Tetons-->Yellowstone-->So Long WY, Hello MT

MON 7/19 -- Colter Bay to Grant Village (Yellowstone NP (WY), by van);
Grant Village to West Yellowstone MT (56)
and
TUE 7/20 -- rest day in West Yellowstone
Bike groups aren't allowed through the south entrance to Yellowstone
-- this is both for our safety and to keep traffic moving, I think.
Traffic in the summer can be very heavy [it was], and full [check] of
too-wide RVs [yes!] driven by distracted people [in Yellowstone it's
hard not to be distracted], many of whom don't seem to have any idea
how big their behemoths were [there certainly was some evidence of
that]. So we loaded all the bikes on the van and shuttled our way for
about 35 miles from our idyllic campground in the Tetons through the
south entrance and on up to Grant Village, about 20 miles inside
Yellowstone. (See nice group photo with van impressively a' la mode.
Standing L to R it's Phil, me, Dawn, John, Clive, Jerry, Kath, Mike,
Dennis, and Robin, with Hugh and Lucille kneeling in front.) We biked
from there about 55 miles along the lower left quadrant of what is
effectively the figure-8 pattern of the main road system in
Yellowstone, and then out the west entrance to (exit from) the park.

I stopped almost immediately at the very cool geyser and hot springs
area on what is called the West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake (see photo),
and then several more times for various stuff on the way to Old
Faithful (see photo). I think it's against federal law to visit
Yellowstone and not see OF go off and take a picture, and many many
people were there to abide by the law. Me, too.

The mob scene at OF and along the road afterwards was a little too
intense for my tastes, and that (and, I'll admit, some geyser fatigue)
got to me after a while, sapping my will to stop and take a look at
everything there was to see. For me, the park's beauties and wonders
cause the very conditions that make it almost impossible to really
enjoy. I don't want to make this sound too negative -- just riding and
gawking at the beautiful scenery that rolled by was often a great
pleasure.

Moving to more mundane issues, I also continued to be troubled by very
painful achilles tendons; they were ok in the morning, but really
tightened up after the hour-and-a-half or so stop at OF, and when I
tried to stop at other places as well. So that added another problem
for carrying out my initial plan, which was to stop and see whatever
looked interesting.

The 15-mile ride out of the park, away from the figure-8 loops of the
main, central roads, was a truly lovely meander down the Madison
River. I saw antelope, osprey, a bald eagle nest (but no actual
eagle), and lots of beautiful cliffs and ridges. I've always been a
big fan of the rocks-sky-trees-water scene, so this was pretty primo
riding for me.

Yellowstone's western boundary extends a couple of miles into Montana,
so right at the end of the day's ride we slipped over the border into
our 8th state. This is a big deal to us bikers, and many states get
into the spirit by trumpeting their arrival with pretty -- or at least
substantial -- signage. But just look at the pathetic announcement we
got. Borrowing from Fred Hines' immortal and spot-on words: weak
sauce, Montana.

In camp I treated my foot problems with an aggressive, multi-pronged
approach consisting of (a) ice packs, (b) Clive's knee liniment, (c) a
couple of Dennis' tylenols, (d) a baking soda poultice prepared by
Kath, and (e) a pair of compression tights, also Kath's, to aid
circulation. And a beer or two. I'm not sure which prong or prongs of
were effective -- although I'd be surprised if the beer wasn't a
critical component of the treatment regimen -- but I'm better today.

For the rest day a small contingent headed back in the van for a more
extensive tour of the park. They left at about 8; as I write this, at
just after 4, they're still not back. I just couldn't see spending
that much time vehicle-ized. Plus, I needed to take care of some
business, including buying my own Tylenol supply, and picking up a new
set of arch supports for my shoes. After the cold/rainy/hail-y ride
into Fairplay several days (weeks? months?) ago, I set my shoes on the
baseboard heater in my motel room to dry, and basically fried my
original arch supports -- especially the right one -- into exciting
new shapes. They haven't felt uncomfortable, but lack of good heel
support can cause achilles tendon pain, so I decided to attack the
problem on that front, too. Back in the saddle tomorrow, so time will
tell.