Day 10 – Billings, MT, to Yellowstone National Park
My glowing praise of the KOA experience may have been a little premature. Just before a storm hits, when you’re searching for something safe and familiar, the KOA is the place to go. When we pulled in last night, as the wind was picking up and the thunder was rumbling, it all seemed so neighborly and relaxed, all these zillions of people milling about with Frisbees and hot dogs, seemingly without any care about the impending weather.
But in the light of day, it is what it is: a KOA. The bathroom suites are pretty cool. But, you know, they’re public bathrooms. The diesel Ford F-250 from the adjacent site roared to life at 7:30 a.m. and then, for 40 minutes, sat idling and belching exhaust directly into our tent while the owners packed up their gear. Someone else’s strange little kids ran over to our site and actually let themselves into our tent while we sat there eating breakfast, looking on. And then, from about 8 o’clock on, there was a steady parade of 40-ft RVs rolling right past our picnic table as they checked out and moved on.
It had rained for most of the night, but by about 9 a.m. the sky had cleared and the tent was dry enough to pack. We were on the road by 10, and instead of taking the easier route to Yellowstone (I-90 to Livingston, then straight south to Mammoth Hot Springs), we opted to take the Beartooth Highway (US 212), which runs from Red Lodge, MT (about an hour south of Billings), 68 miles to the park’s northeast entrance. It may sound like a breeze, but it’s 68 miles of spaghetti-loop switchbacks as the road winds up and over the Beartooth mountains and descends into Wyoming. We planned to spend at least a few hours on that section alone. And because our Lonely Planet guide described this drive as “the most beautiful drive in America” and “the most dramatic drive into Yellowstone National Park,” we knew it would be worth the time.
It was easy enough to get to Red Lodge, a colorful little mountain town full of art galleries, outfitting shops and cool cafes. After a pub lunch, we wandered into a shop overflowing with all kinds of candy, including Moon Pies, Sugar Daddies, Pop Rocks, Nut Rolls, Fruit Stripe gum, at least a half-dozen kinds of candy cigarettes and bushels and bushels of suckers, Sweet Tarts, Laffy Taffy, licorice bites, jelly beans and so much more. Coolest shop ever. We each got to pick a treat, of course.
Keith forgot to pack long-johns, and figured he’d need them for the 35-degree nights predicted for Yellowstone, so we stopped an outfitter shop next-door. I had a good laugh at the sign posted behind the check-out: “Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy.”
I don’t know how we overlooked this one, but somehow I managed to allow Keith to order buffalo chili for lunch and then get back in the car for the next leg of a long road trip. So, with the windows cracked, we began our ascent on the Beartooth Highway.
The trip took us three hours, but every hairpin turn offered up stunning views of pine-covered mountains and jagged, snow-topped peaks – each vista more breathtaking than the last. The road took us above the treeline and over the Beartooth Pass West Summit at 10,947 feet, where we stopped and let Charlie play in the snow (the girls thought it was too cold to get out of the car) before we wound down past several alpine lakes – a few of them still frozen. We passed through Cooke City – a few miles from the entrance to Yellowstone – and as we drove along the road to the park, a brown, furry creature scurried in front of the car and up the steep slope along the right side of the road. It was unmistakably a grizzly cub! We did not wait for Momma Bear to show up.
We were thrilled to finally arrive at the national park gate, and then suddenly dismayed to realize that it was still 73 miles to our campground. How can this be? It would take us another 2 ½ hours to get there.
That is to say: It was 2 ½ hours of spectacular scenery. Our first impression of Yellowstone: It is a place of unimaginable majesty and beauty. Soaring mountains. Lush, green valleys. Grazing bison. Steaming geysers.
Our second impression: It’s freaking cold. All afternoon, the sky had been spitting rain, then clearing, the raining, then clearing. We kept anxious eyes on the sky, hoping that after each turn, around each mountain peak, we’d see clear skies. And we closely monitored the car’s outdoor temperature gauge, which read 37 degrees at the Beartooth summit and then crept back up as we dropped back down to earth. But it seemed to max out at 55, and then even dropped a few degrees from there. By the time we arrived at Madison Campground, the weather had settled on blustery and gray.
We quickly set up camp, and had started to fix dinner when the wind really picked up and the rain started in earnest. I had been browning ground beef for a much anticipated Hamburger Helper dinner – a camping classic – but the wind kept blowing the gas burner out. The rain finally drove me and the kids into the tent, where we snuggled up and told stories while Keith valiantly finished dinner in the rain. The Hamburger Helper was perfect. And I have to say, Keith gets points for attempting to bake crescent rolls in a cast-iron skillet over a propane flame.
It was wet, cold and windy the rest of the evening – too cold to change clothes, so we just slipped on some dry SmartWool socks and called that getting dressed for bed. Brrrrr.
My glowing praise of the KOA experience may have been a little premature. Just before a storm hits, when you’re searching for something safe and familiar, the KOA is the place to go. When we pulled in last night, as the wind was picking up and the thunder was rumbling, it all seemed so neighborly and relaxed, all these zillions of people milling about with Frisbees and hot dogs, seemingly without any care about the impending weather.
But in the light of day, it is what it is: a KOA. The bathroom suites are pretty cool. But, you know, they’re public bathrooms. The diesel Ford F-250 from the adjacent site roared to life at 7:30 a.m. and then, for 40 minutes, sat idling and belching exhaust directly into our tent while the owners packed up their gear. Someone else’s strange little kids ran over to our site and actually let themselves into our tent while we sat there eating breakfast, looking on. And then, from about 8 o’clock on, there was a steady parade of 40-ft RVs rolling right past our picnic table as they checked out and moved on.
It had rained for most of the night, but by about 9 a.m. the sky had cleared and the tent was dry enough to pack. We were on the road by 10, and instead of taking the easier route to Yellowstone (I-90 to Livingston, then straight south to Mammoth Hot Springs), we opted to take the Beartooth Highway (US 212), which runs from Red Lodge, MT (about an hour south of Billings), 68 miles to the park’s northeast entrance. It may sound like a breeze, but it’s 68 miles of spaghetti-loop switchbacks as the road winds up and over the Beartooth mountains and descends into Wyoming. We planned to spend at least a few hours on that section alone. And because our Lonely Planet guide described this drive as “the most beautiful drive in America” and “the most dramatic drive into Yellowstone National Park,” we knew it would be worth the time.
It was easy enough to get to Red Lodge, a colorful little mountain town full of art galleries, outfitting shops and cool cafes. After a pub lunch, we wandered into a shop overflowing with all kinds of candy, including Moon Pies, Sugar Daddies, Pop Rocks, Nut Rolls, Fruit Stripe gum, at least a half-dozen kinds of candy cigarettes and bushels and bushels of suckers, Sweet Tarts, Laffy Taffy, licorice bites, jelly beans and so much more. Coolest shop ever. We each got to pick a treat, of course.
Keith forgot to pack long-johns, and figured he’d need them for the 35-degree nights predicted for Yellowstone, so we stopped an outfitter shop next-door. I had a good laugh at the sign posted behind the check-out: “Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy.”
I don’t know how we overlooked this one, but somehow I managed to allow Keith to order buffalo chili for lunch and then get back in the car for the next leg of a long road trip. So, with the windows cracked, we began our ascent on the Beartooth Highway.
The trip took us three hours, but every hairpin turn offered up stunning views of pine-covered mountains and jagged, snow-topped peaks – each vista more breathtaking than the last. The road took us above the treeline and over the Beartooth Pass West Summit at 10,947 feet, where we stopped and let Charlie play in the snow (the girls thought it was too cold to get out of the car) before we wound down past several alpine lakes – a few of them still frozen. We passed through Cooke City – a few miles from the entrance to Yellowstone – and as we drove along the road to the park, a brown, furry creature scurried in front of the car and up the steep slope along the right side of the road. It was unmistakably a grizzly cub! We did not wait for Momma Bear to show up.
We were thrilled to finally arrive at the national park gate, and then suddenly dismayed to realize that it was still 73 miles to our campground. How can this be? It would take us another 2 ½ hours to get there.
That is to say: It was 2 ½ hours of spectacular scenery. Our first impression of Yellowstone: It is a place of unimaginable majesty and beauty. Soaring mountains. Lush, green valleys. Grazing bison. Steaming geysers.
Our second impression: It’s freaking cold. All afternoon, the sky had been spitting rain, then clearing, the raining, then clearing. We kept anxious eyes on the sky, hoping that after each turn, around each mountain peak, we’d see clear skies. And we closely monitored the car’s outdoor temperature gauge, which read 37 degrees at the Beartooth summit and then crept back up as we dropped back down to earth. But it seemed to max out at 55, and then even dropped a few degrees from there. By the time we arrived at Madison Campground, the weather had settled on blustery and gray.
We quickly set up camp, and had started to fix dinner when the wind really picked up and the rain started in earnest. I had been browning ground beef for a much anticipated Hamburger Helper dinner – a camping classic – but the wind kept blowing the gas burner out. The rain finally drove me and the kids into the tent, where we snuggled up and told stories while Keith valiantly finished dinner in the rain. The Hamburger Helper was perfect. And I have to say, Keith gets points for attempting to bake crescent rolls in a cast-iron skillet over a propane flame.
It was wet, cold and windy the rest of the evening – too cold to change clothes, so we just slipped on some dry SmartWool socks and called that getting dressed for bed. Brrrrr.
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