« Really Now | Main | "Do You Understand What I'm Saying?" »
June 11, 2006
These Are the Days of Their Lives
I like my low-key life, I don't care much for the dramatics of the tourists. Is it not possible for you tourists to take a vacation from the trials and tribulations of your life and come to this here Yellowstone National Park for pure fun and enjoyment? Do you really have to try to kill your mother with a camper's axe, run over your little sister with a car you don't know how to drive, ride your bike directly and uncontrolled into oncoming traffic, paddle your open canoe into big-wind waves and not wear a life jacket, attempt to climb a technical climbing route sans technical climbing gear, summit a mountain peak at the same impeccably timed moment that a thunderstorm hits that very mountain peak? Sheesh, you people are dramatic. There should be a soap opera for Yellowstone National Park visitors. I'm tired today, and it's all because I've been running around, trying to save tourists from the trouble that results from their dramatics.
I didn't run yesterday, I got called away to a lovely evening of work before I got out there running. In the morning, though, I went on a long bike ride, about 60 miles. My arse is sore, this is my longest ride of the season so far. The ride was spectacular! First, I climbed from my house to the nearby pass and up onto Swan Lake Flats. Often this pass has a strong headwind when climbing, but I left early enough that there was no headwind, what a joy! Swan Lake Flats was swarmed yesterday by tourists, their binoculars, and their 1000mm telephoto lenses trying to capture images of a grizzly bear doing nothing exciting about a 1/2 mile away. The next 15 miles or so from Swan Lake Flats to the Norris developed area rolls through mostly lodgepole pine forests. The route passes by a funny place called Roaring Mountain. The side of this mountain has been wiped clean of vegetation, and is instead covered with various thermal features. Sometimes, if a thermal feature is hot enough, if the hole in the ground is small enough, and if the pressure of the escaping water and steam is strong enough, these thermal features make noises that range among roaring, shrieking, and belching. It's really rather entertaining. Roaring Mountain was roaring yesterday, and about 92 tourists were ooh-ing and ahh-ing as I zipped by. Next up, a rest break at the Norris Ranger Station, also known as the National Park Service Ranger Museum. Want to see what park service rangers do now and have done throughout the history of the National Park Service? Stop here, I find it fascinating. However, I've visited here before, so I made ample use of the facility's water fountain, stretched my legs, and pedaled on. From Norris to my turnaround point is a tough climb up to the top of Blanding Hill. I have no idea why it's called this, but it's steep. I granny-geared it all the way up, knowing that once I got to the top, I still had about 30 miles to ride home. Here, as I spun my way up slowly, a huge duely diesel pickup truck honked and some honky-nasty rednecks waved their flabby arms boisterously at me. In my near-redlining oxygen-debt state, I flipped them the bird. I don't normally do that, I'm not sure what got into me.
At the top of Blanding Hill, I should have stopped to catch my breath, have a sip of water, and enjoy the view. However, I always get excited in places like this for that blazing ride downhill, so I got right to that business. This stretch of road is beautifully smooth and it has a decent shoulder. I can fly downhill on the shoulder and actually pass tourist cars. I did that, once. Then I decided it was relatively unsafe. Once down the hill and back to Norris, I began to notice the typical early afternoon build-up of thunderheads, and I wondered if I'd make it home before the storm. I didn't have to wonder very long. By the time I had reached Roaring Mountain again, the sky was also starting to roar. No rain yet, just dark threatening clouds and thunder rumbling. The storm actually hit, not when I was safely tucked in and riding through the enclosed lodgepole pine forests, but when I was open and exposed, crossing Swan Lake Flats. At this point, the wind (and rain, and the rest of the storm) were at my back so I just dug in and pedaled hard across the flats. I watched a small peak nearby called Bunsen Peak (Named for the same fellow who invented the Bunsen Burner, and also an early Yellowstone visitor.) get struck several times by lighnting. That was awesome! The ride back down to my house from the pass wasn't outside of my comfort level, but I didn't care for it too much. It's a steep, windy downhill. In places, the road is attached like a bridge to a cliff, so basically the road hangs over an abyssal canyon (If you somehow chucked yourself over the guardrail, no one would ever notice.) The road was slick with rainwater. The road is occupied by tourists driving like tourists. I got down off the pass and back to my neighborhood as quickly as I could. It wasn't till I was pulling into my neighborhood that I began to realize that I was wet and cold! Here, on this beautiful summer day, I was blue-lipped, shivering, and making myself hot cocoa to warm up. How's that for strange?
All in all? A sweet ride. I'm building my road biking endurance. I didn't feel dead after 3+ hours on the bike. I still wanted to run in the afternoon, if those pesky tourists hadn't stolen all my free time.
Posted by Meghan at June 11, 2006 10:00 AM
Comments
That sounds like an awesome ride! You make a 60 miler sound easy... :) Have a great day!
Posted by: Beth at June 13, 2006 8:24 AM
I am envious about cycling through the Park...not so much about the dealing with tourists part. Don't forget the tourists who decide to approach mama moose and her calves within range of, oh, about ten feet and get kicked in the head! Tourists. Check your brain at the entrance gate :)
Posted by: anne at June 15, 2006 8:56 AM