Friends! Crossing paths in the Tetons
Yesterday "morning" I split ways with KC, Kirby, and Ksenia (KC and Kirby are high school friends, and the acronym for their three names is unfortunately "KKK". I'll have to come up with something better to refer to them...how about The Three Muskateers?). Since my attempt at blog post yesterday got swallowed up by the National Park Service's WiFi that not only slurps up your money ($24 for a tent campsite!!) but also your creative output, you missed out on a great post about the campfire songs and easy conversation we enjoyed last night. How KC scavenged wood from up the hill so that we could have a campfire over which we roasted hot dogs, decked out with condiments swiped from a nearby buffet that caters to the Park's tourists, and how after dinner Kirby pulled out his mandolin and KC pulled out his ukulele and we sung songs that lured over a small flock of nearby campers. One of the fellows had an achingly beautiful voice that put us a little to shame, but he was extremely nice and we learned that he is in a band in New York and is the great grandson of Frank Sinatra. He's not really the great grandson of Frank Sinatra, I made that up. But his voice still rings in my ears, as does the playful mandolin notes and the laughter we shared over singing Bob Dylan songs and rapping to the Bloodhound Gang's "You and me baby ain't nothing but mammals...". It was a fun night. The most fun night I've had camping, unless you call it fun being scared that a grizzly bear is lurking outside your tent only to discover that it is helmet-eating deer. That night would be more aptly described in terms like ,"relief" or "embarassment" or "frustration that my helmet, t-shirt, and anything with salt on it is now chewed up and destroyed by a salt-seeking deer".
Back to the present: I have left the black hole of Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons, and now I am in the Shoshone National Forest and Wind River area, which was a huge timber production site to make cross ties for the nation's railroad system. I will be rolling past a tie hack ("hack" in this case does not refer to what a dog does after it eats too much grass, but the process of cutting, flattening, and transporting cross ties to serve as a foundation for the steel rails of the railroad) memorial in a few miles from where I am camping right now on Brooks Lake. But first- let me tell you about how I got here.
Yesterday morning I was hoping to get on the trail, er, the road (I still had to leave the Tetons on pavement) by 9am since I knew I had a 3,000ft climb up and over Togowtee Pass to accomplish. But when you are with a group, especially a group of friends you have known since high school, no, middle school, saying goodbye is hard, just like Togowtee Pass would be if I started the climb after 3pm. Which I did. I got up at 7am, wrote a genius blog post that the National Park WiFi gulped up along with our $24 for a tentsite and our $8 jar of peanut butter (I might be exaggerating there), and as The Three Muskateers slowly emerged from their giant tent cave they shared, the tea brewing began and the conversation from last night about favorite and least favorite towns we had passed through on our respective trips continued. I told them where they should head to next, since they are riding crosscountry east to west (NYC-Seattle) and last summer I rode the opposite direction across the country (SF-Portland,Maine). I excitedly told them about the Bike Camp in Twin Bridges, Montana, the historic town of Phillipsburg, and of course, the Buffalo Hippies in West Yellowstone that have become a mandatory stopping point on my bike trips that take me across the country. We ended up leaving camp around 11am- I couldn't stop talking, KC got a flat, I helped KC fix his flat, we had to try everyone's pump to determine whose was the best (no clear winner), Kirby restrung his mandolin, Kseneia seemed the only camper on track that morning. But being on track wasn't the point, however there was a giant hulking weight on my mind of the upcoming Togowtee Pass. Ksenia and I stopped by the grocery store, I added Nutella to my foodstock since I had eaten some of Kirby's that morning and it was game-changingly delicious as long as I tuned out the cries of oranguantuans getting their fingers sliced off by palm oil plantation owners. We reluctantly parted ways, and I bid them adieu but wasn't very jelous that they were headed where I came from. Yellowstone is not fun to bike through. Especially when you have a headwind (lucky for them, they are heading north through the park and should have a tailwind) and have spent the last few weeks shredding the gnar on sick trails and dirt roads. Pavement just doesn't compare.
Togowtee Pass. So by the time I left the grocery store, it was nearly noon. I was hungry for lunch, but seeing a how I had just ridden from the campsite to the grocery store, it seemed innapropriate to eat my second meal of the day after riding only 1/4 of a mile. I decided that I would eat lunch at Jenny Lake, which was a 14 mile detour off the route. As in, 14 miles each way. Given my late start to the day's ride, and my creeping fear of Togowtee Pass, performing a 28 mile detour at noon only to ride another 40 miles to get up a 3,000 ft pass that was increasingly taking over my brain seemed slightly stupid. I pushed these doubts away, reminding myself that my grandmother thinks that Jenny Lake is one of the most beautiful places in the world and that scenic detours are always worth it. Besides, how often am I in Wyoming and 14 miles away from the base of the Three Majestic Teats? The Grand Tetons beckoned, so I plunged into a headwind and began my detour, belly hungry and mind distracted by the pass I was putting myself farther and farther away from with each pedalstroke.
I was not having fun. The 14 mile spur to Jenny Lake was downhill on the way there, but there was a mercilous headwind that I couldn't help but think was generated by the National Park Service to further dissuade cyclists from riding through the Parks, as if zero road shoulder, absence of "Share the Road" signs, and hurtling RVs wasn't enough of an obstacle to enjoying the scenery from the seat of your bicycle. I tried to think about how great the view was going to be from the Lake, but the view was already stunning and I was sick of riding into a headwind. The Tetons ahead of me were alluring, but they were like a refridgerator magnet that had fallen off the fridge too many times. Togowtee Pass, on the other hand, was an incredibly strong magnet like the one Ms. Ciano showed us in high school AP Physics class that could rip the braces off of our teenage faces. I was but an iron filing perched a steel bicycle, and I caved in. After 6 miles on the detour road, I pulled over, ate a tuna-tortilla wrap, snapped some pictures of the Mighty Breasts (you must remember that "Les Trois Tetons" is a reference to the female anatomy. Three boobies!), and gave in to the strong magnetic pull of Togowtee Pass.
Les trois tetons, view from where I turned around on the road to Jenny Lake
You see, my fears of Togowtee Pass are grounded in real experience. Let's just say that in the 4,000 miles I pedaled from San Francisco, CA across the entire country (and a bit of Canda too) to Portland, Maine, the most memorable (in a bad way) climb was coming over Togowtee Pass. I was a young lass of 21 years then, and I had no idea what I was in for. I knew I had a climb coming up, and I stopped inside a gas station to fill up on water and inquire about the pass. "Oh yeah, its 20 miles up to the pass," the clerk told me. I thought she meant 10 miles up, and 10 miles down, but she corrected me. The real climb began in 5 miles, and the it would be 20 miles of solid climbing with an elevation gain of 3,000 vertical feet. Gulp. It was so hard. It was really, really, really hard. I can try to describe it- if you've ever been to an exercise class where you think you are dying, there is just no way that you can hold that squat for 10 more seconds, or do five more burpees (what- is the instructor insane?!), Togowtee Pass was like that but the instructor told you to hang in there for 2 more hours. When I reached the Togowtee Lodge, I was relieved to be at the top and get a celebratory chocolate milk (I was a young lass then) but 1) it was 8pm and the gas station was closed and 2)it wasn't the top- I had 9 more miles of pedaling. When I finally hit the top, the sun had set and I burst into tears the moment I saw the sign that declared, "CONTINENTAL DIVIDE ELV 9,658'. I will never forget that moment.
Fast forward to the present. Or, last night. Armed with the knowledge that this pass is a whopper, and that the Lodge does not mark the summit but the 9 miles to go mark, I knew that a long as I left myself enough time I would be okay. From my Great Divide Map, it looked like I would begin climbing the pass on dirt. In general, climbing on dirt is harder than pavement because you have to push yourself through soft soil and roll over rocks, and the pitch can be much steeper since RVs don't roll on dirt roads (thankfully). But this dirt climb felt like a Disneyland ride, a combo of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and Indiana Jones' Raiders of the Lost Arc. I passed beaverponds and conifers shaded my way. Yes, it was steep. I crawled up at 4 MPH for a few particularly steep stretches. But it was absolutely gorgeous, and there were no cars whoooshing past. When I finally reached the lodge (9 miles to go!), I felt tired, but much more energetic than the last time I stood in that parking lot. I bought a smoothie for immediate consumption, a Snake River IPA for consumption at the summit, and after charging my phone at the gas station for a bit (my solar panel died) I hopped on my bike and shoved the beer into my frame pack which broke the zipper. Nothing could stop me, not even a broken zipper- so I safety-pinned that sucker and began to push up the final 9 miles. It was gorgeous. I felt so much better than I did last year, and I think that either: the dirt climb is actually easier/shorter than the pavement climb, I am in terrific shape, I psyched myself out way too hard, beer is a great motivator, Kirby inspired me that morning when he looked deep into my eyes and said ,"Claire, I know you are going to make it to the top of Togowtee Pass", or a combination of all those factors.
I reached the top at the ripe hour of 7:30pm. When I saw the sign that read "CONTINENTAL DIVIDE,ELV 9,658'" I surprised myself by bursting into tears, fatter wetter tears than those I had shed last year. I think I would have cried harder if I had more energy last year. But I was a wee lass on a roade bike, and now I am a whole year older and on a whole different bike/journey. I drank my beer at the top, definitely felt a buzz in my dehydrated body, and descended a dirt Jeep road down to Brooks Lake. I'm glad no one else was on the road. The view out over the canyon was breathtaking in the dusk hour, and pink clouds and towering rock sporting a coat of alpine glow seemed to be my reward for making it up this challenging pass.
I made it, Kirby was right.