Day 25 - Livingston to West Yellowstone, Montana - 106 Miles

Well, we're here. But as fate would have it, we're not in the "here" for which we were headed. It all seemed so easy at the time. All we had to do, after buying our groceries and propane, was to jump on Route 89 south, which happened to be right outside the market, and drive.

And the drive was achingly beautiful, with tall peaks, green rolling fields, and the tumultuous Yellowstone River to keep us company all the way to the town of Gardiner, 52 miles away, which lay astride the entrance to every camper's favorite outdoor recreation destination, Yellowstone Park. The route seemed so easy, we thought that there was simply no reason to put up with the antics of Ms. GPS. We kept her turned off.

We stopped a few times along the way to gaze at the full-to-overflowing might of the Yellowstone River. Once we even caught a glimpse a couple of parties of river rafters floating downstream, but before I could find a parking spot, leap out, and capture their image, they had paddled nearly out of sight. This prompted me to pull over when I came abreast of a raft company site. Once there, I walked back to talk to them about price and ride duration. They told me that the one-hour tour was $34.00 a head and the two-hour tour was double that.

I told Concetta about the prices, but we already knew that a raft ride today, when we knew we wouldn't be able to camp in the park, would prove very difficult. A prior camp host had told us that all sites in the park are completely booked a year in advance. Since we knew we'd have to tour the park, then go outside to find an available camp site, it was clear that we had precious little time to stop and play.

As long as we were already parked at a fairly nice spot overlooking the Yellowstone, we decided to just stay put and have our lunch. Nearby, in the front yard of the fire station, a female moose browsed contentedly on some lush grass, so we weren't without lunchtime entertainment. Unfortunately, by the time lunch was over, no more river rafters had appeared so my lunchtime photo opportunity didn't pan out.

Once we packed up and headed on into Gardiner, we immediately recognized that we had arrived at a very tourist-oriented town. Cute commercial buildings lined both sides of the main street, and river-raft companies sprouted every couple of blocks all the way through town. If you want to river raft the Yellowstone, this town should be your destination.

I would have liked to have found a large parking lot somewhere downtown and walk around a bit, but we didn't find one until we got to the park entrance on the south end of town, and by then my enthusiasm for walking had cooled. So, we satisfied ourselves with getting our photo taken in front of the Yellowstone Park entrance sign.

There is one aspect of carrying a Nikon around your neck that must instill confidence in our fellow humans. Two different couples invited us to use their camera and take their photo by the sign. One couple was Chinese and spoke very little English. But we got the job done, and, in return, they used the Nikon to snap our photo.

From the northern park entrance I assumed it would be tremendously easy to just follow the parks internal circle road around until we came to a fork inviting us to chose between the East or West exit. We had already decided that we wanted to leave by the East entrance so that we could camp near Cody, Wyoming and then visit the particularly grand museum in that town. Concetta and I have not been to the Cody museum since 1980, but remember it fondly as just being outstanding.

I assume you've heard that old adage that goes, "Life is what happens to you while you're planning for something different," or words to that effect. Well, we spent the early part of the afternoon cruising south through a bewildering throng of cars, trucks, and RVs, all intent on stopping wherever they could to get a photograph of the buffalo, or some other natural phenomena. We, too, occasionally stopped, though finding a parking spot for a 32-foot rig is a tad more challenging then for a Prius.

But the tourist traffic wasn't the worst part of our afternoon drive. Around 1:30 p.m., when we were already starting to get antsy about getting through the park and finding a camp somewhere, we rounded a bend and came upon a long line of cars, at the very head of which was a young woman in a hardhat holding a stop sign. Concetta and I looked at each other and sighed. "Well," I said, "if we can't get out today, maybe we'll be able to hide the rig on one of their forest service roads for the night. The RV is painted dark gray and maybe they won't notice it in the after the sun goes down."

Worse than the stalled traffic, many of the drivers had exited their vehicles and were roaming the highway and shoulder area looking for something to occupy themselves, thus advertising that they'd probably been stalled for quite awhile already. We were right. We sat in that ever-growing line of traffic for another half hour. By the time we finally began moving, I couldn't see the last car in line by looking behind us.

Okay, so by time we finally got moving it was after 2:00 p.m., we had many miles to go before we slept, or even got out of the park by the closing hour of 10:00 p.m. After closing, I suspect that the rangers turn the bears loose to chase off the stragglers.

Once the ubiquitous pilot car had turned off, and all the northbound traffic had gone by, we knew we had to get serious about getting out of the park. But at this point we were stuck behind a pilot car of our own. As the minutes ticked by, and the pilot car proceeded at the leisurely pace of 20 miles per hour, we could do nothing go along for for the ride.

And then things got worse. Suddenly we came abreast of a sign which said, "Caution. Pavement Ends." Immediately the ride got infinitely more muddy, and bumpy, and even slower. Workers had removed the entire highway in both directions and were busily building a new one, or so it appeared. Then for three quarters of an hour, we proceeded at a snail's pace, bumping along at a few miles per hour. When we finally reached the pavement again, it was well after 3:00 p.m., and we were no closer to our target destination for the night. It was time to turn on her highness, Ms. GPS. and feed in the closest camp address by the east exit.

Concetta turned on the oh so ornery lady, and proceeded to punch in our choice of RV parks lying in or around the town of Cody, Wyoming. Ms. GPS accepted these instructions with only a couple of strangled demands to "make a U-turn." But when everything appeared to be proceeding according to plan, we relaxed a bit, and let her take us to our destination.

For the next hour Ms. GPS was silent and we just rolled. But at some point she piped up and announced that in 3 miles we needed to turn right at Madison and proceed to the West Yellowstone gate. "Right!" I said. "Right can't be right! And we don't want to go to West Yellowstone at all. Are you sure you put in Cody for a destination?" I asked Concetta.

Concetta affirmed that she had. By then we had come abreast of the Madison right turn and I went ahead and turned right, knowing full well that right was wrong! When the next mileage sign announced that we were 14 miles from the West Yellowstone gate, I pulled over and Concetta and just looked at each other. We had somehow missed the turnoff somewhere which would have led us to the east gate, and we had been driving the wrong way all afternoon.

For a few minutes we reversed direction and took the choice that bypassed the Madison turnoff, but we soon realized that the southern loop would take us hours and hours to achieve the east gate and deliver us to Cody. So, I turned around once again, took the Madison exit to West Yellowstone, and now here we are on the wrong side of the park, looking at a three-hour drive tomorrow to rectify our mistake.

But let's look at the bright side. Within walking distance of our camp tonight is a fine museum devoted to Montana and Yellowstone Park history. Concetta and I saw it on our way through town and have already walked over there and bought our tickets for tomorrow morning. Navigator Concetta found us a reasonable camp site right in West Yellowstone, which I wouldn't have predicted, since most sites fill up pretty quickly when anywhere near the park. The price was right, the space commodious, and our neighbors from Atlanta are quite talkative and congenial. Right ON!

And there you have it. Sometimes things go according to plan, and sometimes they don't. Or as Mary Chapin Carpenter puts it, "Sometimes you're the windshield, and sometimes you're the bug." But it's all good if you're having a good time, and with us there is never any doubt. We love what we do out here on the highways and byways of America. And when you go looking for the best things in life, we wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.