Bozeman – Big Sky – Yellowstone west – Yellowstone East – Flagg Ranch – Jackson: 448 km

It’s the day after the 4th of July, a hangover from hell. Our Warm Showers hosts serve corndogs for breakfast. Not sure if it helps or not with the headache and the nausea. Still we ride. That’s what we do. We’re heading to Yellowstone. The north entrance is closed due to heavy flooding that has taken out parts of the park and its roads. West entrance it is. The road there is heavy with traffic. The shoulder is narrow and full of debris, and huge trucks pass us closely at high speed, their engines ringing in our ears, their movement carrying with them gusts of air that make us grab tightly onto our bars. It’s a scary ride in which we need to stay focused and push trough our hangover. In a small town called Big Sky we can’t take it anymore. A man in the line at the supermarket, wearing a t-shirt with bicycle print, points us to a beautiful camp spot just outside of town along a small hike path next to a river, where we have some well-deserved rest from our rest days. We fall asleep listening to the babbling of the brook.

The next morning spells trouble. I discover a crack in my bike. It’s right under the lug where the saddle pen enters the frame. The ride to West Yellowstone is nervous as the road is the same as yesterday, but now I’m also afraid to sink through my bike. In West Yellowstone, right before entering the park, I get it fixed by a skinny man with a moustache, drinking beer as he welds. It looks like a bodge-job, that I think I pay too much for, but at least my confidence is restored when I get back on my little red race machine. And there it is; Yellowstone.

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Our first day we just make it to the first campground and without really seeing anything of the famous park. The campground is completely full so we ask a family with bikes on the back of their camper if we can share their spot. ‘Only if you guys drink a beer with us!’ is their reply. Their three boys are anything but afraid of strangers and before we know it we have them helping us setting up our tents and getting bandages and dinosaur toys shoved in our faces. They’re a nice little family.

Yellowstone. The ground is alive! Whenever the pine forest opens up and make way for grassy fields, we can see gas steaming from the ground. On every corner a geyser, pools in rocks with steaming hot water, bubbling mud and the stench of sulfite. During our first couple of kilometers we stop at every single one. After a while we start skipping the smaller ones to visit the bigger and more famous ones. Some have sediments in every colour, others are big and go from a light pale to a dark deep blue as the craters get deeper. We cross a herd of bison playing in the sand. We see Old Faithful, the most famous and powerful geyser here. It has a schedule, and although it makes us wait just a bit past its eruption time, we’re not disappointed when it does go off. Hot water gets spewed into the air, forceful enough it reaches at least 30 meters high. It’s all incredible to see, but by God it’s busy here. There’s an actual open-air arena, filled to capacity, around Old Faithful. There are traffic jams whenever there’s wildlife, and all campsites are fully booked. Fair enough, it’s a cool bit of nature. We spend a day and a half in Yellowstone. When we leave, we’re presented with a thrilling downhill that just doesn’t end. The road is wide and the tarmac in mint condition, allowing us to pick up as much speed as we like. We bend over our bars to reduce wind resistance and go even faster. Every now and then I think about the crack in my frame and hope the welding will hold. Every now and then I think about the tiny metal wires that operate my brakes. I wonder when I replaced them last. Marijn is much more comfortable than me going downhill. Always has been. I wonder if he thinks about the same things as I see him speeding away from me.

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That night we find a natural hot spring that hasn’t been commercialized. Normally in the US, someone built a pool and/or resort around it and make you pay to us it. This one is untouched. And unlike the ones in Yellowstone, this one doesn’t boil us. We drink a rapidly heating beer in it and let the water massage out backs. It’s golden hour, and after the herds of tourists we enjoy the quietness of this place. Not far from the hot spring we find a dispersed campground where we meet a Dutch couple. We share another beer with them and talk about the differences between here and home.

Next day; Grand Tetons. Somebody has led us to believe the name comes from big breasts. I’m not sure if that’s true, but with a little fantasy they do look like that. The Tetons are a big rock formation that sprouts out of the ground and the lake beneath it as if out of nowhere. Firm, stark, spits and grey they mark the whole surrounding area. We cycle along them and have ample time to etch them in our memories. They remind me of Canada, although it’s warmer here. We swim in Jenny Lake, relax, have lunch and make our way to Jackson. It’s a bustling place, western facades, stone shops, restaurants with lines in front of them, a Wild West performance in the town square. People like to come here, and I see why. We meet a middle-aged couple on a terrace. They invite us over to their home in Saint George if we ever make it there. We exchange numbers. I hope they mean it, because now we do plan to make it over to Saint George, and we’ll be knocking on their door. We have a burger in an old but popular diner. We find a place to pitch our tents on a bird watching deck on the edge of town. We’re woken up that night by two teenagers looking for a place to discreetly kiss, and who knows what more. We scare them as much as they scare us.