Bison, Evangelists and Teddy Bears

I'm in Cody, one of Wyoming's ten largest cities, at a stunning 8,000 people. Yellowstone was beautiful and great and all the adjectives you'd expect. I came within about fifteen feet of a truly massive specimen of bison, while it was crossing the road; I'll tell you that the empty space of air that exists between a 2,000 pound bison and a person sitting on a bicycle seems quite a bit smaller than said animal and a car. The few seconds of mutual consideration that we shared was enough time to play through just about every imaginable outcome in my mind, many all of which, at that moment, involved me getting trampled; fortunately, I think Mr. Bison was thinking about the grass on the other side of the road. Oh, how I love the ruminant mind.

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone fame

I met my first evangelist while camping in the park. Two other cyclists my age were camped there, doing pretty much the same trip as me (except backwards), and we spent the evening together. It was impressive how quickly the conversation turned to god, and kept on coming back to god no matter what we talked about, and how god is missing from my life, and everyone else who hasn't accepted Jesus into their hearts. I argued for a bit, but quickly realized that there was little point in doing so, because you can't reason with lack of reason. They wanted us all to spend some time hiking the next day (me and some other women camped nearby who were on a cross-country road trip), but I graciously made a hasty exit come morning. I'm happy for them that their beliefs inspire them so, but the minute that they start telling me what I'm doing wrong with my life, it just becomes insulting and offensive. Ugh. I hope I don't meet many more of those. Nice guys, though.

Geysers: more proof of the existence of God

The weather has been wildly unpredictable, with ten-minute storms with the ferocity of a hurricane blowing through without warning. Last night I shared a campsite in Shoshone Canyon (just east of Yellowstone) with a grisly, gun-toting motorcyclist from Utah named Chuck (who, by the way, slept in an adorable pair of jammies with a well-worn teddy bear). Just as I was getting ready for bed, I found myself in the most intense windstorm of my life. It scooted Chuck (who was inside his unstaked tent) across the ground. With my tarp almost acting like a sail, I'm shocked that it didn't get torn away, or at least torn up some, but it did an impressive job of keeping me dry. As I was falling asleep, I gladly realized that the wind was blowing in the direction I was headed. (Of course, come morning, it had turned into a headwind.)

I'm going to be making my way more or less across northern Wyoming, but I'm not really sure what I'll do when I get to the east side of the state; if I'm not careful, I'll end up in Sturgis just in time for the biggest motorcycle rally in the world, which, if possible, I would prefer to avoid like the plague. We'll see what happens...