Well, I've discovered one thing, which when you think about it should have been bleeding obvious right from the start, and that is that rodeos are smelly affairs. But that aside, there is a rodeo on every single night in Cody over the summer. The rodeo capital of the WORLD, that's what the signs say. Ok, there's the usual bit of hyperbolae I've come to expect. Those guys that run rodeos in Cameroon and Iceland must be really pissed. And don't let the use of the word" summer" lull you into the conclusion that the weather here might be in any way warm or hot. Its bloody freezing. Nevertheless, the rodeo must go on. A lot of what took place involved younger guys and gals riding horses and lassoing cattle against the clock, and they didn't always succeed. But that's called learning the trade. The bucking broncos were pretty exciting, and the riders more often than not hit the ground hard enough to make me flinch, and I was miles away in the safety of the stand. But for sheer cohunas, you can't beat the guys who try to ride bulls. That's right up there with riding sidecars at the speedway or being a crash test dummy. The only people who take bigger risks are the rodeo clowns, and a couple of them got a decent serve and all. Like being rammed by a fork lift at thirty miles an hour, then being pushed over a cliff.
I also spent a very interesting afternoon in the Buffalo Bill Historical Centre, which is really first class. Buffalo Bill was, if not the most famous cowboy of all time, certainly the guy that did the most to earn the title, and his exploits are documented in great detail in this terrific display. The only problem was I kept wondering why Billy Connolly kept getting in on the act. There is a distinct physical resemblance between the two, and actually, I reckon Billy would have enjoyed spending a few hours in there as much as I did.
From Cody, I headed up to Red Lodge, Montana, again on the advice of Australian Road Rider, and from there into the Bear Tooth Pass. Lucky for me, the weather was perfect. This is just a terrific bike road, but one that demands respect. In the lower sections, there were a lot of loose rocks on the road, including some whoppers about football size and larger, and more than once, I hit smaller rocks with the front tyre that I didn't even see. The thought occurred to me that you would be unlucky, but nevertheless it was possible to have some serious real estate dropped on you from above at any moment. And towards the top, there are no safety barriers and some seriously long and presumably fatal drops. In fact, there was some sort of mishap while I was ascending the pass. Several emergency vehicles passed me, lights flashing and sirens wailing, on the way to the pass. I eventually saw them again near the top, but was unable to determine the nature of the emergency, it may have been something to do with skiers. Fortunately, no bikers involved this time, and especially not me.
Bear Tooth Pass. There you go, that's the road up, way down there, twice. Very speccy indeed.
Was it cold? Well what do you think? That white stuff isn't Kleenex.
From here I worked my way down via Cooke City (City? hah!) into Yellowstone, entering at the not quite so popular north east entrance. Just before the Park entry, I passed a buffalo out on the road, grazing at the verge. When I got to the entry, I informed the lady Ranger that it appeared one of their buffalos had done a runner. She replied, "Oh, that's Jeffery, we know about him." I had just seen Jeffery the buffalo, clearly a serial escapist. Not sure how Jeffery got across the cattle grid, I was lucky to get across it myself. But I was soon to see many more of Jeffery's extended family, although they remain anonymous, at least to me.
Say hello to the people, Jeffery. Jeffery? Is that you? Oh, Sorry Albert.
From here I just followed the road through to Mammoth Hot Springs, then across to West Yellowstone, which is just outside the Park, and its also in Montana, but only just, if you check the map carefully. The plan was to go from here back through the Park, and down to Jackson, via the Grand Teton NP, just for a squizz, then back to West Yellowstone. I awoke next morning to a car park covered in snow. Oops. But being a true 1 percenter, I headed into the Park anyway, amid flurries of snow. I have to say, riding in snow was a new experience for me, and at my age, any new experience is to be savoured. Obviously, it was bloody cold, but it was strangely dry, and heaps better than getting rained on. I appeared to be adequately rugged up, although my fingertips were cold/numb even though I had the grip heaters on max. I was a bit concerned at the computer display that kept flashing at me from the instrument panel. It does that when the temperature drops below 37 deg C, to warn of possible ice on the road. Now that I was worried about, since ice = crash. I made it as far as Old Faithful, which I was determined to see no matter what, but then I retreated to the warmth of my motel, followed by the warmth of the local bar and pizzeria, the Wild West. (Strange combination I know, but it worked for me.)
The following morning, my schedule required me to head north with great haste, but it was an absolutely clear blue sky out there. After a bit of haggling with the dragon that ran the motel, I decided to stay an extra day in West Yellowstone, and ride down to Jackson anyway. It was absolutely perfect weather, and I did a lazy 300 mile loop through the Park and down past the Grand Tetons, to Jackson. Not a bad effort for a day off. I had a superb view of the Tetons, and again, pointing a camera at something like this just doesn't seem to work, even though there is an urgent compulsion to do so, just like everybody else. But anyway, this is basically it, and spectacular it surely is. l could have taken more photos, but I couldn't be bothered stopping. Sad but true.
The Tetons, from the more popular eastern (Wyoming ) side.
Rather than cruise straight back the way I had come, as there was a bit of traffic about, I headed off through the Teton Pass, and into Idaho, then headed north back to Yellowstone. This turned out to be a master stroke, as I went through some of the best farm country I have seen anywhere, followed by some beautiful forests, and with absolutely no other traffic, until I got back onto US 20, and back to the place I had come to call home (since yesterday), the Wild West bar. Alright Melissa, if you insist, I'll have another Moose Drool. And not a bad drop at that! I'm not sure what to make of Idaho. Based on the few hours I spent there, it was heaven on a stick, but then I noticed the vehicle number plates. Any State that puts the words " Famous Potatoes" on its number plates needs to get a life, I reckon. But then again, America must have its French fries, lest it grind to a halt.
This is the Tetons, in the background, taken from the less popular Idaho side. Trust me to go the extra mile for my faithful readers.
I can't help thinking that the weather gods will exact a heavy toll on the guy that stole an entire day. I feel that there will be due retribution required at some point in the not too distant for this unexpected pleasure. Time will tell. From here I head north to Glacier NP, then across to Vancouver. Bring it on.
I also spent a very interesting afternoon in the Buffalo Bill Historical Centre, which is really first class. Buffalo Bill was, if not the most famous cowboy of all time, certainly the guy that did the most to earn the title, and his exploits are documented in great detail in this terrific display. The only problem was I kept wondering why Billy Connolly kept getting in on the act. There is a distinct physical resemblance between the two, and actually, I reckon Billy would have enjoyed spending a few hours in there as much as I did.
From Cody, I headed up to Red Lodge, Montana, again on the advice of Australian Road Rider, and from there into the Bear Tooth Pass. Lucky for me, the weather was perfect. This is just a terrific bike road, but one that demands respect. In the lower sections, there were a lot of loose rocks on the road, including some whoppers about football size and larger, and more than once, I hit smaller rocks with the front tyre that I didn't even see. The thought occurred to me that you would be unlucky, but nevertheless it was possible to have some serious real estate dropped on you from above at any moment. And towards the top, there are no safety barriers and some seriously long and presumably fatal drops. In fact, there was some sort of mishap while I was ascending the pass. Several emergency vehicles passed me, lights flashing and sirens wailing, on the way to the pass. I eventually saw them again near the top, but was unable to determine the nature of the emergency, it may have been something to do with skiers. Fortunately, no bikers involved this time, and especially not me.
Was it cold? Well what do you think? That white stuff isn't Kleenex.
From here I worked my way down via Cooke City (City? hah!) into Yellowstone, entering at the not quite so popular north east entrance. Just before the Park entry, I passed a buffalo out on the road, grazing at the verge. When I got to the entry, I informed the lady Ranger that it appeared one of their buffalos had done a runner. She replied, "Oh, that's Jeffery, we know about him." I had just seen Jeffery the buffalo, clearly a serial escapist. Not sure how Jeffery got across the cattle grid, I was lucky to get across it myself. But I was soon to see many more of Jeffery's extended family, although they remain anonymous, at least to me.
Say hello to the people, Jeffery. Jeffery? Is that you? Oh, Sorry Albert.
From here I just followed the road through to Mammoth Hot Springs, then across to West Yellowstone, which is just outside the Park, and its also in Montana, but only just, if you check the map carefully. The plan was to go from here back through the Park, and down to Jackson, via the Grand Teton NP, just for a squizz, then back to West Yellowstone. I awoke next morning to a car park covered in snow. Oops. But being a true 1 percenter, I headed into the Park anyway, amid flurries of snow. I have to say, riding in snow was a new experience for me, and at my age, any new experience is to be savoured. Obviously, it was bloody cold, but it was strangely dry, and heaps better than getting rained on. I appeared to be adequately rugged up, although my fingertips were cold/numb even though I had the grip heaters on max. I was a bit concerned at the computer display that kept flashing at me from the instrument panel. It does that when the temperature drops below 37 deg C, to warn of possible ice on the road. Now that I was worried about, since ice = crash. I made it as far as Old Faithful, which I was determined to see no matter what, but then I retreated to the warmth of my motel, followed by the warmth of the local bar and pizzeria, the Wild West. (Strange combination I know, but it worked for me.)
The following morning, my schedule required me to head north with great haste, but it was an absolutely clear blue sky out there. After a bit of haggling with the dragon that ran the motel, I decided to stay an extra day in West Yellowstone, and ride down to Jackson anyway. It was absolutely perfect weather, and I did a lazy 300 mile loop through the Park and down past the Grand Tetons, to Jackson. Not a bad effort for a day off. I had a superb view of the Tetons, and again, pointing a camera at something like this just doesn't seem to work, even though there is an urgent compulsion to do so, just like everybody else. But anyway, this is basically it, and spectacular it surely is. l could have taken more photos, but I couldn't be bothered stopping. Sad but true.
Rather than cruise straight back the way I had come, as there was a bit of traffic about, I headed off through the Teton Pass, and into Idaho, then headed north back to Yellowstone. This turned out to be a master stroke, as I went through some of the best farm country I have seen anywhere, followed by some beautiful forests, and with absolutely no other traffic, until I got back onto US 20, and back to the place I had come to call home (since yesterday), the Wild West bar. Alright Melissa, if you insist, I'll have another Moose Drool. And not a bad drop at that! I'm not sure what to make of Idaho. Based on the few hours I spent there, it was heaven on a stick, but then I noticed the vehicle number plates. Any State that puts the words " Famous Potatoes" on its number plates needs to get a life, I reckon. But then again, America must have its French fries, lest it grind to a halt.
This is the Tetons, in the background, taken from the less popular Idaho side. Trust me to go the extra mile for my faithful readers.
I can't help thinking that the weather gods will exact a heavy toll on the guy that stole an entire day. I feel that there will be due retribution required at some point in the not too distant for this unexpected pleasure. Time will tell. From here I head north to Glacier NP, then across to Vancouver. Bring it on.
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