Yellowstone Day 2 September 22, 2025
Today started out gray and dripping, the kind of morning where even the birds sounded soggy. At 7 a.m., Rick leaned over and asked if I minded him heading out to look for elk without me. Best news I’d heard all day—though it was only 7:10. I settled in with my coffee and finished up Yellowstone Day 1 while the rain tapped on the roof.
Right as I shut down the laptop, Rick walked back in like we’d choreographed it. We ate breakfast, gave each other the “now what?” look, and decided to try something new: the TV. We’d never had electricity and Wi-Fi at the same time on a camping trip. Amazon Prime and a random movie later, the sun finally decided to show up.
I convinced Rick we needed a “quick” run to Gardiner. Quick, of course, meant a couple hours, a detour through road construction, and the long way back. We stopped at camp, used the facilities, and then—Rick got that familiar glint in his eye—the one that means, “Let’s see where this road goes.” I should know better by now, but I climbed in anyway. Off we went up Cinnabar Basin Road.
At first, it was just your everyday washboard. Annoying, but harmless. Then the real ride began. The potholes got deeper, big enough to swallow a hubcap, and the stream we were following darted from one side of the road to the other like it was trying to warn us off. Each time we crossed a bridge, I couldn’t help but wonder: Will it still be standing when we come back?
The further we went, the lonelier it felt. The road narrowed until I started praying we wouldn’t meet another vehicle. Around one curve, a mirror had been bolted to a tree so drivers could see what was barreling toward them. Nothing says “relax and enjoy the scenery” like a mirror that screams, good luck if someone’s coming the other way.
The signs didn’t help either. Do Not Enter. Private Property. Lazy M Mountain Cabins. McDonald Lodge and Cabins. Guest cabins? Out here? Whoever was renting them must either love solitude or have nerves of steel. Personally, I just wondered how anyone survived the daily drive.
Old cabins slouched off to the side of the road, windows dark, roofs sagging—like ghosts waiting for someone foolish enough to wander by. I couldn’t tell if they were abandoned or just holding their breath until we left. Every bend felt like it might be the last before we had to turn back, except there was nowhere wide enough to turn around.
Finally, just when I thought we’d be backing down the mountain in reverse, the road spit us out into a wide, open basin. Sunlight poured across rolling hills dotted with houses, and there it was—McDonald Lodge, looking downright civilized after that climb.
Rick and I both laughed, partly out of relief. Sure, if we had millions and our own helicopter, this would be paradise. But for now? I’ll take the ground-level view, thank you very much.
Heading down felt easier, almost friendly. It’s funny how the unknown can tighten your stomach, while the same twists and turns feel safe once you know what’s waiting at the bottom.
Another day in the books. Still no elk bugle, but hey—at least I got a story out of it.
It says AI Generated because I used an app on my phone to erase a couple fence posts
