Fine wispy smoke was still being caught by the cold morning air from last nights embers as we packed the tent away, rolled up the sleeping bags and loaded the bikes. We were both excited; in 40 miles we were going to be in Yellowstone, the World’st first National park. I remember how we’d sat in bed in our home back in the UK and scoured countless magazines and books as we excitedly chose ‘must see’ items that we’d planned our route around. Grand Canyon, Taj Muhal, The Pyramids, the Amazon and…Old Faithful, one of the worlds most famous Geysers. As reliable as clock work and as impressive as only 200 feet of erupting boiling sulphur laden water can be, she didn’t disappoint. We’d waited an hour having just missed the last eruption.

Right on cue, give or take 4 min's, she blew and the camera lens snapped.

With photos bagged we toured the vast Old Faithful Inn, a feat of engineering and made of local wood.

With a view opinions canvassed we had it on firm authority that a her of buffalo had brought the traffic to a halt as they crossed from the meadow side of Hayden Valley to the lake side. We were off. The long queue of traffic that would normally have found us cursing was an exciting prospect, it meant the buffalo were still around. Pulled over to the side of the road we threw down side stands and marveled as 2000 pounds of muscle and fur slowly and scarily crossed the road, each heavy step punctuated with a grunt-snore that sounded like it was a sound-bite from a Jurassic Park movie.

All we could do was stare and snap the camera lens as we tried to capture the ‘presence’ of this incredible animals. As the rain began to plummet and the buffalo headed into the forest for cover we made our move. Back at camp we excitedly talked over the days events around our camp fire.

Back at Grant village we were shaking with cold. A unanimous decision was made we were eating in the restaurant and sod the expense. We needed to be warm and a little drier before heading back to the tent.

I’d hoped to get back to the ‘Lower Falls’ of the North rim walk for a photo session but the dark clouds put an end to that notion. We simply donned our riding suits and went for a ride instead. The Gibbon Falls looked too good to miss and so with the bikes parked up and with patchy cloud allowing the Sun to break occasionally Lisa stayed up top whilst I clambered down the 200 foot rocky embankment to reach the bottom of the falls. With Tri-pod and camera set up I spent an hour trying to capture the photo I could see so clearly in my head. I wanted the rock to appear sharp but wanted to capture the water as a flowing mess of white, trying to capture the sense of movement. Let me know what you think.

Our batteries were low and with full memory cards halting the photo taking we headed back to Canyon village in order to fuel up on coffee and abuse there electrical sockets. Two hours later the batteries were charged and I’d caught up on diary.

The idea of an early evening camp fire with dinner in hand sounded good.

My first ‘run-in’ with camp host authority was just around the corner. The small steep tar park space that came with our site was going to be impossible to climb if I wanted my bike facing outwards, allowing for an easy pack and a direct exit. The idea of loading the bikes and then reversing them down a steep cambered slope sounded bad. Loading them on the small tarred track was out of the question as it left no room for cars or RV’s to get passed. I’d ridden into the park space next door and then up the small dirty embankment covered in scrub grass, all of 11 yards (4-5 metres) of it and parked up. Bob, strode towards us angrily, introduced himself as the host and spewed us with anger and sarcasm. Lisa had to walk away she was furious. I wasn’t taking this shit. Calmly and with the snootiest British accent I could muster, I explained to Bob that his tone, approach and sarcasm were completely uncalled for, inappropriate and surprising. Bob’s face changed as did his demeanor. What ever Bob had expected, what I’d provided wasn’t it. Things calmed down with Bob stammering to explain that he’d only meant to supply a warning that we could be fined fort ‘tearing’ across the grass. I’d traveled 11-yards, in first gear up a small slope. There wasn’t even a tyre tread left. I explained to Bob that the use of the word ‘tear’ was nonsense and that he was using it simply for the dramatic. My condescending tone did the trick. Anyway it all ended with a handshake, burt seriously what a crock of shit. It had put a dampner on things.

David and Anna, the young couple to our left had said hello yesterday and were setting about building a fire. Ours was already a blaze. They readily accepted our offer of combing the expensive firewood we’d stored and so the evening began. Nothing hectic, nothing loud, no profanity, no really they were both Mormons, er no not that type! You’re thinking of the ones that wear old cloths and dungarees, they’re Amish. So there we are, just talking normally around a campfire, actually talking about David's experience over the two years his mission lasted, trying to convert the populous of…Las Vegas.

It was 10:04 pm, the campers behind us were eating dinner and the nearest others were 150 yards. George the ‘other’ campsite host, strolled slowly into our conversation and whispered something; “sorry George, what? We can’t hear you” Lisa mentioned. George continued to whisper, eventually we understood. “If you not going to bed then you need to whisper out of respect for the other campers using the site”. George stated with a very stern face. The look of surprise and bemusement that passed between the four of us was instant. I was flummoxed for words. OK, sure all we stammered, waiting to see if George was joking. He wasn’t.

At 10:16 pm George came around again with same demand. We watched him and his flashlight do the rounds to all in our loop. Most were talking or laughing around a campfire or eating, it seems bizarre. No one was being loud or offensive. On Georges second approach I figured I was missing something and asked George to join us at our table, I needed to understand what was going on. I continued to explain to George that we’d chosen a campsite that had ‘quite time. We didn’t want party’s kicking off or kids running around unchecked or generator starting off for that matter, but I thought that adults being asked to whisper at 10:00 pm was a little extreme, especially as we had no neighbors and those that were closest, were either with us or eating. George proceeded to lecture us all on the respect we should have for our fellow campers. This was getting us nowhere; he simply hadn’t understood my point.

We finally made a move to bed around 11:30 pm and by then we were certainly whispering.

I’d seen the kakie-dressed ‘Law Enforcement Officer’ as she formally and firmly introduced herself. I’d approached Erika, as her shiny gold name badge read. “Excuse me what’s your role in the park”, I’d started to ask politely. I was received by a glare and a very clear and practiced step back of exactly one pace in tandem with a left arm outstretched and a right hand resting on her sidearm. OK, sure I know exactly why officers are trained to do exactly this but…but…!

“Do I smell bad”? I asked in surprise. No, I knew I didn’t but I wanted to say something that expressed my shock at provoking this kind of reaction. “No, you invaded my personal space”, came the taught reply. “How much space do you have” I asked, cheekily hoping to diffuse the situation, with a little humor. Erika apparently was devoid of humor. I’d approached Erika with the idea of mentioning last nights silliness re: George but after her response to me I could see her ear wasn’t going to be the sympathetic one I’d hoped for. I excused myself and began to walk away.

“Are you Mr. Simon Thomas” she asked abruptly? I was admittedly caught a little off guard. “Yes, hi” I chipped back as casually as I could. Is there a problem? “Yes, I’m afraid there is, we had a number of complaints against you from our campground host”. “Oh, really. I was actually coming to see you this morning about our host, your timings perfect” I rebutted, trying to sound upbeat and happily surprised. The reality was I was about to spit friggin’ feathers, I was furious. “Can you show me some I.D” Erika demanded. I almost lost it then and there. For whatever reason being asked for ID just made me feel like a criminal. I’d already been judged and found guilty. Biting my tongue and playing it nice was getting harder by the second. (luckily Lisa was too busy to hear this!)

Erika, our sober‘Law Enforcement Officer’ was explaining the serious charges. Apparently we had…’given lip’ and been extremely rude to our host George. I was still trying to hide my angered emotions. Anne and David from last night were still milling around and so I called them over, as I started down the long road of explaining our side of events. I explained as eloquently as possible to Erika that I’d not ‘given lip’ since I was about 14. If It was my intent to be rude, I’d make absolutely sure that the receiving individual knew my verbal hostile intent so as to leave them in no doubt, life’s just too short to ‘give lip’, why only do half a job!!!

Anna and David were telling the same string of events and assured Erika that If anything I’d ben politer than they would have been, that was pretty good coming from two Mormons. Erika was relaxing her tone and posture; it was clear that our version was sounding the more likely. Lisa had come and gone twice, she was furious and having her around was going to end badly…..luckily she had the bacon to contend with!

Forty minutes later and our earlier foe had become an ali and had offered an apology on behalf of the park and the host. “Our volunteer host can begin to feel the place is actually theirs” Erika continued. We’d made our point about the confrontation. Lisa was all for going over and giving a mouthful to George. I didn’t want that to happen. Right now we’d won the day and had come out of this ridiculous scenario looking the better. Going over and giving George a mouthful of verbal abuse would just convince him he was correct in the first instance about his judgment about the unruly bikers. Why give him the satisfaction. Mmm, I quite like this ‘higher ground’. Besides it wasn’t going to change his mind or help him se the error of his ways. Ah, screw him!

That said we weren’t about to just it drop and so stopped at Mammoth on our way out of the park, made an official complaint in writing and had a clear and strong conversation with Yellowstone's chief ranger. His reaction suggested that this story of events wasn’t a new theme.

With Yellowstone behind us we were making good progress North. The skies were looking omminous but the twisty roads and easy bends were more than making up for it. By mid-day we were in Montana and more than a little nervous. The grey skies of earlier were now black and the wind had picked up. Riding the US 90 West we were battling. The wind was scaring the crap out of me and were some of the strongest gust we’ve experienced on the trip, yeah, even stronger than the Ruta 40 in Argentina. Finally our nerve gave out, the bikes were over at a 45 degree angle and we were loosing. Even pulling up on the side of the road was a mission. Parked up we waited for 10 minutes for it to subside, it had proven impossible to put down the side stands on either bike, the gust’s were just to strong. Lisa was struggling to keep her bike upright even though she was stationary.

In heavy cold rain we pulled into the town of Bozeman, found the only motel with rooms and hid in our room, besides we needed showers.

We had to re-think our intended route of continuing the continental divide trail. Huge wild fires had broken out across Montana and were threatening to take home in several major towns. We’d been struggling with visibility most of the day with the smoke as it was. Getting caught out in ‘the sticks’ with no opportunity of rescue would just be dumb. Many roads had already been closed and twice Lisa had had to change the route we were going to use due to local advice beeing given.

Besides, the ‘2’ would eventually be swapped for the…’1’. How could we not ride through a town called ‘ Anaconda’. It put a grin on our faces. We came mighty close to stopping and taking a photo by the sign for a town called ‘Wisdom’. We also passed through the old cowboy town of Philipsberg which is full of traditional saloons and hotels etc..

Here’s just a small sample of the towns we rode through, ‘ye..ha’! Crackerville, Sunnyside, Stump Town, Lost Creek, Granite, Stone, Clinton, and Wye.

By mid-afternoon our eyes were growing tired (smoke wasn’t helping) and we’d stopped a few times to check prices on camping or motels. The cheapest camping was $26 and the cheapest Motel was $131 (!!?), we’d carry on riding. Eventually we followed a small dirt track down off the 93 outside of ‘Arlee’ and made camp for the night at the wonderful Jacko Hollow. At $14 for the night it had everything we could have wished for. Hot showers, a small bubbling creek and some pretty cool residents.

We topped off the day with a few cold beers courtesy of Danny a local business man and Stacey and Mike who’d made the campsite there home for the last 3-months.

I’d already pulled out the computer. I’d forgotten to pull the GPS track logs off the GPS whilst in Bozeman and had now run out of memory. Now seemed like as good a time as any to get that job done. It wasn’t long before we were going through a few of our trip photos with Danny and Donna (Co-owner) and recanting a few of our travel stories. I’d mentioned that we’d hoped to sell a few of our images to publications whilst in the USA, a few minutes later Donna and Danny had chosen a few of her favorites and had placed $250 in our hands. We were lost for words. We’d only come in for coffee. Our money situation at present is a constant worry. $250 will go along way towards food and fuel as we head North to Canada prior to re-entering the States en-route to Seattle and our Touratech presentation. With full stomach, again thanks to Danny and Donna we expressed our thanks and hit the road. We wanted to make it to Glacier National park by mid-afternoon.

The 93 turned into highway 35 as we took the fun curves that wound there way around ‘Flathead Lakes’ on the East side.

With the light fading and the rain clouds once again giving us a royal soaking 20 minutes to us stopping for the day, we found the park gates and pulled up at the ticket booth. Showing our Annual Park ticket the young girl had asked us enthusiastically “are you German”? Her next guess was Australian. The bizarre thing is we’ve been asked if we were German 3-times in the last 4-days. On two occasions we were nowhere near our bikes and weren’t wearing bike kit?

The Apgar Camp was going to be the closest and easiest site to find and with the rain getting worse would be our best bet for the night.