The Bear Essentials and Jackson's Hole

Above Left: Morning over Jenny Lake. Above Right: Inspiration Point above Jenny Lake

Another early morning. Per my request, the lodge desk called at 5:00 AM. It was all I could do to force myself creaking out of bed. I had prepared everything the night before: backpack, clothes, hat, glasses, camera, food. Without switching on a light I was out the door and driving before I had time to fully wake up.

The first signs of light were gently illuminating the east, giving the Grand Tetons an other-worldly glow against the western night sky. Stars blazed bright over the jagged peaks, fading by degrees as I headed toward the starting point for my morning hike, a half hour south along the empty highway.

As I drew closer to Jenny Lake, the formidable range of peaks grew in stature until Grand Teton alone reigned supreme over earth and sky. Parking at the Jenny Lake trail head, I began a fast paced march following the trail around the south end of the lake. The blue-violet glow of morning filled the eastern sky, while only the most stubborn stars remained visible over the towering peaks above.

It's a relatively easy two-mile hike from the parking lot to the Cascade Valley trail. Most people use the $10 round trip ferry across the lake to avoid the hike. As I crossed the bridge over Cottonwood Creek, the ferry sat silent and motionless in the early morning light; the calm before the storm. In a few hours it would be packed full of hikers, tourists and day-trippers boating over to enjoy the splendors of Hidden Falls and Inspiration point, but for now, I was blissfully alone.

Reaching the far side of the lake, the impending sunrise mirrored to perfection in the tranquil waters. As I approached the Cascade Valley trail, the steep moraine abutting the left side of the trail opened to a vast valley piercing through the rocky peaks while the sounds of nearby cataracts echoed through the pines.

Stopping to take in the morning air, I melded into the surroundings, becoming part of a seamless, timeless nature that enveloped from all sides. Continuing along in this exalted state, I was pondering the lofty ideals of Thoreau and Whitman when I came around a corner and nearly soiled my drawers.

There, not 20 feet ahead, tooth and claw, square in the middle of the trail, stood the ass end of a full grown Ursus Americanus, more popularly known as the American Black Bear. Where's your Thoreau now, I thought.


Above Left: Ursus Americanus, my friend the Brown Bear looking for breakfast
Above Right: The much less frightening and adorably Chinchilla-esque Pika. Don't you just want to cuddle!

I tried to recall the "bear essentials" I had read twenty or thirty times around the park. My favorite: if the bear charges you, lay down and play dead. Not easy to do when you're screaming and writhing while being eaten alive. Luckily, this bear seemed to be just as astounded by my sudden appearance as I was by he, she, it.

I quickly checked the bushes for any bear cubs, handy advice I had learned from watching Marlin Perkins on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. Bear cubs pretty much assured instant death by mastication, that much I knew.

While my brain continued to work feverishly through a foggy list of recommended actions and counteractions, the bear simply turned off the trail, walked up the hill, turned left, and pausing to to stare briefly, crossed no more than 20 yards above me. A clever ploy, I thought, to sneak up and eat me from behind.

Luckily, I was able to snap a photo during the melee. Don't let the fuzziness fool you...I was steady as a rock. I quickly moved on, checking to my rear every tenth of a second or so to make sure I wasn't being followed for desert. Less than a minute later, still thinking Bear, I nearly dove into the lake when a Long-tailed Weasel leapt from a boulder nearby and scurried up the trail.


Above Left: Grand Teton (middle) and Owen Peak (right)
Above Right: View from Jenny Lake

As the sun finally breached the mountains to the east, I reached the Cascade Valley trail and began my ascent to the sublimely beautiful Hidden Falls. From there I continued up another couple of miles past the inspirational views of Inspiration Point into the beautiful high mountain meadows of Cascade Valley.

No photo can do justice to the soaring beauty of this pristine mountain canyon, framed on one side by Mt. Owen and Grand Teton, and on the other by the soaring cliffs of Mt. Saint John. I was all alone in dazzling morning sun, able to take in the beauty with only the gentle whisper of distant winds, nearby streams and thoughts of bears to keep me company.


Above Left: Cascade Valley. Above Right: Hidden Falls

On my way down from Inspiration Point, I saw the first boat of the morning crossing over from the ferry dock. By mid-afternoon, the lower half of the trail would be as crowded as Central Park. I was well on my way back around the lake before the ferry arrived. I returned to the Lodge, checked out and was on my way to Jackson Hole, 35 miles to the south by 10:00 am. Awesome morning!

Driving south through the beautiful, elongated buttes of the Snake River Valley, the Grand Tetons provide an ever changing vista of stunning peaks and valleys above the golden plains. Roughly twenty miles south of the Jenny Lake, the road begins the long decline into the storied valley of Jackson Hole.

The town of Jackson, often mistakenly referred to as Jackson Hole, lies at the base of the valley, just in front of the venerable Storm King Mountain and ski resort. The commercial center of town is a beautifully stained and shellacked log cabin of a place garnished by towering stacks of bleached white Elk horns.

This high-priced tourist and entertainment mecca is full of interesting local shops along with the usual suspects of trendy brand name stores and outlets. Like Gatlinburg, TN and Estes Park,CO, Jackson is the tourism capital of the region, offering plenty of distractions for those on their way to or from (or avoiding altogether) the parks.

Nestled in along the main drag as you enter town from the north is Valley Bookstore. This great new book indie offers a broad selection of general titles and an exceptional collection of Jackson Hole area history and authors (along with a few souvenirs to boot). Right in the heart of the main town, this gem of a store has been serving the good people living and passing through Jackson for 45 years! A true staple of the community.


Above: Jackson Hole Book Trader

Speaking of staples, continuing south out of the tourist center and into the local shopping district along West Broadway lies the oldest used book store in town, The Jackson Hole Book Trader. Operating continuously since 1978, this fabulous store offers in an incredible selection of vintage books on local area subjects and by local authors along with a great selection of general used titles suplemented with new local interest books and guides.


Above Left: Jackson Hole Book Trader co-owner Cindy Parker with Lucy the Store Havanese. Annie, the store lab, was on hiatus that day. Above Right: inside Jackson Hole Book Trader

Mother-daughter team Cindy and Alisson Parker took over the store in February '08 and have done a great job revamping the store from top to bottom. With an expanding number of titles, exhibits by local artists, free coffee and chocolates, it's a great way to wile away an afternoon or two while adding to your collection of books.

With daylight starting to wain, I headed south out of Jackson to cover some miles before dark. I was headed south to Utah, to the city of Brigham Young and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Continuing from Jackson on highway 89 down and through the beautiful Grand Canyon of the Snake River, it was obvious that this beautiful stretch of river must have been the Holy Grail of rafting. There were literally hundreds of rafts being being towed around on trailers and school bus loads of pre- and post-rafting enthusiasts filling both lanes of the highway and every turnoff along the way.

With night approching, I pulled in to the first quality eatery I spotted below the canyon, just on the edge of Alpine, WY. This was a auspiscious decision. The dinner I enjoyed at Brenthoven's Restaurant at the Nordic Inn was one of the highlights of the trip.

Sitting outside, enjoying a pre-meal Stoli Martini "up" with olives as the sun set behind the surrounding hills, all was right with the world. The pumpkin soup was out of this world and the freshed grilled trout main course tasted as if it had just been pulled from the river.

Tired and satiated I headed into town to find a cheap place to sleep. I chose the Three Rivers Motel, mostly because it was there and met my price criteria of under $60 a night. An aging, bearded and distinctly alcoholic biker with a tatoo on his neck checked me in with a rasping wheeze.


The Three River Motel...SWEET!

The L-shaped courtyard was full of Harleys, Pickups and a few lone mini-vans parked outside the doors with an interesting group of what appeared to be ex-prison inmates milling about with cans of Pabst two rooms over. The room decor had obviously remained unchanged for decades if not centuries, with cowboy silhouette shades on the lamps and and a nasty velvet painting of impossible mountains and waterfalls adorning the paneled wall above the bed.

The carpets were badly stained from I-don't-want-to-know-what, but the room was quiet and comfortable enough and I was too tired to care. Tomorrow I would swim in Great Salt Lake, striking off #894 of my 1000 things to do before I die. It had been a long day, and already the Tetons were fading into distant memory...with the exception of the bear, who appeared two or three times in my dreams, once wearing a top hat.

Next Post: Fast Times in the Land of Mormon.

Until then,
-Cheers!

Yellowstoned

I love the smell of Tetons in the morning...

Oh what a beauuuuutiful Moooooorrrrniiinnng! (Rogers and Hammerstein...anyone...anyone?).

I got up early to catch the morning sun. It was a couple of hundred yards from the cabin through the surprising chill of the morning to the observation area in front of the lodge. Shorts and sandals were a bad choice but it was too late. Coming around the corner into full view of the morning, the Tetons seemed close enough to touch.

The sun, still low on the eastern horizon, illuminated the mountains in pastel shades of pink, blue and orange framed by the green and yellow meadow below and luminescent blue sky above. A thin band of low clouds hovered broken half way up the mountains, providing an even more breathtaking spectacle. This truly is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

After a bountiful breakfast at the Pioneer Grill, a cool retro diner located in the lodge and decorated with historic photos of the park, it was time to head north for an early visit to nearby Yellowstone National Park, ostensibly to beat the crowds. No sooner had I joyfully hit the road when my enthusiasm was instantly quashed by signs of impending doom. Road work next 45 miles the temporary orange sign read. 45 MILES? Are you kidding me? That was well into the park! Well, perhaps it was as simple as a closed shoulder here, a pothole there. They wouldn't do major work during absolute peak tourist season, I reasoned, as I approached a line of stopped cars.

I couldn't see him, but I knew my nemesis the sign bearer was somewhere up ahead at the front of the line of stationary cars, holding his red STOP sign, chewing and laughing. How could they, I thought. I mean, the road from the Tetons to Yellowstone? IN LATE JULY? Didn't they know I was going to be traveling here today? I turned the engine off and waited in disgust as the minutes ticked by.

Eventually, the usual line of refugees began to pass by from the other side. Five minutes or so later, I could see movement up ahead and started up the engine. I cast a wary eye at the sign bearer as I slowly passed. He seemed quite affable, bearded and waving at bright faced youngsters who waved back from station wagons, SUV's, RV's and sedans. Of course, I hated him nonetheless.

Being near the back of the line, I couldn't see much beyond the ass-end of the mid-size SUV immediately ahead with Utah plates. Once again, the ubiquitous machines of highway destruction and rebuilding hovered about ominously as we made our way through the construction zone at speeds approaching 10 miles an hour.

OK, I thought, as we emerged past the small white pickup with the flashing yellow light on top, getting ready to take the next band of refugees through the other direction. Perhaps that was the worst, and if so, a 45 minute delay to our ultimate destination is no big deal. An hour and a half later, I plodded along behind a line of cars doing 20 mph through the entrance to Yellowstone National Park, normally a half hour drive.

I had come too far to turn back, but was now in such a dour mood I couldn't possibly imagine enjoying the park. I had almost decided to go the other way through the park loop to avoid the mind-numbing traffic jams (DAMN YOU AMERICAN RECOVERY AND REINVESTMENT ACT!). Luckily, after a quick, pressure relieving pit-stop along the shores of one of the park's serene lakes, I decided to continue towards Old Faithful and the major park sights.

Traffic had lightened, the scenery was beautiful, and I quickly adjusted to a quasi-normal state of mind, more or less. My heart beat faster as the famed Old Faithful approached. I had never before experienced this icon of American tourism and looked forward to walking the nearby boardwalks to peer down through colorful geysers into the bowels of the earth.

I could see columns of steamy mist rising through the trees and my excitement grew as the road widened to four lanes. As I entered the Old Faithful parking lot however, pristine wilderness instantly gave way to vast and paved tourist wasteland.

Tour buses and RV's jammed in around acres of parked cars and SUV's. Crushing throngs of enthusiasts from the world over poured from the parking lot into a distinctly unpicturesque collection of buildings bordered by new construction (what more could they possibly be building?). The whole thing seemed distinctly out of place.

After passing through a mobbed main street of souvenir stores and overpriced eateries housed in oversize rust red clapboard structures, I came to the comparatively small ranger station stationed midway between the more beautiful and historic Old Faithful Inn and Old Faithful Lodge. Between the awarding of "Yellowstone Junior Rangers" patches to hoards of screaming kids, I was able to push close enough to a ranger to find out that the next performance of Old Faithful was expected in approximately one hour, give or take ten minutes.

Escaping back out into the light of day I made my way over to the steaming cauldron. Metal benches 5-deep lined the parking lot side of the geyser. People were already sitting down to secure a good view of this natural display, still an hour away. I escaped to the relative solitude of the boardwalks. These interesting footpaths lead around Old Faithful to other smoldering geysers and boiling cauldrons in the immediate vicinity, providing interesting and welcome relief from the heaving mass of humanity near the entrance.


Above Left: Old Faithful, third seating. Above Right: Old Faithful, third showing.
Below Left: Historic Old Faithful Inn. Below Right: Historic OFI Lobby.

As show time approached, I headed back near the entrance to experience the full majesty and magnitude of the main event. With just ten minutes to go, the benches were packed. Behind them stood lines of spectators four and five deep, the level 200 yard walk from the parking lot being the most exercise many of them had apparently had in years.

Every twenty or thirty seconds the famed geyser would warm up, spitting steaming surges a few feet in the air, each eliciting a roar of exaltation from the crowd. A half mile down the valley, a huge geyser burst into the sky, sending boiling water one hundred feet into the afternoon air with an loud hiss. The crowd swooned with delight. A minute or two later, another geyser just 200 yards away across the creek and behind a small berm burst into the sky, the two together sending huge arching plumes high into the deep blue sky.

Taking in these events, even your humble, jaded Booktraveler began to palpitate for the Main Event. There was no doubt that Old Faithful would put these nearby interlopers to shame. The hissing and gurgling became more pronounced. The steaming spit rising higher and more frequent, each causing the crowd to lifted their cameras in unison. At last the roiling cauldron erupted with a searing hiss into the sky.

The initial five to ten second burst shot up fifty or sixty feet. This was going to be good! It then immediately died down to about thirty feet where it hissed flaccidly a minute or two before dying back down to a steaming hole. The more virile geysers were still gushing in the distance with high, proud arches. I have to admit, I empathized with Old Faithful.

After a quick murmur of disappointment, the crowd dispatched faster than an alcohol-free wedding. I headed to the venerable Old Faithful Inn for a Martini and sandwich before heading out to see the rest of the park. Once free of the Old Faithful "Historic District", the park quickly reverted to its natural splendor.

Firehole Lake

I continued on, stopping to view the Midway Geyser Basin, the Hollywood-style boiling mud pools of Fountain Paint Pot, and the varied and interesting sights along the even more interestingly named Firehole Lake Drive. Yellowstone is a huge and ancient volcanic caldera. The hissing, steaming, roiling and boiling sights along the inner loop highway drive this point home beautifully.

The distinctly western landscape provides an extraordinary backdrop to these subterranean spectacles, with low, pine-covered mountains ringing expansive meadows and lush river valleys. Majestic Elk and the gigantic American Bison can be seen grazing the golden plains.

The Locals

Approaching the turnoff where the Firehole and Gibbon rivers converge to form the Madison River, I took a left and headed toward the west entrance of the park, through the beautiful Madison River Canyon to the town of West Yellowstone, Montana, just outside the park. This distinctly touristy but subdued town is home to the Bookworm, an extraordinary new and used book indie that is most definitely one of a kind.

West Yellowstone, MT

This decades old stalwart carries a tremendous selection of Yellowstone memorabilia dating from the 1880s through the 1950s, along with thousands of Haynes postcards. They feature an extraordinary collection of local interest titles, along with a great selection of rare and first editions, many signed by the author.

The Bookworm, West Yellowstone, MT

Their 50,000 plus titles of new and used books is complimented by an extraordinarily cool local decor with lots of western/Yellowstone related pictures, posters and knickknacks. It's a great way to top off an afternoon, with plenty of colorful eateries and drinkeries nearby.

After a quick pit stop to imbibe a local microbrew, I retraced my steps back through the park, enjoying the steaming splendors through the prism of the late afternoon sun. I was so tired and spent by the time I did the return death march through the 45 mile construction site back to Jackson Lake Lodge, I waved a polite thank you to the sign bearer when he waved me through, turning his STOP to SLOW. This was met with a contemptuous spit of sunflower seed husks into the dirt.

Next Post: The Bear Essentials, Jackson Hole and a Pilgrimage to the Land of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. Until then

-Cheers!

Impossible Beauty meets The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.

The Grand Tetons, from the deck of Jackson Lake Lodge

As is often the case, the clouds that clung low to the ridges and peaks on the east side of Togwotee Pass gave way to a breathtaking clear blue on the far side. I was worried the Tetons would be obscured by the low ceiling. Now, as the clouds melted away into a sparkling clear afternoon sky, I began the final 20 mile descent down to Grand Teton National Park peering anxiously around every corner for my first view of this magnificent mountain range.

STOP. Oh no! The sign's intent was all too clear even if it's bearer, chewing on (and spitting out) a seemingly endless supply of sunflower seeds procured from his pocket and staring hollow-eyed into the distance, seemed completely disinterested. Immediately behind this impervious impediment to my travels the pristine highway gave way to a vast dirt wasteland.

This heaving scar of dirt stretched across the pastoral mountain valley as far as the eye could see. Hundred ton machines scratched and clawed the earth, spewing columns of dust high into the clear blue mountain air. Gargantuan loaders heaved mountains of dirt onto growling semi-trucks bound for destinations unknown while small pickups flitted back and forth like ants attending the smoking behemoths.

It was Rocky Mountains meets Dante's Inferno. I must have just missed the last group of travelers to be led trembling and cowering through this volcanic maze of machinery. This meant I had the dubious honor of waiting longer than anyone else in the line of vehicles now piling up to my rear for the next escort. As the wait stretched on I began to anticipate each spit of cud-like husks from the curled lips of the sign bearer.

After a seemingly interminable wait in which the sun seemed to sink faster just to spite me, a line of vehicles finally emerged from the dust. Like a column of refugees emerging from a lost city, the cars, trucks, buses and mobile homes continued to materialize, lead by a small white pickup, its flashing yellow light leading the way to freedom. The column must have been over 400 yards long. As they marched solemnly by, you could sense profound relief as they once again hit pavement to continue their journey, combined with abject pity for those of us still waiting to run the gauntlet.

When the small white pickup with the yellow light on top reached the pavement, it jerked away from the front of the column, nearly hitting the lead vehicle, yanked itself directly in front of our column in a cloud of dust and backed up with resounding speed stopping abruptly just inches from my front bumper. My friend the sunflower seed chewer, whom I now suspected of having a feed bag full of things shoved in his pants, opened the passenger door of the truck, exchanged a few words with the driver, looked back at the column and laughed. I somehow felt they were laughing at me personally.

When the last gigantic RV in the column had finally past, the sign bearer nonchalantly flipped his sign over to read SLOW. I hated him. As soon as the sign flipped, the small white pickup with the yellow light on top sprang to life, pelting the windshield of my rent-a-car with various sized rocks and pebbles as he fishtailed away. I started the engine, dropped it into gear and jumped in to follow. I felt I was at the head of a wagon train moving out again onto the Oregon Trail. Hopefully we wouldn't have to eat anyone.

The small pickup with the yellow light on top would speed up and slow down erratically as we twisted and turned our way through the labyrinthine construction site. Swinging mechanical arms bearing bus-sized loads of earth swayed overhead, while semis, tractors and steamrollers toiled in the swirling maelstrom. After five miles or so of this harrowing journey, hands white knuckling the steering wheel, the dust suddenly gave way to clear blue skies, the smoking volcanic landscape to fresh pavement. We were free! As we passed the line of cars piling up to cross from the other side, I laughed demonically as I passed a sign that read: Thanks for your patience. Your Recovery Dollars at Work!

The wait and crossing had taken over an hour. I was now worried that my arrival at the Tetons would be too late to take in the afternoon scenery. No sooner had I begun to mope when from around a bend in the road, the huge, jagged outline of Mount Moran became visible, huge, imposing and bigger than anything I had seen on the trip thus far. Driving further on the walls of the valley gave way to a vast golden plain, reaching across to a full, unencumbered view of the Grand Tetons, stretching from horizon to horizon.


Grand Tetons at Sunset. From the deck of the Jackson Lake Lodge, Huckleberry Martini not included

The breathtaking scale and jagged countenance of the mountains towering over the golden plain makes these mountains extraordinarily unique and impossibly beautiful. As you get closer they grow ever larger, ever more imposing in their majestic beauty. After paying the obligatory 25 bucks to enter the park (good for seven days, both at the Grand Tetons and nearby Yellowstone), we headed up to Jackson Lake Lodge, or accommodations for the next two days.


Left: Grand Teton (left) from Jackson Lake Dam. Right: Historic Jackson Lake Lodge

The Jackson Lake Lodge, designated as a historical landmark in 2003, was completed in 1955. It sits on a ridge or a pristine meadow where moose and dear can often be seen in the early morning and late evening. Across the meadow Jackson Lake fills in the visual plain leading to the Tetons, the ultimate reflecting pool.

The thirty foot high windows of the main room offer an exceptional view, but to get the real feeling of the Tetons, simply step outside and have a drink at the outdoor bar overlooking the lake and meadow. This Ansel Adams view is simply one of the best in the world. After a long day of driving, the Lodge's signature huckleberry martinis combined with the view worked together seamlessly to deliver a near religious experience to the afternoon sunset.

Accommodations were at the small and comfortable cabins nestled in the aromatic pine woods adjacent to the lodge. As the pearlescent night set in, the travails of the day melted away in mountain splendor. Today, The Grand Tetons, Tomorrow, Yellowstone, where we were told of a great little used bookstore in the town of West Yellowstone near the west entrance to the park.

Until then- Cheers!

Bookish Meanderings in the Country's Least Populous State

Lightening pulsed through the thunderheads above, providing glimpses in pink and green of the undulating hills below. The highway shimmered in the headlights with recently fallen rain. I hadn't seen a single drop the length of the drive but the pavement had been wet for miles. "Welcome to Wyoming" was announced on a small placard some distance back. In the pauses between lightening flashes the night was pitch black.

The intersection with Interstate 80 was now visible, a distant line of tiny lights moving across the horizon. I'd had a wary eye on the gas gauge the last 20 miles or so, and was looking forward to getting a refill. Arriving at the intersection, I was disappointed to see nothing but a closed Conoco Station, the tarmac chained and weeded, and a ramshackle fireworks stand.

It was getting late and I was dizzy with sleepiness. Looking at the map the closest outpost of civilization was Rawlins, a small town 25 miles to the east at the intersection of highway 287, which would lead up to the Grand Tetons. This appeared to be an actual town, and not just a highway rest stop so I hopped on 80 and headed east. Up and down the dilapidated and dusty Main St. there were a variety of hotels. Some open, some boarded up, some open which should have long since closed.

Signs on various hotel fronts cried out: Free HBO, Free WiFi; American Owned and Operated; and my favorite: Biker Owned, All Bikers Welcome. I opted for the Travelodge for its balanced look of open, normal and cheap. The guy behind the desk, Patel, said this was high season in Rawlins (which made one wonder about low season, the town was half boarded up as it was). "In the winter it's ten below with howling winds all the time, really nasty", said Patel. Gee, why would anyone live here, I thought. More specifically: how does a guy from India end up living and working in a hotel in Rawlins, Wyoming? It was a questions that would have to wait. It had been a long day, I was beat and had to get some rest.

Panoramic view from the Rawlins Travelodge

Peering out the hotel window the next morning, one definitely had the feeling of being in the least populated state in the US. At 97,814 square miles, Wyoming is the 10th largest state in the country, far ahead of Pennsylvania at 33rd. But with a population of only 532,668 souls, Wyoming's 917,814 square miles are populated by less people than the District of Columbia's 68.3 square miles, making it 50th in population on the list of US states.

Driving north out of Rawlins the road meandered through endless miles of high rolling hills and desolate sink valleys, crossing the Continental Divide several times at over 7,000 feet in high plains altitude. Elaborate snow barriers lined each side of the highway, providing a hint of life here during the long, cold winter.

At every intersection major and minor, permanently fixed signs and movable barriers warning of weather-related closures sat benign under the oppressive summer sun. Passing through one and two block towns with names like like Muddy Gap and Sweetwater Station, there were often no gas stations or eateries. Just a few simple structures, some collapsed, some semi-collapsed, surrounded by junked cars, schools buses and torn fences, nestled together in a barren landscape ringed by distant, desolate mountains. It was awesome!


Above: Main St., Lander, Wyoming

After a hundred miles or so, the landscape became more inviting as we approached the town of Lander, population of 6,867, elevation 5,358, near the entrance to the Wind River Indian Reservation along the middle fork of the adorably named Popo Agie river. Here, along a distinctly western looking main drag, lies a small town reading mecca, offering residents and visitors not one, but three diverse and interesting bookstores.

Above: Main Street Books, Lander, Wyoming

Main Street Books at 3rd and Main, is the local indie that offers a broad selection of new titles and best sellers with a great collection of regional authors and subjects worked in to the mix. It's a well organized store with a great coffee shop, a stellar kid's section and an intriguing selection of toys and gifts. A great place to start your Craig Johnson collection. Thanks for your help, Mike and best of luck with your studies in Laramie!

Above: The Book Basket, Lander, Wyoming

Directly across the street lies the The Book Basket, Marty Brace, owner. You would be thrilled to find this truly distinct and well-organized used book store in any major city across the US, but to find it in Lander, Wyoming makes it a true gem. They have a great selection of local/western titles and subjects, an outstanding kids selection, and a selection diverse and unique enough to satisfy even the most jaded bibliophile (not that there are any). Thanks for your help, Steve, and for your recommendation to visit the store in West Yellowstone. Good Call!


Above: Cabin Fever, Lander, Wyoming

Continuing further west along main street past the movie theater and grocery store filled in between by a plethora of interesting touristy and non-touristy retailers, cafes and dry goods stores lies Cabin Fever. This new book indie is part bookstore, part educational toy store, part culinary book and supply. Along with a range of toys, games and gifts, Cabin Fever really does offer a cure for the winter blues.

After a quick lunch washed down by a superb local pint of amber ale at the Gannet Grill/Lander Bar, it was off to the west again. One final chance to take in Lander's beautifully historic Main St. before running the gauntlet of national chain restaurants outside town before heading into the ruggedly beautifully Wind River Valley region.

Travelling through the Wind River Indian Reservation (shared by the Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho tribes) the landscape becomes ever more beautiful. Paralleling the scenic Wind River, the road reaches higher and higher through scenic mountain valleys and plateaus. Continuing through the high country of the Wind River Range past Gannett Peak, the highest point in Wyoming at 13,804 ft, and through the town of Dubois, the road peaks at at the top of Togwotee pass at 9,658 ft.

Here, I stopped to marvel at astounding rock cornices towering into the clouds, thick with blankets of pine stretching across wide valleys. Broken here an there by monumental cliffs and boulder fields pouring down from the heights, the astounding promontories were held together by a broad and seemingly endless plain of pastoral meadows. Alone in the silence, wind sighing in the distant trees, it was hard to imagine a place more beautiful or serene.


Above: from the top of Togwotee Pass

This would shortly be put to the test as I released the emergency brake and pointed my way down down the western slope of the pass towards the imposing Grand Tetons to the west.

Next Post: Impossible Beauty meets The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act. Until then!

-Cheers!

On the Road Again

A couple of things I forgot to mention in my last post.



First, if you ever find yourself in Boulder, don't forget to stop by Rio Grande at 11th and Walnut (one block south of Pearl St.) for fabulous Mexican food and more importantly, for their killer margs. Their margaritas are so notoriously potent (and delicious), they told me they've established a 2 marg maximum for their patrons (maybe that was just for me). At any rate, well worth it after a day of wandering the mall.


Left: View from the Cabin, Evergreen. Right: Evergreen Lake

Also, thanks go out to my hosts in Evergreen, Colorado where your humble Booktraveler was lucky enough to be treated to a 4-day stay in a beautiful luxury hilltop "cabin" following the stay in Denver. Evergreen is just 40 minutes or so west of Denver, a beautiful mountain town nestled around a small municipal lake in the foothills. Its proximity to Denver makes it prime real estate, and staying there I can certainly see why. Lots of great little bars and eateries in the 3 block strip of "downtown", and a great place to visit for a walk or paddle around the lake and for easy access to I-70, Squaw Pass, Red Rocks and the rest of the Colorado Rockies.

Speaking of which, while meandering about the I-70 corridor, a fun afternoon was spent in the quaint, very high and very western hamlet of Georgetown, roughly 45 miles west of Denver. Like most of the towns along Clear Creek, Georgetown was a product of the mid-nineteenth century gold rush and looks it. Its quaint little main street is nicely refurbished with more than enough colorful shops and watering holes to make for a fun morning or afternoon.

Left: Historic Georgetown. Right: Georgetown Loop Train Trestle

There's a great ice cream shop at the far end of the 6th Street that's worth the trip, and I couldn't help but ride the famed and well-hyped "Georgetown Loop" historical train, which chugs back and forth between Georgetown and the even higher Silver Plume mining town to the west. The highlight of the trip is crossing the recently rebuilt and extremely high steel trestle as soon as you leave the station. The rest of the trip, although beautiful, is somewhat anti-climactic to say the least, unless your one of those people who goes around wearing a train engineer's hat.

And finally, special thanks go to out to my rafting guide Jake at Clear Creek Rafting in Idaho Springs. I'm alive. Also, thanks for the great tour, people of the Phoenix Mine in Idaho Springs. Too bad the gold didn't "pan out".


Left: Inside Phoenix Mine, Idaho Springs, CO. Right: Phoenix Mine Security Detail (yikes!)

ON THE ROAD AGAIN.

Jumping off from Evergreen, it was great to be on the road again and headed for Wyoming, Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. After dropping some fellow travelers off at the Denver International Airport (which is conveniently located out on the plains about halfway between Denver and New York City), I pointed my rented Mazda 5 north back through Boulder, then onward and upward toward Rocky Mountain National Park.

Although this is an extremely circuitous route, the Park is so incredibly breathtaking it would be unconscionable to miss it, particularly the trip over the famed Trail Ridge Road. This "Highest Highway in the World", which runs up and over the Continental Divide at over 12,000 feet above sea level, is the most popular attraction in the park. Well worth the (deep breath) $20 entrance fee (hey, it's good for 7-days...although one does question what one's taxes are being paid for), it offers one-of-a-kind views of the park and surrounding peaks.

Stanley Hotel, Estes Park

The road into the park leads through the gateway town of Estes Park, home of the venerable and Beautiful Stanley Hotel. The park and hotel are situated in one of the most beautiful glacial valleys in the country, lorded over by the towering Longs Peak and Mount Meeker to the south. If you're looking for quaint mountain solitude however, the teaming hordes packed into the streets, shops and restaurants of Estes Park give this the Disneyland of the Rockies about as much solitude as the Boardwalk in Ocean City, New Jersey on a July weekend.

View from the Top, Trail Ridge Road

Nevertheless, once you pass through the town and enter the park, civilization instantly melts away as you are carried up into the clouds and across the loft peaks on Trail Ridge Road. While the road itself can be crowded in peak season, the overpowering beauty and sublime emptiness of the superb vistas along the way make for a breathtaking experience. An even more beautifully intimate experience awaits those who are able to get out of the car and walk a few hundred yards to the peaks and promontories abutting the road.

View from the Top, Trail Ridge Road

Passing over the top of the pass and into the tree-lined valleys below, there's beauty around every turn as you pass Grand Lake and and the even grander Lake Granby before meeting up with highway 40 in the town of Granby. One alarming note along the drive is the unbelievable devastation being caused by the small but destructive pine beetle, which has ravaged the pine forests, particularly on the western side of the divide. Pine trees across entire swaths of the mountain range are dead or dying due to this most recent infestation. It's incredible that something so small can reap this much devastation. Beware H1N1!

Continuing on a lighter note, the plan was to follow highway 40 into Steamboat Springs and visit a couple of very good independent new bookstores there. Once arriving in Steamboat however....there's something unsettling about a ski resort in summer(to me anyway)...I found I was ill prepared for the the crowds and clapboard condos. Combined with the late hour and distance yet to travel, the decision was made to continue on until night to lessen the burden the following day.

Stopped in the most assuredly non-touristy coal mining town of Craig, Colorado, for an inexpensive and delicious Mexican dinner (noticing a pattern here?) at El Ranchero Restaurante, before turning north off highway 40 to head up lonely highway 13 towards Wyoming in the waning light of evening. On the way out of Craig, a little gem of a bookstore was spotted nestled near the end of the shops along the main street. Unfortunately this adorable store with the slightly overreaching name of "Downtown Books" was closed due to the late hour. After taking a peak in the windows I was tempted to stay another day to peruse, but it was not to be. Maybe next time. Ah, so many bookstores, so little time.


Downtown Books, Craig, CO

Heading into the night, towering thunderheads fifty miles to the north lit up the deserted highway as flashes of multi-hued lightening coursed upward through their stormy heights. There was not another light in sight and the sparse few cars and trucks that passed the other way seemed like lonely beacons from a distant civilization. Night had set in. It was six hours to the Grand Tetons. I decided to go as long as I could before finding a cheap roadside hotel and calling it a night.

Next post: Bookish grand meanderings in the country's least populous state. Until then!

-Cheers!