The West Yellowstone KOA is (wait for it) west of town. The place had been recommended to me by the guy at the campground in Rangely. So when I was at Marbelton, I made a reservation. He told me it was a little pricier than most KOAs, but worth it. He particularly lauded the on-site dining facility. It sold me.
As I pulled in, I saw a couple of other bikes, one a BMW 1200, the other a Yamaha Super Tenere. No riders were in sight, so I went in the office and registered. When I cam out, the two riders were now near their bikes in riding gear, talking to a third fellow. Seeing as they looked like they belonged to my tribe, I walked over and introduced myself to Carlos and Nick, thereby opening the door to an evenings adventure. The third guy was a Harley rider camped nearby, and he wasn't to be seen for the rest of the evening, and dropped right out of this story. All three were drinking beers from cans stuck in brown paper bags, and a blind man could see where this evening was headed.
Carlos is a retired Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant, and Nick is a former Ranger Medic, now working as a Paramedic. Both live in Northern Colorado, right where the horrible rains and mud slides were to occur a few weeks later. They invited me to come down and join them after I set up my camp. Here is the camp: lights, electricity, fences, the whole kit. It was very comfortable.
After setting up, I walked down about 30 yards to where Carlos and Nick were camped. After declining a beer and accepting a Pepsi, the yarns begin to spin. Carlos was up on the Super Tenere, having sold his 1200 GS Adventure like mine. So we all strolled down to my bike, and looked it over. It received thumbs up from both, and we did a few field repairs that were indicated. This meant that I got out tools while Carlos wrenched on the bike to get it to Gunny Specs. So I learned a few things, and then we went to their bikes, and I learned a few things more. Carlos had switched from aluminum boxes to soft luggage by Wolfman, and he now prefers them. Nick was still on his aluminum boxes, and we traded ideas on how to modify them, what I had done on my Cascade Design boxes, and how we could better carry our first aid and trauma kits.
Pretty soon it was dinner time, and we strolled over to this outdoor kitchen place where food was being served. The orders were taken at a little window, where both of the young women workers were from Mongolia, they were surprised and excited to hear I was planning on heading there next year. We chatted a little, and placed our order. Right about then, we also started conversing with the guy who was the cook. About 50 years old or so, he had a small pony tail, and looked and acted like a an old surfer. When he got our order, he called over to me that he would cook my steak so I could eat it on the paper plate on which it would be served with the plastic cutlery I would be issued. I replied I was looking forward to it.
Carlos and I started swapping Marine stories, which are different than fairy tales, and Nick chimed in from time to time. A lot of it was about the difference in equipment between 40 years ago and now, but some was about things we had seen and done. AT one point, I turned to Nick, the paramedic, and asked what I would need to take on my trip for next year for a first aid kit. Nick replied that I needed to have a boo-boo kit with medicines (including two epi-pens, rehydration salts, and anti-emetics) and band aids, and a trauma kit. Carlos immediately jumped up and said to wait, he would go get what I need. He returned with four things and put them on the picnic table: an Israeli bandage, an SOG tourniquet, a package of quick clot, and a space blanket. Nick opined that he would add two chest seals and a chest dart. Carlos and Nick started arguing about that, with Carlos' position being that if I was in the wideness and need chest seals and chest darts, it was likely to just prolong the suffering before help arrived to find the patient dead. Not a comforting thought . . . But on these recommendations, I updated my first aid plan.
We also talked about travel routes. They had been up north in Glacier Park, a place I had intended to go. They described the Going to the Sun Mountain Highway as a veritable long parking lot, and the roadway itself as in need of repair. After talking with them, and in reviewing my recent experience in Yellowstone, I decided to skip Glacier.
When the steak arrived, it was better than advertised. I don't think that plastic knife left a mark on the paper plate -- and I did not eat with my fingers. The cook was as good as he said he was, and Carlos and Nick invited him over for beers after he got off. After a few more words with the Mongolians, we retired to our camp sites.
After a bit I wandered back to see how the evening was progressing for my two new friends. I was not surprised to see the beer was still fling, and a fire was being attempted. In another interesting conversation, Carlos brought out his Kabar and we discussed knives and their uses. Carlos prefers the big old Kabar because you can use it for everything, it only costs $75, and you don't have to worry about losing it like he would worry if he had his Randal knife. So he used the Kabar to split kindling and to poke the fire. This is the fire he finally wound up with, and of which he was proud.
After a bit, the cook showed up with a flask of of cinnamon schnapps and a bag full of stories. Oh, and some barbecued ribs that were "left over." So everyone sat around telling tales, eating ribs, poking the fire with a knife or a stick, and drinking. While I was happy with my soda, the beer and the schnapps flowed freely. Cookie told us tales of his alternative lifestyle, which was mostly about being a ski bum and resort cook, anything he could do to stay away from the IRS, an ex-wife, and responsibility of any sort. He passes out secrets, such as how to get a hot shower without paying for it for the rest of your life, and certain hot springs where clothing was not optional, it was banned. Oh, and where the greatest espresso in Wyoming was between Jackson and Yellowstone. When staggering ensued, I excuse myself and went down to my little tent and bed. Did I mention the love sick cow in the next pasture? She was noisy and apparently distraught over the absence of her companion. After awhile, I finally dropped off to sleep. Several hours later, my bladder forced me out of my tent and over to the restrooms. Carlos, Nick and Cookie were still going strong. I slipped by, and back into my camp.
The next morning, I didn't see any signs of life in their camp until about 8:00. After telling them good-bye, I headed out at about 9:00 for the Northland. And having decided to delete Glacier Park from my route, I decided to flat slab it up to Spokane. And off I went.
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