Traveling light, fast, and free.
Get your motor runnin’
Head out on the highway
Lookin’ for adventure
And whatever comes our way
—Steppenwolf
In a blurred chiaroscuro of flashing chrome and muted leather, my riding partner roars past, his engine’s rumbling crescendo fading to a fly-buzz as he speeds toward a distant curve. A smooth, gentle lean and he’s damn near sideways into the turn; reversing the movement, he exits the bend and comes upright. I hear another combustive burst as he throttles the bike through a straightaway, peeling ever further down the serpentine strip of asphalt ahead.
I’m tempted to follow suit, shooting straight down the centerline with my nuts on fire and a silent scream in my throat, to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, that great lover of speed and of electrifying waltzes along the balance-beam between control and surrender, order and chaos, life and death. It’s an age-old dynamic, one which finds perhaps no greater expression than astride a motorized stallion—a hulking mass of power begging to be unleashed, turned loose, set free into the rousing hellfire of the open road at 100 miles per hour. Again from Thompson: “That’s when the strange music starts… the fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms… the only sounds are the wind and the dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it… howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down a long hill… letting off now… but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge…” Like a wild romance with a tempestuous lover, the bond between bike and road is intense but tenuous: a high-voltage wire beneath a cracked tree limb.
“A skittish motorbike with a touch of blood in it is better than all the riding animals on earth, because of its logical extension of our faculties, and the hint, the provocation, to excess conferred by its honeyed untiring smoothness.” —T.E. Lawrence
Another aficionado of acceleration, the great adventurer T.E. Lawrence, described the experience with more eloquence than drama: “A skittish motorbike with a touch of blood in it is better than all the riding animals on earth, because of its logical extension of our faculties, and the hint, the provocation, to excess conferred by its honeyed untiring smoothness.” It’s that smoothness that supplies yet another quintessential aspect of riding a motorcycle, especially a stable, thrumming hog with saddlebags and a cushy seat: the rhythmic whir of the engine as time obliterates and all senses engage, reducing a rider to the moment and nothing more, the visceral here-and-now, complete and full and absolutely present.
Here and now: a thin ribbon of grey snaking through golden hills, the mighty Beartooths clawing skyward, the great blue firmament above it all… this is beauty, real beauty, hypnotic and intoxicating and nourishing to the work-weary soul. I’m overcome, overwhelmed, in awe; so I keep the bike at a comfortable 65, engine purring, wheels spinning and pistons sliding in time with my own rapturous pulse and unlabored breathing. My mind blanks and my body trembles in this euphoric exposure to the splendor of life all around me. It’s a subdued stimulation, a safer indulgence of excess; but no less sublime, no less bracing.
We’d roam free, letting the wind blow us where it would, following every impulse, curiosity and wonderment our only guides.
And to be fair, it’s this latter sensation, coupled with the featherweight freedom of simplicity, that drew us in. A few days off work, a few hundred bucks apiece for the Harley rental, two saddlebags each of gear, and we were off—no schedule, no agenda, no plan but a general route, a turn-in time, and whatever came our way in between. We’d roam free, letting the wind blow us where it would, following every impulse, curiosity and wonderment our only guides. We’d stop when we wanted and sleep where we ended up at day’s end. Bedroll, fishing rod, toothbrush, towel—all other encumbering accoutrements would be left behind. We’d travel light and fast, wandering and exploring and living semi-wild, if only for one long and glorious weekend.
And what a weekend it would be! Crashing parties and dancing with barmaids in Red Lodge; standing speechless before the grandeur of the Beartooth Pass; a near-rumble at the Irma in downtown Cody; waking amid a herd of mule deer along a rain-swollen Shoshone River; plucking huge cutthroats from a feeder stream outside Yellowstone Park… these and other experiences scattered amid a singular constant, one profound and inexorable advance: the steady hum of two wheels, spinning, ever spinning, alternately controlled and chaotic, serene and supercharged, along the open road.
Easy-Rider Itinerary
Day One
Bail out of Bozeman early and motor over the pass to Livingston. Stock up on flies at Dan Bailey’s, then ramp up for the road ahead at the Coffee Crossing—but first, stuff a pint or two into the saddlebags at Spirits State Liquor Store, for evenings around the campfire. Enjoy the open road all the way to Columbus, then turn the handlebars south and roll along the Sweetwater River into Absarokee, stopping along the way to cast a line at one of the many public access sites. Gas up and stretch your leather-bound legs a bit, before rumbling on through Roscoe. Enjoy mile after mile of rolling hills as you make the final approach into Red Lodge, where you can rent a room or cop a campsite for the night. If it’s a cozy cabin you’re after, Blue Sky Cabins await with quiet comfort and stellar views. Wet a line in Rock Creek, and come evening, inhale a hearty supper at Foster & Logan’s downtown. Then pick your poison for a nightcap at one of the many nearby watering holes.
Day Two
The homemade fare at Babcock & Miles will prepare you for a long morning on the road. Restock your fly box at Buglife Fly Goods, then fill the tank and head up—and up, and up—the serpentine Beartooth Highway south of town. Stop on top of the pass for photos and a quick hike among some of the most majestic terrain you’ll ever see. Coast down the backside and hang a left onto the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway for even more jaw-dropping vistas as you descend the eastern face of the Beartooths. Hang a right at Hwy. 120 and ease into Cody for a late lunch, then roll through town to the Buffalo Bill Reservoir to remove the road-grime with a quick dip in the Shoshone River—and a cast or two, of course. Check out the impressive Buffalo Bill Dam & Visitor Center before spinning your wheels back in Cody for some boot-stompin’, heel-kickin’ country tunes at a local saloon.
Day Three
Start the day off right with a cup o’ joe and sweet-treat from Hidden Basin Coffee, then fuel up and point your hog west. Follow the Shoshone through a remote, scenic canyon all the way to Pahaska Tepee, your last stop before entering Yellowstone Park. Take a quick bathroom break, then enjoy mile after mile of wild, pristine nature as you work your way through the mountains and down to the banks of Yellowstone Lake. Wander along the shoreline, then follow the Yellowstone River to the base of Mt. Washburn. Up and over you go, down to the mighty Tower Falls, then out across the northern reaches of the Park into Mammoth Hot Springs. Take a quick walk among the terraces before continuing on into Gardiner for a fresh, local lunch at Sagebrusher’s or Wonderland Café. Top off the tank and roll through the ever-impressive Paradise Valley, stopping to fish the mighty Yellowstone, of course. Beforehand, get the skinny at Angler’s West in Emigrant, and afterward, fill your belly at Follow Yer Nose BBQ. If you’re up for another night out, locate a nearby campsite and then knock a few back at the Old Saloon. Otherwise, proceed north, hang a left at Livingston, and bring ‘er on home. If you and your companions rented your hogs, as we did, turn ’em in at Yellowstone Harley and then hit the Friendly Tavern to cap off the trip, recounting tales and cementing memories of a weekend for the books.
