I’ve had numerous people tell me that Leavenworth, Washington is a place I should visit. I found myself wandering down the empty, Bavarian themed streets at around seven in the morning local time. Nothing was open and very few people were around, but it was a unique feeling to have almost the entire town to myself.After leaving Washington via Interstate 90, I traveled east across the panhandle of Idaho and then across most of Montana (my favorite state of the entire trip – naturally, I took exactly two pictures there. Both were blurry.) before heading south into Wyoming to Casper where I turned back west. Just west of Casper, I saw a sign for Hell’s Half Acre and had to stop to look. Slightly larger than a half acre, this unique scarp covers over 300 acres with some of the most eerie and unique geology I have ever seen.Having finally made my way through the nothingness of central Wyoming, the end of my second full day of travel since leaving Washington brought me to the doorstep of Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. Cruising down highway 26 towards Moran, trying to make it into the park before dark to secure a campsite, I suddenly spotted a massive black shape moving towards the road from the south. The shape thundered out of the clearing and I recognized it at once as a Grizzly. I’d never seen one before but black bears don’t get that big. Ever. Still running at a full clip, it crossed the road between myself and another car coming from the direction of the park, and was up the hill before I could grab my phone for a picture. Less than a mile down the road, I passed the park welcome sign. I didn’t stop. I’d already come face to face with the welcoming committee.Yellowstone is a busy park, but even the busiest areas have about an hour of daylight in which they are not as populated. The hour just after the sky began to brighten was the quietest, coldest, and most beautiful hour of my two days spent in Yellowstone and Grand Teton. I found myself in the West Thumb Geyser Basin, as the sun began to filter through the steam and rise above the broad, quiet waters of Yellowstone Lake.As the sun rose further into the sky, it began to paint vivid shades of yellow, amber, and deep, rich blue. It built the contrast between the deep green of the coniferous woodland and the radiant, reflected brilliance of the lake, a sheet of glass, only disturbed by the occasional fish nipping at the surface. Even the grass, growing scarcely along the rocky shoreline, glowed in brilliant shades of gold in the morning sun.Slowly, the sun began to race the fog, rising above the lake, both vying for superiority over the body of water. For a while, the fog was able to keep up, but ultimately, the sun won the competition and the fog, still racing to gain altitude, began to gradually evaporate, taking with it the golden brilliance of morning and ushering in the clarity of day.I had been under the impression that all of Wyoming looked like this. I had been wrong. I had nonetheless circled nearly 500 miles through the heart of Wyoming, searching for a specific type of wilderness that I had only seen in pictures and on film. Beginning to doubt if it even existed in as grand a scale as I had imagined, I finally found it in the heart of Yellowstone. Broad, flat valley floors filled with soft, golden grasses, waving in the cool breeze on a warm, cloudless day; the edges of the valleys capped with rolling hills, deceivingly rugged with a patchwork style of high forest tree-cover and open meadow. There was a softness in the air, a wind of prosperity covered the silent plains. Life continued and continues to continue in the same manner in which it has for a millennia, directly atop the largest supervolcanic caldera in North America.One of the greatest attractions in this park is the geothermal systems. You can tell because this is where every person in the park seems to be going. The park has constructed endless miles of boardwalks and fences and stairs just to accommodate such unique attractions. I do not wish to insult or detract from these areas of the park. I wish to simply mention that there is much more to this park than what can be seen from boardwalks laid out like the streets of New York City (with just as many people) surrounding each popular geyser basin. There are plains, and valleys and rivers, and lakes, and hills both rolling and jagged. The geyser basins are impressive, but I’ll take the unspoiled wilderness of the far, less populated corners of the park any day. You can keep your railed boardwalk, to the next mudpot, I’ll be perfectly content watching the bison graze in the valley from this here rock.I thought the creeks and streams on the trail had been clear. I was correct. The Yellowstone River, however, is every bit as clear through its bluish-green hues, and was many times larger than any other river I had travelled beside. Winding through the valley, the undoubtedly frigid waters glistened in the glowing sunlight as they tumbled in the fall breeze. I could have set up camp along the shoreline and stayed for a month or two (if I didn’t freeze at night).I cannot accurately describe the vast wildness and rugged peace of the wide-open spaces of Yellowstone. I don’t think words exist to describe such natural beauty. All I could do was sit quietly and marvel at the sublimity of creation and the reflected power, endless majesty and shear creativity that this casts on a Creator capable and willing to speak such things into being.Bison can be found wherever water is. I think nearly every single one of these massive creatures that I saw was either near water, headed towards water, or grazing near water. Thinking about the winter that was ahead of them, it makes sense. They knew that months were coming where they wouldn’t see a pond, or even grass. They knew that the long, harsh winter lay ahead.If you’re trying to maximize sight-seeing, the main roads within the park form a highly efficient figure-eight shape, passing by most of the popular attractions in a loop that can be driven in several hours. From this interior network, there are five entrance roads that branch out like spokes from the loop. The primary advantage of these “spokes” is that they are less travelled, especially the road to the northeast. Most tourist stick to the main attractions, eager to be congregate in the hundreds at every chance they got. During my limited time in the park, I spent the majority of my time on these side-roads, enjoying the fact that I didn’t have to fight for a parking spot every time I decided to pull over. In my opinion, these areas of the park are every bit as beautiful, even without the attraction of vast geyser basins and boiling pools.I spotted much more wildlife along the less-travelled entrance roads than anywhere else in the park. Familiar to “bear-jams” from my proximity to the Smoky Mountains, I became accustomed to “bison-jams” during my two days in Yellowstone. Being the large creatures that they are, they simply don’t care about traffic. They aren’t afraid of getting run over, and they have very little fear of humans. Many times, I would drive directly through a herd like the one above; they would keep on grazing. When crossing a road, they amble out to the yellow center-line and stop. They then proceed to look back and forth in each direction (grunting in slight annoyance) and often decide, after some time, that they’re more content to walk down the center of the road. If you’re in a vehicle, you’re not going anywhere for a few minutes.Make no mistake, Old Faithful is impressive. I would even go so far as to say that every able-bodied American should travel whatever distance necessary to experience this towering geyser at least once in their lifetime. I also wish to note, however, that every image I have ever seen of the reliable eruption (including this one) is massively deceptive, not in regard to the geothermal feature itself, but in regards to the scenery that surrounds it. If I had taken this photo at a slightly different angle to either the right or the left, you would be able to see that the geyser is actually surrounded with stadium-style boardwalk seating nearly half-way around. Don’t let this image lead you to believe that Old Faithful is a solitary experience. When I snapped this photo, I was surrounded by several thousand tourists, some sitting, some standing, some talking, some yelling. I arrived nearly a half-hour early just to secure a front-row space.After nearly a day and a half, I finally reluctantly left the plains and valleys of Yellowstone to head south toward the tower peaks of the Tetons. Between them, however, I had to see the view from the top of Signal Mountain. I should note that there is a paved, vehicle-accessible road that takes you all the way to the summit. With an elevation of 7,720 feet and a prominence of less than a thousand, the view from the top was nothing short of impressive. While looking out over the valley, I couldn’t help but feel the pull to someday return to climb up into the Tetons, maybe even to the peak of Grand Teton itself, into the true wilderness. I can imagine that from there, at an elevation of 13,775 and a prominence of over 6,500, Signal Mountain probably looks like a small hill, a lump on the valley floor. A small lump with a paved road to the top. The beginning of the mighty Snake River can be seen on the left. By the time I approached the Tetons, clouds of late afternoon, high-elevation storms were beginning to gather. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the peak when the thunder starts rolling. There is no way to accurately show the shear size of these peaks in an image. They simply dwarf the landscape around them.Compared to the forested slopes of the Smokies back home, the Tetons barely look real. Despite being a small part of the massive Rocky Mountains, these towering pillars of gneiss that seem to jut nearly vertically skyward seem more like a solitary ridgeline. The contrast between the flat valley floor and the seemingly vertical ridgelines and peaks is dizzying.For a sense of spatial reference, there is nearly ten linear miles of flat land before these peaks burst skyward. I wish I could accurately describe them with words, but I simply cannot. In a grand sense of paradox, nothing has ever seemed so small, so compact, so isolated, and yet so incredibly and majestically and deceivingly large as these towering peaks. Intimidating. That’s an appropriate word.I’m from Tennessee and I like BBQ. Okay, I’ll be more specific. I’m from Tennessee and I like good BBQ. I consider myself fairly picky when it comes to a big ole pulled pork sandwich, and rightly so. I grew up in an area with no shortage of top-notch BBQ. Enter Cowboy’s Smokehouse Cafe in the small town of Panguitch, Utah, serving up what I would argue is one of the best plates of food you can get anywhere. I drove hundreds of miles out of my way to visit them not once but twice, once on the journey west and once on the journey home. It was worth it both times. It’s just that good.After leaving the national parks of Wyoming and traveling south through Idaho, Utah, the corner of Arizona and southern Nevada, I found myself crossing through the Mojave of southern California. My purpose for circling back around towards the coast was simple. I had driven all this way to come out to California the first time, and hadn’t had time to visit the coast before starting the JMT. Already familiar with much of the area from several weeks before, I completed the journey from an abandoned state park in southern Idaho (free camping!) to just north of Los Angeles (Acton) in a single, long day. That even included a side trip for BBQ!Being used to the calm, flat, white-sand beaches of the Florida Panhandle, I wasn’t sure what to expect along the shores of the pacific. What I found was nothing short of incredible. Despite direct exposure to the largest body of water on the planet, the surf was surprisingly docile. The water, however, was frigid. With the exception of some surfers at a different beach down the road, most people were enjoying the beach itself and not the water. I myself found a small beach tucked into a cove and simply took in the view.While El Matador beach in Malibu was the most beautiful stretch of coast that I saw between there and Long Beach, it is still very different from the Florida Panhandle. Instead of clean and white, the sand feels damp and slightly muddy underfoot. Driftwood lines the beach and if you look close, assorted garbage is mixed into the sand. Still, I cannot argue with the beauty and peacefulness of this place. Mostly sheltered from highway noise up the hill, there is almost a sense of isolation. The meeting place of largest ocean against a tiny cove of solitary wilderness, nestled near the second largest metropolitan area in the nation, somehow results in a vacuum of sorts. I had the beach entirely to myself.Okay, for all you nerds, this is for y’all! Being a fan of The Big Bang Theory, I just had to drive by the apartment building while passing through Pasadena. You may remember that the address of the apartment was stated to be at 2311 North Los Robles Avenue. After a little research, however, I discovered that more dedicated nerds had realized from an aerial view at the end of season five that the actual location of the apartment is 215 South Madison Avenue. Upon driving awkwardly past the building (twice), I realized the the car parked outside was the same model that Howard drove in season six – an interesting coincidence but it still felt like one of the residents was messing with my brain. If only it had been grey.After finally escaping the sprawl of Los Angeles, I finally headed home. I was no longer in sight-seeing mode, I was just trying to get home via the shortest route. On the second-to-last night, I did however venture into the Coconino National Forest just north of Flagstaff for one more night of wilderness camping. Developed campgrounds just don’t have the same feeling of freedom. Two days later, I arrived home. This adventure had come to a close. It was time to start planning for what was next.
