Talent Show

Wednesday, August 23. Colter Bay, WY to Grant Village, WY

Today was one of our shorter days, only about 40-some miles. But we'll ride out of the Teton Forest, then 19 miles of no-man's land until we reach Yellowstone--well, it's probably Uncle Sam's land, but there's nothing but the scenery between Teton Park and Yellowstone Park except one more Continental Divide crossing. Which means one more descent, although this one is a short descent, since the south Yellowstone entrance is still in the mountains. As we ride, the smoke from nearby wildfires hurts our throats and makes our eyes water.

When we didn't find the Fab-4 at the gate, we back-tracked to Flagg Ranch Resort and found them taking a break, wondering what could be taking us so long. After Melanie chases a chipmonk out of her handlebar bag, we all saddle up and head for the park gate. It's time once more for the group photo at the entrance sign, and three cameras are set up to catch the shot. One, two, three--and the camera operators race to get into the picture in time. My camera gets the action shot, which I consider the best. Yellowstone Park is looking for "your" vacation photos in the park; six adults vying for a spot at the 10x20 ft. National Park sign seems like the quintessential vacation photo to me.

We figure that it won't hurt to try the "All in the Family" ploy at entrance gate, and to our amazement it worked. The rangers must have a soft spot for anyone who buys the National Park Pass; it can't be that they have a soft spot for bicyclists. Individually, a ranger may be cheered by the sight of cyclists in the park, but officially, the National Park Service seems to be doing it's best to keep bicycles at a minimum in the park. The total absence of any mention of bicycles is the first hint of this policy. Sure, Yellowstone gets nearly 2 million visitors each summer, but every single cyclist on the TransAm Route passes through Yellowstone. And true to form, a few miles before we reach the campground, the small shoulder we'd clung to disappears.

We've been warned about the traffic in Yellowstone, particularly the RV's. I don't know which is worse--the retirees who've spent their life savings and children's inheritance to travel around the country in a Trojan-Horse residence, or the new American Family, drawn to the Internet, who clicks on www.driveabehemothtoday.com and is now hurtling down Yellowstone's 2-lane roads like they're on the autobahn, racing from one wildlife sighting to another, unaware that a 40-ft. trailer doesn't handle like the BMW SUV they left at home because it just doesn't have enough room for this trip.

We take the lane when there's traffic coming in the other direction, but in my rear-view mirror, I see that a tour-bus-sized trailer isn't slowing down nor making any attempt to give us room. At this point, I'm riding behind Matthew, and I am forced off to the edge of the road. I watch the vehicle pass Matthew, and as my heart is in my throat, I am unable to warn him in any way. The monster-sized trailer cleared Matthew with only inches to spare--he actually felt the vehicle's mirror whoosh by his ear. This is a clear case of driver harassment--he saw us and decided to run us off the road. To add insult to near-injury, a bicycle is attached to the rear of the RV. Perhaps it's a trophy of some sort, and the driver is collecting fallen bicycles, mounting them on his recreational vehicle like elk heads in a masonic lodge.

Having a near-death experience gives Matthew's adrenalin factory a kick-start, so he charged after the RV screaming obscenities, got it's license, and reported the incident to a park ranger. The ranger, who is also a cyclist, records the incident sympathetically and assures Matthew that he would "go talk to them". Well, as cyclists from Atlanta, that's really more than we could have expected.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are trying to get a campsite for the night. The NPS has some bizarre camping policies, that seem designed to make cyclists feel unwelcome. For instance, any old regular campsite can be had for $15, and you can have up to 6 people at the site--if you drive your car to the site. If you're a cyclist, you'll pay $5.80 per person and have to haul your bike and gear to the farthest reaches of the campground, beyond where any "regular" campers might see you and presumably become fearful of such eco-friendly tourists. I don't mind not getting a shower, but is it too much to ask to be within a few hundred yards of the restrooms?

Since it's an early day, we have time to set up camp and then head back to the Visitor Center. They're showing two movies, and I guess we're a little media-starved because we sit through both of them. The first one is a report on the huge fire in Yellowstone in 1988. Over a million acres burned in that fire, which started on August 20, and ended when snow fell on September 11. What's interesting is that the movie captures video of the park during the fire, one year and ten years after the fire. Since it's now been 18 years after that fire, I guess that means they've been showing that film for the last 8 years. The second film is the video version of the park's rules and regulations. There is no mention of sharing the road with cyclists.

After the movies, we all peruse the various nature books for sale in the bookstore, and then eventually all end up at the grocery store. Since Matthew and I have decided that we will part company with the Fab-4 in the morning, this will be our last evening together. This is a hard decision for us, since we have loved riding with them. Well, actually, we have loved the way they wait up for us at the end of the day. The only way I can keep up with Melanie is if she's loaded with both of our gear. And even though Rob is being handicapped by a wheel that is so out of true his bike tires paint an "s" in the road, he's still out in front with Melanie the whole day.

At the general store, we each pick up provisions for dinner, Deanne picks up a six-pack of the local microbrew, and then Rob announces that he's going to get fixin's for s'mores AND an ice cream dessert. There's been talk all day of an impending talent show in our camp. This reminds me that I have no talent--at least not one that doesn't require props which are decidedly not part of a touring cyclists' gear. I've been through this same scenario some years earlier, and managed to avoid the spotlight. But that was a much larger, drunker crowd, and I am pretty sure that I'm going to have to stand in the footlights tonight. But I cannot think of a single, inane, no-props-necessary talent. And I am not alone in my panic. While on the phone with his mom, Matthew suddenly remembers his talent. Jess called her mom for help, but her mom's response was to ask her if she could tap-dance.

Well, s'mores, ice cream and beer notwithstanding, the talent show commenced just as darkness was falling on the campsite. A headlamp was set up on the picnic table to set "the stage", and we're off. Or on. Matthew goes first, and as he flawlessly performs the readily-recognized Lucky Charms Leprechaun heel-click, Rob groans. "That is so great! That totally beats any talent!" Fine. If he really loved me, we could have made it a two-person performance, my agony ended.

Deanne goes next, demonstrating that she can touch BOTH thumbs to her wrist. We all watch in amazement and then applaud wildly. Melanie (the over-achiever) has two talents, one physical, one mental. With her hands on her hips, she can touch her elbows in front of her. Well, very nearly. We take her word for the fact that she can actually do it on most nights. Her mental talent is that she can, in a savant-kind of way, hear or read any word or phrase and immediately know how many letters it contains. This in and of itself is a laudable talent, but when she explained that she actually reads the phrase backwards in her mind to count the letters, well, we were all stunned.

Rob's talent is a bit of sleight of jaw. Putting both hands under his chin, he created a noise that sounded like he was cracking his jaw. We were all appropriately shocked and disgusted. Jess was next, and she performed something she called a "scale". This is a gymnastic move, which resembles someone pretending to be an airplane while standing on one leg. None of us had any idea what she was doing, making her clearly much more talented than any of us (at least in gymnastic scales and airplane impersonations).

And finally it was my turn, but I still had not thought of a talent. I tried to deflect attention by talking about the talents of others I know (for instance, 5's ability to start a '63 Chevy, a 14-step process that, if you failed step 9, you had to wait 30 minutes before starting over), but the Fab-4 were insistent. Matthew finally said that no one folds a fitted sheet as flat as I can, and then he suddenly remembered that our bike covers have a shape similar to a fitted sheet. He raced over and pulled one out of the trailer, and handed it to me for my command performance.

While it is true that I am a whiz at folding a fitted sheet, the cover that he handed me, sir, is no fitted sheet. Part of my skill lies in the fact that the sheet is made of soft, pliable cotton, and the bicycle cover is not. It is an Arkel bicycle cover, generoulsy sized to fit over a loaded touring bicycle. It is well-made of a waterproof fabric that sheds water readily and beautifully. It is the perfect bicycle cover, but it is not a very good fitted sheet. Nonetheless, I am relieved to have some kind of talent to show, and I begin to fold the bicycle cover. The whole idea that I am in Yellowstone Park, having reached the park on a bicycle, with a bicycle cover, and am attempting to salvage my dignity by pretending to fold a fitted sheet, strikes me as hilarious. I am laughing so hard that I am crying, and now it's pitch dark and the cover is jet black, so I can't tell what I'm doing which is good because I can't see through my tears. But I hear Jess' little voice, encouraging me--"keeeep follllding". Which makes me laugh even harder, and I finally just start bunching the cover up into what feels like a small, flat package. The crowd goes wild, cheering my finale. I can't even stand up because I'm laughing so hard.

Then Rob announces that Matthew and I have won the talent show! And as prizes, we are awarded Yellowstone Park Junior Ranger pins--with our name already engraved on each pin. This talent contest is so rigged, but I don't care. I am thrilled with my Ranger pin, and can't wait to wear it on my Camelback.

Before we fall asleep, Rob reads one more chapter of the Orville and Wilbur Wright story, but it's the last chapter that Matthew and I will hear. I now know how their story starts and ends, but I'm missing the details in the middle.

In the morning we have one last round of coffee at breakfast, then hugs all around before the Fab-4 leave for Old Faithful. They'll cross the Continental Divide 2 more times before they get to the geyser; because we're going the other way around the park's loop, we'll miss those last crossings.

We will miss camping out with them; they have shown us how to get along with even less than we thought possible. It's been a lot of fun getting to know them, and hopefully we'll meet up again someday soon. Our ride today is just a few miles down the road to Bridge Bay, so we take our time breaking camp. The Fab-4 will leave the park after their trip to Old Faithful; we'll spend 6 more days in the park before heading on to Montana.