Day 12 and 13
Day 12 I rode over to Custer State Park, and I spent Day 13 there exploring.
Next morning I needed gas pretty bad, and breakfast. I broke camp quick and took off. The campground was laid out around a one-way loop and I left going the wrong way. Know why? Because I'm a renegade motorcyclist and the rules don't apply to me. The campground host came along in his golf cart and waved me down, then told me to turn around. I said OK and he rode off ... and I kept going the wrong way. Renegade. They should write a song about me.
I ran down to Burgess Junction expecting a small town. What I found was the Bear Lodge Resort and not much else. They had two old-style pumps. And after searching for someone to turn them on and walking-back-and-forth we finally established they had no regular gas so I bought premium. The hassle and lack of competence of anyone I dealt with had me annoyed. The place had a restaurant so I ordered breakfast. The dishwasher was broken so it came on paper, that was fine. And it did come fast. There was lots of drama among the staff. Someone was mad at someone and stormed off, followed by someone else to calm them down. Teeth and complexion on a couple of them made me figure there was a source of meth around somewhere. Just one (tired) man's experience, but I'm not in a hurry to return. The place probably really comes together in the winter anyways and summer is likely it's downtime. This is high country big-snow land.
In my obsessive planning for the trip the preceding winter I had identified Red Grade Road, a dirt road winding it's way down and out of the mountains. My plan had been to take it, and despite my drop in Montana and promise to wife to play it safe, I kept that plan. It wasn't anything extraordinary, my expectations had been too high. Much of the road was just too beat up with holes and washboards to be much fun. But, there was stuff too see. Including phallic-shaped rocks. Phallic-shaped rocks are funny.
SPLASH DAMS
The structure before you is known as a "splash dam" (also referred to as "surge", or "flash" dams), part of an old transportation system for the movement of logs and railroad ties from the forest to sawmills in the valley. The process began by dragging or rolling logs into the river bed while water was being stored behind the dam. When conditions were right, the gate was opened and the logs were "flushed" down to small ponds near a flume entrance. The flume, a raised wooden V-shaped structure, then carried the trees, with the help of water, to processing facilities near Dayton, Wyoming. Ties moving down the flume were reported to reach speeds of nearly 80 miles per hour. Parts of the flume were built as early as 1892 by the Starbird and Hall Logging Company. Construction of this "splash dam" occurred around 1905.
There was a guy up there on an ATV with three boys each on their ATVs. One wasn't working, and I offered up the tools I had. But the guy had it under control. A good day of ATVing ruined for him though. I alluded to the idea that when things go to pot, at least you get a story out of it. He was not in the mood for zen traveler insights.
At the end the road dropped at a pretty good grade down to the flatlands. It would have been more white-knuckle in a car, but on the bike you can see the edges better, have more room to maneuver, and you can tell that the dropoffs are as steep as then look from a car. Just picked my way down, in first mostly, I needed the engine to help with the braking. It felt steeper than the pictures make it look.
Once I was off the mountain there was nothing to do but grind out the Custer State Park across the flatlands through the oppressive heat. For this type of riding I generally put in my earbuds and listen to some podcasts or a book-on-tape.
Gassing up in Custer I visited with a couple traveling by BMW bikes. Dude and wife had both the money and the time to enjoy life right. Their bikes were back at the hotel and they were wandering in t-shirts and shorts enjoying the day. They looked comfortable, I was hot in my gear and still needed to get to camp.
At the park gate I asked the guy (a rode-hard and put-up-wet gentleman who clearly enjoyed chatting with people coming into the park) if there were restaurants and bars in the park. He said there was both real near my campsite, and to say Hi to Betty the bartender.
I setup camp and took a much needed shower. As much as a wanted, actually needed, a cold beer I also needed clean clothes. Laundry had to be a priority. You know you've been traveling when you look forward to clean cloths like that. So I found a washer/drier at the hotel nearby and killed an hour or so washing and drying.
That done I found the restaurant and bar in the State Game Lodge. It was a bit late and it was nearly empty, but they were seating. I walked past the bar to get a table, but doubled back. We martini drinkers are a picky lot, and I could tell Betty would make a good one. She had experience on her, and I wanted to deal with her directly without the waiter miscommunicating something.
I was correct. And she filled the glass to the brim. I took the first couple sips talking with her, then to my table where I was attended to by a Turk with a big old mustache. Or maybe he was more Baltic, but wherever he was from he treated me well and knew when to leave me alone. The ribeye was like butter and the red they paired with it was excellent and I felt like a king in my dining room alone, walls covered with old photographs. It was easily one of the best dinners I have ever had.
On the way out Betty said the Buffalo steak was even better, and I said I might see her the following night.
Gracie Coolidge and her pet racoon [sic], Rebecca, at the White House Easter Egg Roll. April 18, 1927
President Calvin Coolidge with Rosebud Yellow Rose and Chauncey Yellow Rose. President Calvin Coolidge adopted into the Sioux tribe. June 22, 1927
The following morning I started with the wildlife circle. There really wasn't much to see. I rode around the smaller roads within the circle and saw a lone Buffalo and a Golden Eagle and a bunch of ground squirrels. I ran across a lone antelope. Not much really, but the day hadn't heated up yet and I was enjoying the grasslands.
Finally, I found what a was looking for. Cars stopped by a herd of buffalo in the road. I was here as a child on one of those family cross-country car trips lots of us took back then. In a Ford Pinto. No air conditioning. We had AM/FM radio, but of course the windows were all down so you couldn't hear it. No electronics. Just books and imagination. One of those trips our kids will never experience. But ... I remember the buffalo from that trip and I wanted to see them again. And I wanted to see them from a motorcycle, I wanted just a bit of an adrenaline rush.
I stayed longer than necessary watching them. I took a lot of pictures, looking for the perfect picture of this big bull but his little-chicky-chick cow hanging around him was constantly in the way. It was interesting listening to them while I hung out. They utter these very low-pitch moans that I can only imagine carry miles across a prairie. Unfortunately for them, they stick their tongues out when making the sound, and it makes them look silly.
And you could sense some agitation in some of the moans. The bulls of various ages and sizes were busy establishing and maintaining their pecking order. My big bull crossed the road and took a dust bath. He kicked up a pretty big cloud of dust, and it was pretty clearly a dominance move meant to let everyone know he was still boss.
And as I sat on my bike near the center line of the road, I watched as these two middle-sized bulls head-butted and wrestled a bit in the road up a ways. They were getting pretty agitated, and the low-pitched bellows were ramping up throughout the herd.
Suddenly, this other mid-sized bull comes tearing down the middle of the road, right at me. He's coming down right on the center line, head down, running full speed. I just watched, I had no time to react really. And if I could have, I'm not sure if I'd have had the sense to move off or if I would have just brought the camera up. He was storming down the road, but I was pretty sure not at me. He was going to tear by me right next to me. Pretty sure.
And ... yeah, the thing passed me so close it would have been nothing to reach out and touch him. My pulse was up, I got my adreneline rush. I figured I had what I came for so I headed off.
It was a hot day and I was getting tired and pretty worn out. I stopped at one of the little convenience stores in the park and got something cold to drink. I sat in the shade out front looking at my phone. This guy riding a ratty Sportster and wearing jean cutoff pants came over. I think he had a summer job at the park driving tourists around in a jeep. Then this other guy came over, he was riding a HD bagger and worked at the cafeteria at a bible college down south. I don't know how to describe it. They had too much personality for me. Too interested in themselves. In fairness I was tired and run down. I was also heading home, I could feel the chattiness towards strangers I acquire on these trips starting to dwindle. So, I did my best to let them talk to each other instead of to me and kept checking my phone.
And I pulled up Facebook, and my wife had posted a real sweet tribute to our Golden, and a bunch of pictures. Our golden retriever Amber was old, and not doing well when I left. She had a cancerous tumor in her neck the vet couldn't remove since it was so close to blood vessels and nerves. With that and her age she was basically just wearing out. I said goodbye before I hit the road, I was pretty sure she wouldn't be there when I returned. When I called home during the trip I'd get an update, and a prediction of when the time would come to bring her to the vet for the last time. That day came had come while I was in Yellowstone.
It was sad, but not unexpected and it was time for sure. It really hadn't hit me hard. But sitting there in the heat, tired and a run down, looking at the pictures, then it hit me. I got a bit verklempt, a touched choked up, I might have even shed a tear. I left before the other two guys noticed. I didn't want to get reported to the AMA for behavior not befitting a motorcyclist.
Monday we had to say goodbye to Amber DumbDog Callahan. She was 13 years old and very, very tired. She went by many names over the years, Ambies, Pepe, Blue, and Blamber to name a few. However, her most fitting nickname was "Perfect". After her crazy puppy years, she became this name. Over 13 years of walks off leash she NEVER once ran off on me. She instilled this sense of doggy responsibility to Gracie, and because of her, Gracie is also completely trustworthy on walks. She loved all of our cats, and was personally responsible for keeping all cat ears perfectly clean (cats would present themselves for cleaning). She raised a kitten and a puppy with gentleness and love. She loved attention, but didn't demand it. She had a playful side and we as a family remember trips to the "dunes", where Amber would swim for hours. She would then roll around in the sand until coated, then shake all over us. It was a literal sandblasting! She never tired of it. She was in the 4H dog shows with Sam Callahan for 3 years, and did pretty well considering she was an old dog when we started. Sam was 5 and Jake was 3 when we got her. Now Sam is heading off for college and Jake is driving. She saw a lot of change over her years. Here are some pic's of her over many years. She pre-dated digital pictures for us, so I will dig up some puppy pictures soon. She will be sorely missed.
I moved off and checked out the other the other famous roads in the park, up 16A (Iron Mountain Road) and 87 (Needles Highway). The pavement is unbelievably smooth. Roads are nice and narrow and the curves are plain fun. The scenery is unbelievable. But ... the cars. You need to work to not let them frustrate you. I would pull over and let them get ahead of me, then take off to a bit of open road. The trick is to get out there early in the day, before most everyone else gets out there.
I was back at my campsite earlier than I usually am. I felt like I should use the hours to ride more, but I was worn out. I checked out the small beach at the camp, but the water was too warm and there was too much algae. So, I took a shower and rested at my site playing with my phone.
For dinner ... well, I had had the perfect dinner the night before. Should I go back for that ever-better bison steak, and another perfect martini? I don't know, when you have a perfect experience like that, can you reproduce it? Is there anywhere to go except down? Was I just risking disappointment, or tarnishing a perfect memory? In the end I rode into Custer for pizza at this place with outdoor seating I noticed coming in. I rode in a t-shirt, no jacket, which is rare for me. But I rode with the t-shirt flapping in the late-afternoon summer air. I had a pizza and a beer, people watching while I munched, and then got another couple beers for the road to have in camp. I didn't regret the decision at all.
