Passing the Teton Range and more
notably the peak of Grand Teton, the
pure majesty of the mountains threw
me from Mavis (theoretically speak-
ing). Such unanticipated natural gran-
deur bestowed a sense of humble-
ness to myself and the motorcycle on
which I rode.
Onwards we rode to the sounds of
thunder claps and flashing bolts of
lightning striking the ground before
us. Trying to capture this moment on
film, I reached forward and pressed
the shutter button atop the camera
mounted to Mavis’ side. The rain soon
followed which is to be expected fol-
lowing such dramatic weather as we
entered what was thought to be the en-
trance to Yellowstone National Park.
Ahead, either side of the road,
thick forest interspersed with shallow
clearings, revealing glimpses of cas-
cading rivers. Icy rapids tumbled one
over another in a race against gravity.
Snow capped peaks jutted out above
the trees. A few more miles down and
the road narrowed to where a small
ranger hut stood.
“Welcome to Yellowstone”.
Unbeknown to me, the Grand Teton
NP boundary extended further north
before smashing into the great Yellow-
stone NP.
Light started to escape the day as
a large illuminated sign read “Road-
work ahead. Expect long delays”.
Further north, I pulled up the
rear of a line of cars. Workman and
plant equipment busied about on the
road-surface. A small truck pulled in
front of the lead car as I stretched my
legs and jumped about.
“Pilot car. Follow me” read the back
of the work utility as its amber lights
pulsated. Like a freight train exiting
a siding yard, one-by-one the cars be-
fore Mavis pulled away as I hurried
to replace my helmet and gloves and
start up the bike.
The pilot car picked up pace while
TRAVERSE 40
the sealed road disappeared below,
replaced by slick mud, loose gravel
and potholes. Vision soon became
impaired as the road relocated to my
visor and the rest of my body, Mavis’
headlight and my mesh gloves.
Unsuccessfully I tried to wipe the
mud and grime free, it was quickly
replaced with more in its place. Frus-
trated yet happily bemused, I flipped
the visor up and placed my left hand
in front of my nose to protect my ex-
posed face from the grime while my
right worked the throttle and steering.
No time to stop, nor slow down,
the mud kept coming while my eyes
blinked rapidly to stave off the foreign
matter. Five odd miles later the sealed
rode returned, the pilot car pealed
away and the line of traffic resumed
cruising speed. Covered head to toe
in mud, I laughed, then hit myself for
thinking riding without a front guard
was ‘oh so cool’.
Crossing a small bridge, I turned