Well, despite the likely presence of a brewery and maybe a buffalo burger with a couple of beers, we skipped Jackson Hole. Drove right through it, admiring the rafts piled on trailers being pulled by vans, and on top of vans, and the school buses that were not headed to school but to the river, and I thought that I would like to do some of that whitewater river kayaking one day. I am not sure what Abbey thought. It may have been something like "I am tired of being in this car. I like the smells coming in from the window. I want to eat something."
Entering Jackson Hole through the Teton Pass, you see mountains in the distance with snow on the top, even in June. Cool. I have never been to the Grand Tetons before, and if I have seen pictures, I can't remember, so I am thinking that maybe those snow covered peaks in the distance are the grand tetons that I am hoping to see. And I am thinking, "Sure, yeah, they look kinda grand." And I read somewhere that the Grand Tetons ridgeline is one of the most recognizable mountain ridgelines in the world. The snow covered peaks in the distance don't really look that familiar to me.
Then we get into the park proper, and off to the left, I see the Grand Tetons. I am think, "Oh. Yeah. Those Grand Tetons. That recognizable mountain ridgeline."
It does look kind of familiar, really.
I had done some pre-planning and some research for this part of the trip. I was very proud of myself, and thankful to Noah and Facebook, when we pulled into Jenny Lake campground, nice and early (around 2 pm), and there were tons of open sites. A tent only campground, nestled among conifers, with options for shade, or exposure to the flat moraine valley opposite the moutains. We chose the latter.
I was definitely tired, at this point. It was really tempting to set up camp, crawl into the tent, go to sleep. When I set up my tent, sleeping bag, and pad, I like to lie down for a minute, just to test the placement of it all, make sure that I will be comfortable for the night, before making a final commitment to the spot. I did this, and I almost didn't get up again. It felt so good, so nice, so wonderful, so, well, spacious, to rest with my body fully extended. (I need to put a quick note in at this point - a friend of a friend has a blog about his current bike ride across the country (yeah, I know. Why are you reading this crap. Why am I even bothering to write about my drive?). He talks a bunch of times about holing up in shelters at rest stops to get out of the rain, spending the night stretched out in his sleeping bag. I will never again fear the highway patrol eviction. I swear. Stupid. Those picnic tables looked so tempting. Why the hell not?)
I did get up again. I could not leave Abbey tied to the picnic table - though she looked rather comfy herself, stretched out in the shade. Amazingly, in hindsight, I got my running garb on. It had been a few days since I had run. I swore back in December that I was going to start a great habit of running three of four times a week, and stick to it. Well, for a while now I have been really determined to at least keep the sticking to it part alive by running at least once a week. So, why not? I am tired, but running seems to ignore that. I was feeling like a good stretch was needed, so I did that before running. I felt like I had eaten too much food the day before, why not burn some of it up in this beautiful spot.
Another reason that I wanted to take a run was that I couldn't take a hike. Dang National Park rules, dang John Muir preservation ethic, trying to preserve everything, not mess with it, let people see it, but not let dogs chase it. Abbey was not allowed on trails in this, or most other National Parks (thank you Gifford Pinchot and the land of many uses, National Forests, though). So instead of a big hike up into a canyon, or around a lake or two, or both, I would run on a road. Luckily Jenny Lake had a scenic drive route next to it, and looking at the map I realized I could make it a nice run.
I wasn't sure how long I would be able to go. I wanted to try to get at least half an hour in. We were at altitude, compared to the CA coast, so I figured that the thinner air and the road exhaustion would probably knock me out shortly after that. I told myself to keep it slow, and I did. Abbey had no complaints. But after 20 minutes, I felt like I could do 40, and my mind was thinking at that point that it was beautiful in the park, and I want to run distance, and I am not feeling tired, and I am keeping a nice calm pace, and hell, maybe I can make an hour. I have never run for an hour before, but why not. I would run the lake drive until I got to the other end, and make a loop of it, or turn around when I got to a half hour point.
The lake was off to our left as we ran. Cars passed by every once in a while, driving slow. I thought then of how much more detail I was getting to see. I think now of that guy, and my friends, who cross the country on a bike. Hell yeah. Put it on the bucket list. As we got close to the 30 minute mark, I marveled at how good I felt, and how the thinner air didn't seem to be a factor at all. I thought I might even make it to the end of the loop.
In the Santa Cruz mountains before I left California I had been working as a naturalist again. Taking students for hikes in redwood forests and to the tidepools at Natural Bridges State Park, teaching them about the science of those places, and the general rules of ecology as they apply to all places. Eat or be eaten. Food chains. Life and Death. Predator and prey relationships. Adaptations for survival in the natural world. I was aware that there is an outdoor science school based at Grand Tetons that is pretty famous in the naturalist world s science schools go. So I was kind of happy when a van marked with the logo of this school pulled up next to me from the opposite direction as I was running.
The driver smiled at me and said, "Hi."
I said, "Hi."
She said, "I just thought you might want to know that there is a grizzly bear next to the road just a little ways down."
I looked at Abbey, and said "Thanks. Guess I'll be turning around now."
The kids in the back of the van all laughed.
She said something about being cautious, if I did decide to keep going.
I thought about it for a minute. I really wanted to see a grizzly. I hadn't seen one in over 15 years. I started running again, in the same direction I had been headed. The next car was driven by an older fellow. His wife was in the passenger seat. He motioned me over and showed me a picture on his camera. Of a grizzly bear. Told me that the bear was just down the road, and was right next to the road.
I turned around. I was bummed. But I had seen Abbey whine and whimper excitedly when she saw a squirrel. I was running, and I didn't intend to run past it, so would I want to run away from it once I saw it? What if it saw me? Would it chase me? Would Abbey try to chase it? Would it eat me or my dog first? What was really the point of seeing a griz if I didn't have my camera with me? Just kidding on that last one. I had also seen Abbey give chase to a black bear before. She was on leash, but I didn't want her getting too excited. We turned around. We ran back the other way. The time on my watch was 29 minutes into the run. How appropriate.
On the way back one more car pulled up next to me. "Hey man, just wanted you to know we saw a big red bear headed this way through the woods from the other side of the loop." I thanked them, and quickened my pace a little bit. I kept glancing into the woods to my left, but I didn't see a bear.
I asked the campground host later if they get many bears in the campsites. I had been to Yosemite, camped in Little Yosemite Valley, at the base of half dome, watched two black bear cubs climbing up onto some stupidly unprotected backpacks (they were lashed to a tree about four feet off the ground.) My friend and I had been visited by a ranger whose job it was to hike through that campground, warning people to expect bear visits. I had woken up in the middle of the night, opened the tent door, and thrown the previously prepared pile of rocks and sticks at a large black bear, while yelling at it, only to discover later that it had knocked our bear canisters about and bitten a hole in my friend's plastic fuel bottle. The host said it was pretty rare. A few weeks back one camper thought they had heard one. I was sort of disappointed. But, hell, I still had lots of Tetons and Yellowstone to drive through. Maybe I would see a griz. Maybe I would at least get to see a moose. Maybe even a bull moose.
I was proud of myself for finishing an hour's run. We made it back to the campground at 56 minutes, and so we circled the loop once to make it 61 minutes, then circled again, walking, cooling down. My first thought when I stopped running was "Wow, this is what they call the runner's high." I had felt it before, I am sure. I feel it to some degree after every run. But damn if it didn't really kick in after an hour. Of course, there was jello legs sensation, and the mild urge to puke, but these were secondary to the daze I was in. I walked around the loop, then went back to the campground and stretched, and wondered how I could possibly have chosen to run that day knowing that the campground had no shower. The sign next to the ice cold water faucet said "No brushing teeth, washing dishes, or bathing." I didn't read it.
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