The Beartooth Highway spans a little over 70 miles from Red Lodge Montana in the east to just beyond Cooke City Montana in the west. It is there that it enters the northeastern portal to Yellowstone National Park. Its journey is split between the States of Montana and Wyoming as it serpentines across the boarder 3 times.

Built in early post-depression America it was a marvel of engineering that sought to flex the muscle of America’s emerging optimism, the despair of the late 20’s and early 30’s becoming more a scare than an open wound. It has been declared “America’s Highway”, a pre-Interstate Highway conquest of terrain and climate.

The Beartooth retains much of its rugged individualism. It is closed in the winter, is subject to late Spring and early Fall snowstorms, and in mid-season frost heaves occasionally pock and fold the pavement.

It is not a road of commerce as vehicles longer than 30 feet are discouraged by the daunting switchbacks that demand white-knuckled attention to steering and brakes.

Interspersed along its path are US Forest Service campgrounds. These are primitive affairs offering only pit-toilets, picnic tables and fire grates (no water, no electricity, and no cell service) yet they fill quickly in mid—season. They attract a certain type of camper who wishes to flirt with the edginess of the wild, yet have the security of a shared encampment. Cautions of bear activity abound and are not mere words. Many campers, and the camp hosts walk about with cylinders of bear repellent holstered like a six-shooter. I count myself among them.

What a rare bear encounter may do in one paw-swipe, swarms of mosquitoes (the little blood sucking bastards from hell!) invariably do a drop at a time. These mosquitoes are a hardy lot as they seem just as active at 40 degrees as at 80. Oh well, another predator, another spray.

Most folks don’t linger on the Beartooth. It is a passage experience with occasional stops at overlooks that flood the senses with Nature’s proudest sights, and smells.

The day visitor tends to embrace “the other Beartooth”, to be found in Red Lodge on the east and to a lesser extent at Cooke City to the west. For those desperate for a tourist fix mid-route there is the Top of the World Store which features a single gas pump, a concentrated assortment of souvenirs, and a few shelves of snacks and booze.

Cooke City is a city in name only that is narrowly spread for a few blocks on both sides of the Beartooth.

Eateries/bars, souvenir shops, sporting goods, lodgings, fuel, and a couple of minuscule casinos are its main offerings. It attracts visitors from beyond America’s borders.

At mid-day many of the restaurants present waits of up to an hour for a table. I found an exception at the east entry to town.

The Antler Lodge features a newly opened restaurant and bar, yet to be discovered. 15 craft beers on tap and gourmet burgers… I saw an “appetizer” of onion rings, enough to feed two lumberjacks. They were at about 50% capacity when I lunched there. That should change as the word gets out. While the restaurant is new, The Antler Lodge itself is one of the oldest traveler rests in the region.

Log construction, lots of trophies adorning the walls, and a welcoming hearth room make this an original Beartooth experience.

The “town” of Red Lodge is a much larger and more vibrant big brother to Cooke City.

It is more accessible and features stores and shops that serve the needs of a general population as well as the tourist trade. It’s a fun visit, but for me only as a punctuation mark to the experience of 4 days camped at 9,000 feet on the Beartooth.

At camp last night I engaged a couple of my generation in some fireside chat. The conversation took a turn to “the young people of today”. The couple launched into an opinionated slog that the youth of today are lazy, lack ambition, lack morals, and in spite of those deficiencies, generally worthless. The wife offered as proof, “I worked retail.. I know”. Rather than engage into controversies I held my tongue and shortly thereafter excused myself.

I have heard it said that “youth is wasted on the young”. Perhaps youth may reply that “retirement is wasted on the old”. In either case is seems that some of my generation are jealous of the world that waits to be explored by the young…perhaps regretting opportunities missed in their own youth.

Many who read my “Thoughts” have expressed that they are traveling with me vicariously, taking in as a virtual experience what they can not in everyday life. Similarly, I take vicarious pleasure in visiting with young people… tasting the thrill of a seemingly limitless horizon of possibilities.

The camping couple have apparently missed the joy of knowing my children and youth like them. Hard working, moral, bright with optimism for their future and the future of the children that they bring into this world.

In that same vein I wish that the couple could have met my server at the Antler Lodge Restaurant.

Sarah is a recent college graduate who bubbles with excitement as she shares that she will soon be off for a year in Austria. She has hired on for the year as an au pair to a family with two small children. She will assume the role of nanny and English teacher to the children for 18 hours each week, living with the family and taking intensive German language classes throughout her tenure. Beyond that graduate school awaits Sarah.

Bright, personable, hard working, and ambitious. She is “the youth of today” who hold America’s future in their hands. It is the duty of the older generations to give them an America worthy of their talents and ambitions.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. In Red Lodge I came upon an unusual fossil shop. I was fascinated by the mounted trilobites and crinoids. Is it possible that I may be bringing a souvenir back home?

I awoke at sunrise to a 32 degree morning brushed with heavy frost. Fortunately, my trailer has an adequate heater that kept things above 50 overnight and when turned up it gave a toasty 68 degrees that made for a comfortable breakfast.

Still in my bedtime “scrubs” I wandered toward the outhouse but was stopped dead in my tracks by the explosion of light and color radiating from Beartooth Lake and 10,000 foot high Beartooth Butte in the background.

Reversing course I grabbed my camera and headed through the woods down to the shore. Glorious!! The snowcapped Butte was a beacon of light. Its mirrored reflection on the lake doubling the effect and elevating beautiful to breathtaking.

On the distant shore two elk played in the water, while the herd sunned and grazed on the slopes above.

They were only discernible to the naked eye through focused attention and were barely captured by my camera, the lens and zoom pushed to the limits.

I stood to take the scene in for nearly an hour. While my legs were idle, my mind was not.

What I am about to share is not meant to proselytize. This is merely an expression of my own beliefs which are neither superior or inferior to anyone else’s. I was raised a Catholic in a Catholic family and provided a Catholic education. While I self identify as “raised Catholic”, that provides no more insight into who I am or what I believe than does my identification as a Caucasian, second generation of immigrants. Who I am and what I believe continue to be a work in progress.

At two significant moments in my life, separated by 41 years, Catholic clergyman have admonished me to unconcern my self with dogma and “the rules” and instead listen to my conscience. They each tasked me to honestly follow the guidance of my conscience. I try and mostly succeed.

I find it impossible to listen to my conscience without also exploring some of the larger questions that have been pondered for millennia. Among those questions is whether there is a Creator, and if so does that Creator (“God By Any Name”) intervene in our daily lives.

We are (perhaps) unique in the animal kingdom as having a “free will”. We are burdened by innate physical urges to satisfy hunger, procreate, protect, survive… just as other animals, but we have the capacity to intentionally override those compulsions. Humans can starve themselves to death just to make a point. They can choose to be celibate. They can choose passive resistance. They can choose to end their own life. We can make choices in ways that no other creature can. We can make good choices and we can make really bad choices too.

If the Creator intervened to rescue us from our bad choices then our free will would be a fiction. I have made my share of mistakes (as the song goes, “Mistakes, I’ve made a few, but then again too few to mention…”) and I have usually had the good sense to discern and make other choices that resolved matters. Some folks avoid the mistakes in the first place, while others never abandon their bad choices. I don’t see an active hand of the Creator in these matters, except perhaps in the voice of conscience.

Life by its very definition is a lottery that sooner or later ends in death. In a river a salmon spawns thousands of eggs from which a few will survive a gauntlet to the sea, returning later to repeat the circle of life. My daughter gave birth to very tiny naturally occurring quads, one passed at 7 weeks and the remaining 3 thrive on their way to adolescence. In the last year we have lost good friends to accident, disease, and intention. All were good people in the truest sense of the world. I don’t believe the Creator actively chooses the fate of salmon, children, friends, or World Series victors. Nevertheless, I find that my senses are inadequate to fully explain all that occurs with me and around me.

My parents gave me an excellent start in life. I was well fed, well clothed, and well educated. They provided me with a model of parenting from which I could choose how I would later parent. Christine and I have strived to do the same for our children. My parents are not entitled to credit for my successes, or blame for my failings. They are entitled to my gratitude for the start in life that they gave to me. The same goes for the Hand that gave me breath and free will.

I am grateful for my life, for my humanity, and for this day. But the life that was breathed into me did not include a parachute to rescue me from my free will.

Peace Everyone. Pete

Comment:

Nice Post Peter Michael. Who do you think has been posting the suggestions to your conscience all of these years?

Sincerely, God

A Semi-Tractor powering up at 6 a.m. was my alarm clock this morning in the parking lot of the Thermopolis Exxon Southside Travel Center. With the exception of a brief 3 a.m. trip to the bathroom I slept through the night. A rarity these days. I thanked the morning cashier who gave me a breakfast recommendation a few minutes farther into town. The Black Bear Cafe (not part of the chain) served up a great southwest omelet, covered liberally with green pork chili.

As I left the cafe and walked toward my rig I surprised another early rising visitor. A mule deer sporting antlers in velvet. He assessed that I was not a threat and continued calmly on his way between the buildings of downtown Thermopolis.

I on the other hand had 160 miles of winding and steep road ahead of me. My auto GPS said it should have taken 3 hours. Frequent photo stops added nearly 2 hours to that.

The unfolding panoramas presented brilliant upward thrusts of rock and snow topped peaks that seemed to split the earth.

Miles of two lane road spread before me like a spool of ribbon unrolling into the distance.

The road would lift its face to the sky and just as suddenly cast eyes into a deep valley with the sign of caution to use a lower gear. Towing a trailer gave me pause to take the warnings to heart.

Overlooks provided opportunities to not only appreciate the surrounding wonders, but to see the tread-like apparition of the road that I would be traveling miles in the distance.

I reached the Beartooth Highway in due course.

Christine and I drove the Beartooth during one of our first post-retirement trips. We checked out a number of the Forest Service campgrounds and the “Top of the World Resort”, a one gas pump, four room motel that is anchored by a log cabin “store” that features a humble assortment of souvenirs. It advertises groceries, but that really means a few shelves of candy bars, chips, and booze. The gas is nearly a buck a gallon more than it is 70 miles down in Cody, however Top of the World is the only game in town for at least 30 miles. I topped up my tank with out complaint.

This is bear country and signs abound with such warnings as “BE BEAR AWARE!”. When we were here before a couple of the campgrounds were closed to tents because of problems with bears. To my knowledge that proscription is not currently in place.

My first choice campground turned out to still be closed due to the late snows and lingering winter-like conditions. Apparently, Beartooth Pass was closed less than 2 weeks ago by a late June snowstorm.

I am camped at 9,000 feet above sea level in the Beartooth Lake Campground. It features 21 sites, pit pots, picnic tables, fire pits, and stunning scenery. It lacks drinking water, electricity, and cell service. I am one of just a few campers. The cost is $15 a night, but with my “America the Beautiful Pass” (aka the “Geezer Pass”) there is a 50% discount. I have paid for 4 nights, $30.. a bargain and the lifetime pass only cost me $10. It has paid for itself scores of times over. To be eligible for the pass one must be at least 62. Since Christine and I bought ours (each person should get one as they are not transferable between spouses) the cost has gone up to $80… still a bargain.

As I said, I am without cell service. Not having the benefit of my electronic encyclopedia is like losing half of my brain. Moreover, I miss being able to just call Christine on a whim to share such minutiae as, “Hey! A mule deer just walked through my campsite… Way Cool!”

Well, one actually did.

Temps are falling faster than the sun and it just will get into the low 30’s tonight. Tomorrow I’m planning a bit of a driving tour of the Beartooth without the handicap of having a trailer in tow. Hopefully I will find an opportunity to post this.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. It occurs to me that a person who habitually talks to himself or to people who aren’t actually there is either “mentally ill” or a Blogger. Bloggers just do it in writing.

I was up early, made breakfast, broke camp, and was on the road by 8:30 this morning. With a slight press to make my scheduled arrival in Idaho I decided to make this a driving day.

By 8 pm this evening I had put 400 miles behind me. That may not sound like much, but the siren song of remarkable non-stop scenery imposed frequent camera stops.

Tonight’s challenge is to pick the best pictures from a portfolio of great shots.

On the route I passed through Walden Colorado and proceeded the 51 miles north to Riverside Wyoming.

This remote stretch of two lane state highway is a popular byway for bicyclists traveling cross-country. I and 15 companions did so on July 3, 2010 as we worked our way south from Cape Flattery Washington to Key West Florida. The drive today was full of memories which included the cabin I shared with Christine in Riverside, and the Antler Inn Hotel where we stayed at in Walden.

As I left Colorado and entered Wyoming I saw cyclists in the distance.

I waited for their arrival at the State Line and then offered to take their picture. Somewhere in my 2010 archive of shots there is one of Christine and me at that very spot… I FOUND IT! (The miracle of “cloud storage”!)

I had thought to stop at a State Park for the night. North of Riverton Wyoming is Boysen State Park near the Wind River Canyon. I stopped long enough to assess that $35.00 would buy me a parking spot, cynically called a campsite, pit-pots, and nothing more. To be fair the scenery was grand but 40+ mph winds blowing off the Boysen Reservoir guaranteed I would not be out to appreciate the view. I passed on the State Park.

I then spent the next 45 minutes winding through the sheer cliff walls of the Wind River Canyon. I regret that I couldn’t stop to take some shots until I came to the north end of the Canyon.

Seven miles later I stopped at the Southside Exxon Travel Center in Thermopolis. Christine and I learned early in our retirement that when the goal is to make miles it doesn’t make sense to pay $30+ for a campsite when many truck stops feature showers, laundries, and other amenities intended for over-the-road truckers, but just as available for RVer’s. I filled the gas tank and bought my first real shower since Denver for the princely sum of $8.00. They provide towel, washcloth, soap, and shampoo. Overnight parking is free, and there is even free WiFi. The scenery isn’t much, but there is indeed something to be said for gas station camping.

Tomorrow I should make it to Red Lodge Montana and the Bear Tooth Highway.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS: More pictures follow below.

The ultimate destination of this trip has alway been the Coeur d’Alene bicycle trail that stretches the width of northern Idaho, from Plummer Idaho in the West to Mullen Idaho in the east.

73 miles of asphalt that is dedicated to bicyclists and pedestrians. It winds through the Bitterroot Mountains and is the former route of the “Olympian Hiawatha”, a legendary 1st class rail connection founded by the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad (aka “The Milwaukee Road”).

This star of America’s rails to trails boom was featured years ago in National Geographic. I bookmarked this in my mind as a thing to do “someday”. Someday almost passed me by today. My plan had been to camp at an Idaho State Park near Plummer, leave the trailer and ride my bike to Wallace ID, near the trails end. I was going to secure a motel, and the following day add another 30+ miles by riding into Montana on the Route of the Hiawatha trail, passing through old railroad tunnels and over high trestles. Included would be the 1.66 mile long Taft Tunnel before returning to the motel in Wallace. On day three I planned to bicycle back to Plummer and my camp.

A call to the State Park brought shocking news… no suitable vacancies, period! I shifted into problem solving mode. There were no other options at the west end of the trail, so turning to the east end I found a small private RV park located in Wallace. Jackpot! They had ONE vacancy that suited my needs. What’s more, the park is located 200 feet off the bike trail and next door to a craft brew-pub. The original plan will require some alterations, but the core of my intentions now remains intact. I dodged a “bullet”, but in the process was forced to abandon flexibility and set a date certain for my ride on the trails.

Today I broke my new touring bicycle out for a spin. A 20 mile round trip from Winter Park Resort to beyond Frazier.

I would have continued to Tabernash but dark clouds and drizzle turned me back. My new bike is a Surly “Long-Haul-Trucker”. It is not a replacement for my much lighter custom built titanium “Seven”, but is better suited for the kind of riding I wish to pursue while traveling.

The ride proved the wisdom of this bicycle choice, and with a little fine tuning it should be perfect on the Coeur d’Alene and Route of the Hiawatha.

This is my last night in the Robbers Roost US Forest Service campground. I treated myself to a “real” breakfast this morning, a sausage, Anaheim pepper and cheese omelet. This evening I added to the culinary celebration with a Dutch Oven pizza, drawing from an unusual assortment of available ingredients: Salmon, mushrooms, Hatch chilis, chipotle cheddar cheese, and a liberal topping of Cholula hot sauce. Oh yes, there was also a salad.

As I monitored my Dutch Oven, cooking time synchronized with two beers, a very unusual rig pulled into the campground.

The owners are Denny and his wife from Texas. He is a grizzled looking Vietnam War Army veteran. The couple had been avid motorcycle travelers, but the gradual age-related loss of his balance drove Denny to his Polaris manufactured “Slingshot” tricycle. It’s powered by a 200hp 4-cylinder Chevy engine. A custom option exists to drop in a small-block Corvette V8… bet that would shame some $200,000 4 wheel exotics. Denny is exploring teardrop trailer options to pull behind his trike.

In the morning I head north into Wyoming. I have been fortunate to have good cell service these last few days. No guarantees going forward. In the meantime…

Peace Everyone. Pete