Up Over: 8/18/16 Buffaloed in Yellowstone and Befriended by the Bear

Just when the possibilities seem to have been exhausted, up pops another best ride ever.

Leathered against the cool morning air, we prepared to leave Bozemen and head toward the back door of Yellowstone. As we packed up the bike, a serious wind kicked up and an awesome array of clouds formed over the mountains. We were riding into a weather change.

The road to Gardiner, Route 89, gave us a super morning kick. Following the Yellowstone River, we were in God's country, miles before the park began. The sky swirled around us and pushed us through the front. The wind died and the sun welcomed us into a stellar day.

Through the Roosevelt Gate, we followed the river. Anglers waded the shallow waters, casting gracefully. We took each curve of the road mimicking their artistry. Involved in the symmetry of our ride, we were caught short by a buffalo party.

A herd of hundreds grunted and moaned as we waited for them to decide what to do. Way too close to us on the bike, huge bulls stared myopically and my spine tingled. On a whim, any one of them could charge a car and do serious damage. Charge a motorcycle and we are the wreckage. Watching and waiting as they sauntered toward us, we considered our options. Speed through or turn around. Finally a break came, but a mother and her baby were separated and the bull was keeping watch. Stamping his foot, he made it plain who was the boss. He actually advanced on several cars. After what seemed like hours, the herd moved off the road and we shot through the window. We have seen buffalo often on our trips, but there has never been a closer encounter.

Smoke choked us through the valleys and foothills. Fire somewhere in the park smogged the air with the pleasant smell of woodsmoke. A controlled burn and one uncontrolled outside of the park formulated the atmosphere. Winding through Montana, then Wyoming, we rode the top of the park on a solitary mission - The Beartooth. After a lovely secluded lunch by the river, we headed out of the park and toward the pass. Open range cattle vied with the buffalo for best road block of the day.

Described as one of the most challenging and finest motorcycle roads in America, Route 212, the Beartooth Pass, has thrilled us before. But each time we have bent into the switchbacks and leaned over shoulders that spill into chasms, thousands of feet below, we live the rush anew. Capricious, as only a 9,000 foot pass can be, we lucked out today. On other crossings we have experienced snow, sleet and 30 degree temperatures. Today there was sun. Later we talked to some bikers who had crossed only an hour after us in that ever possible sleet and snow. The kickstand was planted in Red Lodge.

Every day I wake sluggishly, thinking yesterday was our last good ride and we are heading into some lonesome territory where the highway is the only way out. Then my guide and my Rascal dip us down into a whole new world that exists off the interstate and the journey continues. Yes, we are headed home and tomorrow might see us scream east, battling semis and RVs across the middle states, but today was yet another bonus to add to our overflowing treasure chest of golden moments on the road.