Weather: sunny at first with showers, then partly cloudy. Light snow in mountains
230 miles
I got up at 8.15 and took advantage of the free breakfast provided in the motel. I then drove back into town to hunt its post office in order to get some stamps, a task slightly complicated by its being hidden down a side street which was undergoing major roadworks. I then returned to the interstate, which now headed northwest towards the major town of the region, Billings.
I remained on the freeway around Billings, which looked a most unappealing place, its major local industry clearly being mining. A few miles further on I turned off to the southwest, towards Yellowstone, albeit with the small matter of a mountain range to negotiate first.
I encountered a heavy shower on the road before I reached the town of Red Lodge, at the foot of the Absaroka range. I stopped at the tourist information post at the edge of town and picked up information about the town and the region from a most helpful woman.
I had been inspired to take this route by an article in the weekend paper a couple of weeks earlier, describing the Beartooth Highway, which runs over the mountains from Red Lodge to the tiny village of Cooke City, just outside the northeastern entrance to Yellowstone. I was assured that the highway had now been completely cleared of snow and recently been ``officially'' opened for the year, and despite the clouds visible on the nearby peaks I should have little problem in getting through.
I first decided to take a little look around the charming town, its broad main street being extremely well preserved and lined with buildings still looking much as they must have done a century earlier. I took a quick look at a couple of places before heading into the Red Lodge Café for lunch, having a sandwich and fries. Afterwards I wandered down the street and had a brief look in the town's museum, learning a little about the history of the area, before heading back to the car.
I was soon driving into an area of absolutely stunning scenery, quite unlike anything I had previously seen. The road took a series of sharp switchback curves to climb the side of Rock Creek Canyon, an impressive glacial valley. Several turnouts were provided on the way, allowing me to take a pause from driving and admire the scenery more fully, and a larger parking area near the top allowed one to stop and walk a short distance along a slightly slush-covered path to a superb viewpoint.
From there I continued my ascent up onto a high plateau, reaching the summit at an altitude of 10947 feet (3337m). Up here was a totally alien landscape, a tundral environment more typical of that of northern Canada or Siberia. Large expanses of ground still lay under a thick carpet of snow, indeed a light flurry was still falling.
I continued onwards through roads still lined with high walls of snow -- evidently the snowploughs had done their work well on the roads. I stopped several times en route, encountering a rather tame marmot perched on a rock against a stunning backdrop. At another was one of the country's most remote motels, the ``Top of the World'' (a somewhat inaccurate name given that I had already descended a considerable distance in order to reach it). I was not intending to stay there and contented myself with a brief look in the store, purchasing a couple of postcards. At other stops I was able to admire fast-flowing mountain streams, frozen lakes, and the forbidding Pilot Peak, a very sharp, pointed summit which is clearly the origin of the highway's popular name. It seemed a pity to be heading back into the more conventional forested landscape towards the end of the highway, but I had accommodation booked and another sixty miles to drive in order to reach it.
Cooke ``City'' seemed to offer little reason to linger, and I continued onwards, entering Yellowstone for the first time and passing through the scenic Lamar Valley but not stopping -- I would have plenty of time to explore over the next few days. I left the park again by its north entrance, just across the 45th parallel which forms the border between Montana and Wyoming, one I had already crossed three times in the course of the day. This north entrance, into the town of Gardiner, is the only one to be kept open all year round other than the northeast entrance I had already passed through, which is less than entirely useful in winter as the closure of the Beartooth Highway means that it only allows one to travel a couple of miles further, as far as Cooke City.
In Gardiner I crossed the Yellowstone River and headed for the Super 8 motel, at which I had booked a room before leaving the UK. I checked in and was just in the process of moving luggage up to my room when I was told that there had been a mistake and I should be in a different room, into which I obligingly moved but found it identical to the previous one.
I walked down into the town centre for dinner. Being early in the season, not everywhere was yet open, and I settled for a meal at the Park Street Grill, considerably more upmarket than the places I had been to the previous two evenings. There I had a meal of salad (almost inevitably), some extremely nice bread and a chicken gnocchi dish whose exact name I rapidly forgot. I returned to the motel feeling quite full, read up a little on the chief attractions within Yellowstone, and went to bed around 11.30.