Exploring mountain passes, national parks and the Black Hills.

It was a single-digit morning. The dew was frosty, and I was hungry. As I transitioned bare arms and legs from bivy to jacket and pants, I began to uncharacteristically envision the hot luxury of a McDonald’s Big Breakfast ($6.49 plus tax). But the middle of nowhere on the banks of the Yellowstone River seemed like an unlikely place to find a McAnything. Following the winding river into the old stagecoach town of Columbus, MT, however, I spied — of all things — the Golden Arches above the highway. The meal lived up to its price, but the 60-something server worked the room like it was a Michelin 5-star.

“Here’s your breakfast!” “How is your meal?” “Can I get you anything?”

Commenting that she was the most attentive fast-food server I’d ever seen opened the room to conversation. One woman sitting nearby saw that I was travelling, and when I told her how much I loved Montana, she said, “If you’re headed to Red Lodge, you can take I-94, but don’t. Go through Absarokee. It’s so scenic.”
When I asked directions, she said, “Well, just go down here and turn,” her hand sweeping to the right. “Do that, and then turn this way,” her arm swinging left. “That’ll take you through Absarokee and Roscoe.”

RIDING THE BEARTOOTH

While her guiding skills may have been a little dull, her eye for beauty was sharp. Highway 78 was ranch after beautiful ranch against a backdrop of snow-dusted peaks. Just stunning. I also got mixed messages from her and another resident about the Beartooth Highway. She said it was closed due to snow; the other thought it would be open by the time I arrived. But even when I passed an LED sign reading “HWY 12 CLOSED AT STATELINE,” I did not turn back. First, I reasoned, the sign might be out of date; and second, even if I could only ride half its length, I’d enjoy it a second time in reverse. I hadn’t come all this way to not ride the All-American Road that some have called the most beautiful drive in America.

The pavement was perfect with plenty of switchbacks and steep climbs into the jagged Beartooth mountains. The sweeping views were soul-filling. As feared, however, at 39.5 km, I approached the state line and a padlocked iron gate. Snow lined the shoulders, but the road seemed passable. So, I dropped the kickstand and walked..