Beartooth Pass, The Road From Yellowstone

Well that was one hell of a hiatus from writing. Where were we...?

Ah yes, leaving Yellowstone.

I have sought out counsel from three or four particular folks with respect to living like a gutter punk whilst making sure I have enough to talk about when I'm old and decrepit. The guru of travel planning is a good friend who insisted that upon leaving Yellowstone National Park I utilize Beartooth Pass, via the northeast entrance/exit. I was told it has been described as one of the most beautiful drives in this here country. And so despite it being several hours out of the way of a direct path to Whitefish, MT, I sacked up and made the haul. What else do I have to do, right?

And as forecasted, it was one of the most surreal and individualistic things I have ever done. For the first 20 miles.

It was like this for a while...



It was so beautiful it made me do this...


And then there was a whole mess of these, which I should have known was a warning...


After the beginner's course in leaving Yellowstone, I found "The Top of the World," a trinket shop that had amassed the world's largest collection of grade-A roadside garbage to sell in addition to the most expensive gasoline I'd seen since leaving home. But being miles from nowhere and having no clue when you'll find another gas station, you pay what you're asked. Word to the wise, if you're in this predicament, take the bullet and fill up your car. Don't just buy $10 or $20 of gasoline "to get to the next gas station." I played it cheap. This comes back in to play before I go to bed.


Now I don't know how it happened, but in what seemed like the blink of an eye, this segment of the trip went from beginner to advanced. The weather frowned, the map tangled itself into a tightly wound knot. It started with this:


And that soon became this...


Consider the variables here:
- Santorini-like curved roads, twisting and cutting all around the mountain face, chock full of hairpin turns and inclines and declines, segments lacking guardrails and very little clue as to where I would go if I did steer off the road
- next to zero visability
- two-lane roads with the occasional oncoming car
- sunset somewhere beyond the mountain peaks surrounding me (read: even harder to see anything)
- cold rain best for lubing up a blind and winding path
- no idea how much longer of a trip was left
- no real idea where I was going anyway
- can't forget this:
So in addition to the fact I had no idea where I was going (nor did Janice, my Garmin), I wouldn't get there until 1:46 am AND I was feeling like a sissy for going 27 in a 70mph zone.

For 30 or 40 something miles this went on, and occasionally I would pull over due to zero visibility and paralyzing fear. Maybe I was overreacting, maybe my fear was justified, but I spend a good portion of the time wondering whether or not I was going to die by driving my car off the road and into a sea of fog and gravity. To get a good idea of the seriousness of this fog, refer to Conrad's description in Heart of Darkness. It's spot on...

"...there was a white fog, very warm and clammy, and more blinding than the night. It did not shift or drive; it was just there, standing all round you like something solid. At eight or nine, perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a glimpse of the towering multitude of trees, of the immense matted jungle, with the blazing little ball of the sun hanging over it -- all perfectly still -- and then the white shutter came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves... The sheer unexpectedness of it made my hair stir under my cap. I don't know how it struck the others: to me it seemed as though the mist itself had screamed, so suddenly, and apparently from all sides at once, did this tumultuous and mournful uproar arise. It culminated in a hurried outbreak of almost intolerably escessive shrieking, which stopped short, leaving us stiffened in a variety of silly attitudes, and obstinately listening to the nearly as appalling and excessive silence. "

Once I got through this nebulous mind-f*ck, I met a few bikers on the side of the road who had just done the same journey I had, only on motorcycles. I therefore felt further emasculated. I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown, they were hooting and hollering and living high, ready to go back for a victory lap. I took a moment to compose myself, steal some of their energy and realize how exciting it all was. If I was a Jewish 12 year old, this could have taken the place of my bar mitzvah.

Little did I know I wasn't done. Nearly two hours of blind driving only brought me into the middle of nowhere Montana. And while I witnessed the most amazing, fiery sunset I have ever seen, there was nobody and nothing around for miles. It was at this point that I started worrying about my cell phone. I had had no service for days now. It made sense that it wouldn't work in Yellowstone, but at this point I was miles and hours away from the park, and still my phone showed no signs of life or reception. I was starting to wonder if I hadn't paid my phone bill and my plan had been temporarily turned off. The magnitude of this issue was amplified by a few items:
- I had no idea (again) where I was, nor did Janice
- my gas gauge decided to stop working, so I had no idea how much gasoline I had or where I would get more
- there was nothing (and I mean nothing) around. No farmhouses, no stores... nothing. Just hills and fences for miles.
- it had been way too long since I'd seen another human or automobile - or a combination of the two
- and that's when I realized I couldn't find my wallet and it occurred to me that I may have left it at the counter of the last gas station. Was that why the folks at the counter were being so weird? Did they see me put it down and were remaining silent hoping that I would leave it? Paranoia strikes hard in these moments.
- it was starting to rain, there were no streetlights, and then...
- deer randomly darting back and forth across the road during the ensuing thunderstorm

If the driving I started on was level one, this was the last level of Battletoads. I felt like I had a better chance of winning the local lottery than defeating the elements against me. Another moment of "what am I doing here?" Just a reminder: no direction, not much visibility, maybe no wallet, maybe no gas, maybe no gas gauge, maybe no phone, a lot of surprise deer posing as whack-a-moles, and a boatload of uncertainty.

What I've calculated to be a lifetime later, I found a gas station, my wallet (between the seats), and cell reception. I made a few calls to verify my existence, and then, after getting a recommendation to sleep at a truck stop, I found, you guessed it...

Walmart in Bozeman, MT. A welcome night of sleep under some of the most beautiful stars I've ever seen. Goodnight.