Ryker Goes to Tillamook: The Hard Way

 

As predicted, the morning of Day 2 was wet.  Apparently, it wasn't actually coming down in this photo, but that didn't last long.  I left my motel in Cody, WY, at 7:00 after rolling out of bed at 5:30.  No, it doesn't normally take me an hour and a half to get my head from pillow to helmet.  But rain has a way of delaying as well as dampening pre-ride preparations.

A temperature reading on the bike of a brisk 43 degrees didn't do wonders for motivation either.  But surely, it would only get better from here!

I could have gone straight west from Cody and entered America's first national park near Yellowstone Lake.  It's a designated scenic route but crosses no official mountain passes.  I'm sure it's wonderful, but with Dead Indian Pass only 30 miles away to the northwest...  Well, how could I resist?  And besides, I'd already seen the lake in years past.

I encountered this sign after turning off of Highway 120 and onto 296.  It caused some angst at first, but after a reread and a map check, I realized it did not pertain to my route.  It basically stated that Beartooth Pass (on the Montana border) was closed.  It's much higher elevation.  But I wasn't planning to go that way.  I wanted to take the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway (296) up to 212, but then turn west and head for the park, not east (toward Red Lodge, MT).  That is an incredible ride, but one I'd done on an earlier cycle.  

No, the primary reason I'd spent the previous night in Cody was to ride the Chief Joseph for the first time.  I'd wanted to take it in the morning to lessen my chance of running into an afternoon thunderstorm.  I hadn't anticipated this early rain/drizzle.  But it was late June, and the pass is only 8,000-some feet.  How bad could it get?

If you ever find yourself asking that question, you probably don't really want to know the answer.  In this case, it was significantly worse than I had imagined.  I think this is the top, though visibility was so poor that it was hard to tell.  Yes, that's snow, but it wasn't sticking to the road.

The real issue was fog.  Coming up the switchbacks, I'd never experienced a mountain fog so dense.  In fact, I nearly turned around multiple times before getting to this point.  But I was the only vehicle on the road, so I just took it slow - and kept going up.  It had actually lifted a bit by the time I took this photo.  It had been even worse.

The weather on both sides of a mountain pass is hardly ever the same.  I sincerely hoped I'd just come up the bad side.

The air was 35.  The road surface was surely a tad warmer.  But I'd keep a sharp lookout for any indications of freezing on my way down.  And I'd keep it very slow for a while.

But I was right.  The far side of the ridge was better.  The fog was still there, but it was much higher above the road.

I could actually see limited views in most directions.  And the temperature was climbing as I descended.  

Here's a good shot to point out some new stickers.  That's one for the Northwest Territories above the headlights - and the Yukon Territory below.  The upper one even says Tuktoyaktuk on the bottom of the oval.

What a ride that was!  Now it would be smooth sailing on into Yellowstone.

Wrong!  The weather had improved as the road dropped to the Clark's Fork River.  But then, as I followed the stream up towards its source, the snow had begun to fall in large sticky flakes.

By the time I pulled up to the pump in Cooke City, my entire windshield, and parts of the handguards and my jacket were covered.  I'd had to continually wipe snow off the helmet visor as I rode.  And a couple miles of pavement had been coated in a thin layer of slush.  Not fun.  It was the most falling snow I'd ever ridden in.  And I was COLD!

This little guy had greeted me outside.  I had not been unfriendly.  But when I opened the door, I stepped through it in such a way as to prevent him from following me.  I just assumed he was an outside dog.

When his owner (and that of the store) came shortly after me, I realized my error in judgement.  I swear the dog stuck his tongue out at me as he trotted in, the man holding the door open.  But by the time I was ready to leave, we'd made up.

And I was there for a while - chatting with the man and his wife (who was behind the counter), purchasing and consuming food and a beverage, using the restroom, etc.  Basically, I did whatever I could think of as an excuse to remain in the well-heated building.  Finally, I took a chance and asked about the road ahead, though the snow was still coming down heavily.

"So, is it likely to get better or worse as I head toward Mammoth Hot Springs?"

"Oh, this should be the worst of it," the woman assured me.  "You'll drop in elevation quite a bit.  And it's not sticking to the road here, so you shouldn't have any problems going that way."

"Well, I know you may just be telling me what I want to here," I replied.  "But I appreciate you saying it, true or not.  Sometimes false hope is better than no hope at all!"

And with that, I donned my helmet, stepped back into the cold snow, remounted Ryker - and continued west.

But she was right - so far.  Three miles later, the snow had stopped - and I pulled over at the park's northeast entrance sign for the obligatory photo.  The white stuff sure was pretty on the trees though!