Weathermen.

I’ve often thought being a weatherman would be a perfect occupation, because you only have to get about half the news right about half the time to keep your job. If I was a weatherman, I would go on TV with my perfect hair (which would most likely be a perfect wig) and say, every single day, without laughing, there was, “a fifty percent chance of rain.” I’d never be wrong.

The talking TV weather-head in Sheridan, WY was one of the funny, jocular, comedian types. The worst kind. He ended his forecast with, “Tomorrow there’s a 100% chance of rain over the entire area. It’s good for us, because we need rain badly. But, if you’re planning a motorcycle ride for the next few days…” He then drew his hand across his throat in the most menacing gesture a weatherman can make.

What else can you do but laugh?

I checked a much more reliable weather source, and found, that while Yahoo Weather didn’t exactly agreed with Mr. FunnyWeather’s forecast, things still weren’t looking good.

Wow. 39 degrees in Yellowstone? On Monday, the very day we plan to head through? Can’t be! It was 101 degrees yesterday! Helpfully, my riding buddy reminded me that it was only one day ago that I was saying I’d much rather ride in the cold than the heat, and now I’d get my chance.

We discussed changing plans for a minute, but decided since we didn’t want to turn around and not get to enjoy Bighorn and the Beartooth Pass, which, via US 14A, looked like an incredibly fun squiggled line on the map, or miss what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Yellowstone National Park and Old Faithful; we’d roll the dice and keep moving west.

Oh Yeah!

On this fun road, we fulfilled another mandate.

State Number 50 – Finally Defiled.

Though it seemed (and felt) like the weatherman’s wild guesses would turn out to be right, the rain never materialized. The summit of the Beartooth Pass, at 10,974 feet was cold, and looked threatening, but luck prevailed, and Rain Cloud Follows outran the impending storm.

On the other side of the pass, the weather broke, if only for a while.

Knowing from experience that Rain Cloud Follows luck would only hold out so long, we stopped for the night in Cooke City, a remote little place that turned out to be the only real town with motels between Red Lodge, Montana and Yellowstone. Stopping early turned out to be a good, lucky call.

Cooke City, MN – Home For the Night

Almost immediately, the rain caught us, and engulfed Cooke City. After a quick toast to the ‘Best Day Ever’, we covered the bikes for the night, with no idea how much worse it would get the next day. I slept fitfully, with visions of Mr. Funnyweather’s throat-slashing motion dancing in my head.

The next installment of The Epic Ride can be found here.

Author: frenchy