Do Buffalo Eat Turkey? I'm Gonna Go Ahead And Close This Window Just In Case.

That night I built a fire that would have made a caveman proud, except I used newspaper and lighter fluid. It lasted for hours, which I wasn't expecting, because the wood sold by the Parks Service is actually slower-burning than the wood we get out East. Yellowstone instructs people to burn the cardboard crate as well, to cut down on waste. So I figured I would blow through a box of firewood in a couple hours and call it a night. What actually happened was a marathon campfire that ended with me praying to the Fire Gods to "Please just go out! Just burn! Hurry, I want to go to bed!" I didn't want to throw water on the burning wood and ruin it, and I didn't want to end up with extra wood to store in my oops-the-suitcase-exploded-in-the-backseat car. So I burned it all, with no marshmallows and no hot cocoa and not even booze, but I did cross my eyes every time I threw a new log on the blaze and said, "BUUUUURRRNN THEM!"

The next morning I drove around to the other parts of the park, and saw a myriad of animals -- moose, moose calf, elk, bison, bald eagles, black-tail deer and even a brown bear, although he was far enough away that I didn't get even remotely scared. I hiked the Hell Roaring trail to the suspension bridge that crosses the sulphur creek and took a few minutes to sit in a small meadow speckled with wildflowers. Looking up at the mountains above me and the valley below me, I wrote in my journal: "How many people have seen this versus how many people have not? Statistically, I'm still a pioneer. And this land is still untouched."

Heading down further into the valley, I passed a harrowed gentleman with a huge pack and a red beard. "Did you make it to the suspension bridge?" I asked.
He laughed breathlessly. "You can... say that. We did... fifty miles.... of backcountry.... in the last... five days." He pointed vaguely to the caldera that lie beyond the central mountain range.
"Sweet Jesus! Good for you! Well, you're almost to the top!"
"Ahh, I know!" he exhaled, trudging slowly up the switchback.
A minute later, I passed another exhausted man, dirty socks tied to the top rail of his pack and flapping like a mop head. "You're almost there!" I shouted, cheering him on. He said nothing. After five days and fifty miles of hiking, I'd probably be silent too.

For anyone who has never been to Yellowstone, go. Between the waterfalls, the hiking and the scenery, it can continually take your breath away, at least three times a day. And it's large enough that it's still possible to find solitude when you need it. It's difficult to describe, just because it's so damn beautiful.

While I was driving through a mountain pass, near the Continental Divide, four huge bison were plodding towards my car, in the other lane, holding up oncoming traffic. Their hooves hit the asphalt with unnatural knocking sounds. Their heads were bobbing in time with their steps and their eyes held a liquid sadness. I'd seen that look only one other time, in the eyes of a dying horse. They paraded in a straight line, rushing for no one. One got very close to my window, making eye contact. It was intense. People gawked from the windows of RVs and I was almost afraid, not knowing if he smelled the turkey sandwich on the seat next to me. I raised the window halfway and he moved on. The cars were stacked in the other lane for a quarter-mile, the ones towards the back having no idea what the hold up was and getting antsy. I wondered how long the buffalo would hold them up, because they showed no signs of straying from their single-file march.

A rainbow arced over a canyon as I drove near Mammoth Hot Springs. I pointed out the window to show other cars. They thought I was flipping them off and flipped me back. Their loss. It was a gorgeous rainbow.

I left Yellowstone and drove in Grand Teton National Park, expecting nothing because I'd forgotten every picture I'd ever seen of the famous mountain range. Good thing I did, because the surprise view of jagged snowcaps was breathtaking. The mountains overlook a lake on the east side, as clear as Yellowstone Lake and just as cold. I stopped in at Colter Bay, as the kids I'd met in Glacier had told me to. "The Chuck Wagon!" they had said. "Just come on by!" Two of them were working, but had no time to talk to me. Honestly, I had no idea what we'd say to each other anyway. It was obvious they were stunned that I showed up at all. I said, "I'll come back when you're not so busy," and took a two-mile hike to Swan Lake instead. I never went back.
I waded out in the water until my ankles became used to the cold. "I can't believe I'm here," was the continuous thought in my head. Astounding. I could see my feet clearly below the surface, turning blue.

I did laundry in the park's laundromat and as I was folding, an elderly man in a security guard's uniform walked up and pinched the collar of one of my shirts. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm with the Fashion Police. I'm checking for ring-around-the-collar." I tried to come up with a witty comeback but the laugh came out before the words. "Did you put your money in this machine?" he asked, opening the dryer.
"Yes. Are you going to give it back to me?"
"No, I'm going to take it for myself!" he said triumphantly, emptying quarters into a bank sack.
"I suppose I'll allow it."
"Why, thank you!"

In the gift shop I skimmed a book day hikes and realized that there are no real day hikes in the park besides Swan Lake. I drove around for awhile, but ended up outside the park before I knew it. "Well, that's that, I guess!" Grand Teton is on the list of places to revisit when I get a backcountry pack and can enjoy it fully.

South towards Idaho brought me through Jackson Hole, the alleged "Last of the Old West", which is really the First of The Towns To Capitalize On The New West. Did you know The Last of the Old West has a Gap? T-shirt shops, elk antler gateways, Indian paintings, and totem poles. Old Thyme Photographs and stagecoach tours. Indian head-dresses on display at stores that sold pink glittering cowboy hats. And boutiques that sold adorable, countrified cardigans and dresses for $425.00 -- on sale.

I stayed long enough to check my email and be struck by an overwhelming sense of sadness, one of the random perils of road living. These waves come on with no rhyme or reason and, if left unchecked, can ruin an entire day. It was three parts lonely and two parts depression, watching the Wild, Wild West be commercialized into a two-level strip mall. I was in a subterranean Internet cafe that doubled as an online gaming place and distracted myself by laughing at the pre-pubescent boy behind me, asking his mom if it was okay to go over to a friend's house. "His mom says it's okay, Mom, really!" I miss those days.

I didn't stay long in Jackson Hole. I wanted the real West and this wasn't it. I headed further south, passing through tiny towns with no stop signs or traffic lights, just a lower speed limit than the miles of pristine highway between them.