) and says: "You
alright? Ready to roll?" then
blocks
oncoming traffic for me. The Toyota
driver,
a young kid, jumps out of his truck
behind
me, and we get the bike back on it's
wheels.
Joe decides to lead the way, which
is fine
by me.
The comedy is getting rolling again - how
many reading this have ever had to get a
loaded sport-touring bike going again in
the snow? Clutch technique is a joke, you
just sort of point the bike in the right
direction, let the clutch out, the back end
slithers all over the place as you paddle
along with your feet, and then you're rolling
and “enjoying” the scenery once again....
As we head through the snow, the thought
occurs to me that Joe is the perfect
partner
for this misadventure. Lots of riders
would’ve
freaked about the crash in the snow,
or maybe
even freaked about the snow before
the crash,
but it doesn't seem to bother Joe in
the
least and so I’m getting over it pretty
quick
myself. Defective genetic programming,
perhaps?
Joe’s a faster rider than me, and as
we head
down the other side of the pass the
road
is wet with snow covered areas that
we can
go around, then slushy areas, then
just wet
areas that we motor through. We go
about
10 miles before we find a pull-off
where
I can stop and check the bike for damage.
Expecting the worst, and there’s not
a scratch
on it!!! Can’t believe it, but it’s
true.
Wow; talk about luck!! I plug back
into the
vest controller, had forgotten after
the
crash in the excitement to be rolling
again.
Ahh, much, much better.
The rest of the way down could be a BMW ad,
with Joe and his GS getting a big lead on
me, as I’d be coming down into a switchback
turn he’d be powering out of the same corner,
just below me on the next level down. What
a vivid picture in my mind, with heavy snow
cover on all the surrounding peaks, and accumulation
measured in feet on both sides of the road,
with the heated grips and the vest just oozing
heat - all is well again.
We grab gasoline and supper in Cooke City,
Montana; and continue on into Yellowstone.
The first and last time I’d been there
was
in 1991, on my honeymoon, aboard my
old BMW
R100s. Since the fires had been in
1988,
the fire damage was still very obvious
at
that time.
Now, what was fire damaged is lush and bright
green, almost psychedelic, with young pines
and lots of ferns. Beautiful!!
Lots of road construction, i.e., dirt
and
gravel; we figure it’s good practice
for
what may lie ahead in Alaska, and adapt.
Typical, beautiful, Yellowstone scenery.
Buffalo wandering around. Mud pots
bubbling.
Wild rivers running high with spring
snowmelt.
Lots of traffic. And the thought that
by
just passing through, we aren't paying
proper
homage to the natural beauty of the
place.
We head out of Yellowstone at the west
entrance,
and into Idaho. Looking at a map, if
we take
a dirt county road to Killgore we should
be able to go in the most direct manner
to
I-15. So off we go, yippee, more dirt
road
practice. Lots of gravel, and washboard
surfaces,
and while Joe and his GS are cool with
that
I’m not. I keep thinking of the soft
rims
on my RS, and wishing for the stronger
spoked
wheels off the GS.
Leading, and I take a wrong turn at
Killgore,
and so we don’t pick up pavement as
soon
as expected. Joe tells me later that
he saw
the paved road but didn’t care whether
we
took it or not (darned GS guys ;);)
), and
so we spend another 20 miles or so
on ranch
roads through rolling grasslands, while
only
seeing a couple pickup trucks the whole
time.
Lesson: maybe the bike with GPS should lead.
Eventually, the ranch roads intersect
I-15.
We stop, and since Joe's been following
me
in the dust he looks like a cowboy
just off
the trail, with a thick coating of
dust all
over him, head to toe! It's hard not
to laugh
as he literally shakes the dust off......
Some water, and we head south to Dubois,
Idaho for fuel.
At Dubois, Joe’s GS turns in 56 mpg,
my RS
around 51 mpg. Interesting contrast,
since
on pavement running a steady 80 mph
my RS
gets about 44 mpg and his GS about
40 mpg.
We leave Dubois westbound on Idaho 22, and
it’s getting dark, but the temperature is
pleasant. We hit rain, not a downpour but
enough to bring out the high desert smells
of sagebrush and other desert plants. Then
the weather clears, and we are gliding through
the black night with the lights of ranches
and small towns scattered all around us off
in the distance, mixed with the smells of
the wet desert drifting through our helmets.
Fantastic; a wonderful night to be riding
a motorcycle in Idaho!
We spend the night at a motel in Arco,
Idaho.
Doug Grosjean
Pemberville, Ohio
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