The Ride Not Taken

© Ken Bingenheimer / RumBum.com

While it may be true that “A bad day fishing is better than a good day in the office,” the same is only true up to a point when you’re riding a motorcycle. Some rides are better left undone, at least until later.

One such non-ride stands out for us, and is a part of the OFMC folklore. John and Bill and I were coming out of Idaho, planning on making our way across Wyoming, into South Dakota and to the Black Hills. We entered Yellowstone National Park at the west entrance and crossed the park with the intention of riding the Beartooth Highway that day and stopping for the night in Red Lodge, MT.

Pulling over in Cooke City, MT, just outside the northeast gate to the park, we were taken with the rustic beauty of the little community. We hadn’t traveled very far at that point, but we had gotten a late start, and we figured the sun would be setting before we reached Red Lodge. We’re in no hurry; let’s just stop here for the night.

That wasn’t as easy as it might seem because it turned out that all the motels in town were full, but someone pointed us to an establishment where they had some old cabins they don’t normally rent out any more. They made an exception for us. Can you say “musty”?

The morning dawned cool and we were headed up to over 10,000 feet, so July or not, we layered on every bit of warm clothing we had, and we needed it. Up the Beartooth we went, awestruck by the beauty of the mountains and the road. This was the real reason we stayed the night in Cooke City, we didn’t want to miss it all by doing it in the dark.

At the top of the Beartooth there is a little shop, The Top of the World Store, and we stopped to drink coffee and take it all in. It was there that we learned just how good our decision had been the day before. Chatting with the proprietor, we mentioned our original plans to cross the Beartooth the day before, and how we decided against it on the spur of the moment. Quickly calculating the timing, he told us of some bikers coming the other direction the day before who probably left Red Lodge about the same time we would have been leaving Cooke City. It was getting dark as they reached his shop, and the road was already getting icy where melting snow had run across the road. The proprietor and his wife were just closing up shop and agreed to ride behind the bikers so their headlights would help to better illuminate the road on the way down.

Time and again on that slow, tortuous descent they watched as one bike or another slipped and skidded on the ice. None went down, though, and at last they pulled into Cooke City. Where they spent the night he had no idea.

That could have been us; we were really glad it wasn’t. Sometimes you make smart choices. Even if you don’t realize just how smart they are at the time.

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