Grubbiness be gone. Wallowing in the hot springs in Thermopolis (city and state park in one) was a relaxing, warming, cleansing experience. Allegedly the world’s largest mineral hot springs, although I googled it and it would seem it’s not the only hot springs to lay claim to that title. (If you’re interested, the two other main contenders seemed to be Frying Pan Springs, near Rotarua, New Zealand and Glenwood Hot Springs in Colorado, US).

Our search for middle of nowhere camping continued. As the drone shows, we rather excelled ourselves in Boysen state park with a scenic spot by the reservoir, otherwise deserted for miles around.

Such a photogenic spot to try to capture the lovely fading dusk light and the sunset.

Our last week in Wyoming was spent in Laramie. Camping for the week was a standard pack-em-in KOA RV park so nothing special, but worked out just fine. Some nice skies here too.

It didn’t take long to realize that wall art on buildings in downtown Laramie is a thing. So much so, they even have a suggested do it yourself tour to see the main murals. The recommended route spans maybe a mile and a half as it sweeps back and forward taking in the sights, and get this, it was suggested as a driving tour. Wow, they must be expecting some seriously lazy tourists in Laramie.

And there’s no forgetting you’re still in Wyoming.

Laramie gave us some decent walking with the Cirrus Sky trail and the nearby Medicine Bow national forest.

We also checked out Vedauwoo (still struggling with the pronunciation on that one), a scenic area with striking rock formations. It reminded us of Joshua Tree National Park (without the Joshua trees).

And just like that – with Yellowstone, Cody and Laramie down it was time to say our goodbyes to Wyoming, next stop Colorado.

“Is there anyone from Texas out there?” hollered the rodeo compere. Small sections of the crowd yelled acknowledgment. “Howdy y’all!”.

“Anyone from Minnesota here tonight?” A similar response from the crowd and a warm greeting from the compere: “How y’all doin’?”

“Any Californians out there?” Roar of approval and enthusiastic foot stomping from the audience. “Hey you Californians, welcome to America!”

“And welcome y’all to Cody, Wyoming, Rodeo capital of the world!!!”

Being at a rodeo felt just so delightfully and stereotypically American. Gutted I didn’t have my cowboy hat with me. And you’ve gotta love how the US claim global dominance in a field that barely exists outside its boundaries. Still, we were in cowboy country and we were embracing it.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a rodeo. From bucking broncos to bull riding, and steer wrestling to barrel racing, it was certainly entertaining. There were some spectacular falls and more lassos than you could shake a stick at.

But the highlight of the night was when all the kids in the audience (aged 12 and under) were invited into the arena. The host patiently explained what would happen next. Two cows with red ribbons attached to their tails would be released into the arena. The children’s task would be to remove said ribbons from said cows’ tails (while leaving the tails themselves on the cows). With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, I caught Darren’s eye as we wondered what they were really going to do.

Sure enough, into the stadium came two (not full grown) cows, flashes of red visible on their tails. Bring on the It’s a Knockout/Hunger Games version of Pin The Tail on the Donkey. The crowd of marauding kids ran like zombies on a mission to chase the cows down. And those cows weren’t hanging around.

I was quite relieved when two young boys emerged victorious, claimed their prize of a free burger & fries and just like that, the stampede was over. Wonder what the cows had to say to each other before they retired for the night?

The Wild West theme continued into our campsite, perched above Buffalo Bill reservoir just a few miles out of Cody, in Buffalo Bill State Park. Fab spot to spend a week, and we even inadvertently met up with another BaseCamp.

Some of our morning walks took us into what felt like the heart of cowboy country.

And we couldn’t leave Cody without experiencing the old town street gunfight, apparently “this free & entertaining shoot-out is listed as a ‘must see’ on the list of things to do in Cody”. We armed ourselves with a beer from the historic Buffalo Bill’s Irma hotel but even that couldn’t save what at best was a tragically amateur performance.

Nevertheless, I certainly felt like I came, I saw and I experienced Cody cowboy country.

Helena is the state capital of Montana, who knew. Formerly a gold rush town in the late 1800s, it is now an unassuming college town with a population around 30,000.

Notably, we arrived in Helena prior to Memorial Day weekend, when spring turns to summer across the US and with a flick of a switch every man and his dog want to go camping. For this very reason, we’d already made reservations for all of June. But for now, in Helena, we thought we’d be good.

We rocked up on Monday night after work to the Lewis & Clark County Fairgrounds. Side note, a fairground over here has nothing to do with roller coasters, Ferris wheels and bumper cars. It’s more what we call a showground in the UK. They often have a rural campground and are generally centrally located to boot.

Unfortunately for us, the campground was roped off and the place was deserted. We pulled over to consider what plan B might be. Out of nowhere, a security guard zoomed over in his car with flashing yellow lights. Uh-oh, are we in trouble?

The guy could not have been more helpful. He opened up the campground for us, explaining that they rope it off to stop the boy racers using it as a midnight racetrack.

For us, it turned out to be a very spacious, tranquil spot for the week.

Helena had its fair share of morning walks to choose from, with flat calm lakes and open meadows in Spring Meadow State Park, and a steep ascent up Mount Helena, with fantastic 360 views.

The co-working space was abuzz with the latest headline on the local news site: Two moose take a stroll through Helena fairgrounds. Of course not while we were in the vicinity, but maybe the BaseCamp saw them wander past.

Obviously, we made it to a couple of local craft breweries in Helena: Ten Mile Creek and Lewis & Clark brewing.

The Beartooth Scenic Highway climbs over 5,000 ft through the Rockies, winding its way through lodgepole pine forests with switchbacks to rival the most precarious mountain roads in the Swiss Alps. Not quite our most direct route south after leaving Helena but hey, this is supposed to be a road trip. And we were in luck, the road had just opened for the season the day before.

All that remained was to find a boondocking spot for the night (ideally somewhere slightly warmer than the Beartooth pass), and chill out by the river.

Early start to hit Yellowstone the next day, to hopefully get there before the multitude of other holiday weekend tourists. It was below freezing, and for some reason Darren chose to de-ice the truck windows in his t-shirt.

The Lamar Valley in Yellowstone never disappoints. More than its fair share of bison and at this time of year, cute little calves lolloping along trying to keep up with the herd.

No wolves on our hike in the valley, but plenty of bison and pronghorn deer.

After an hour’s drive into the park and a six mile hike, it was time for breakfast. Found a quiet spot, and out came the grill.

With the remaining drive south through the National Park, that’s when we hit The Real Yellowstone. Otherwise known as The Bison Traffic Jam. Anyone would think they own the place.

Because the nature of our nomadic lifestyle revolves around finding co-working offices (not to mention breweries), we inevitably find ourselves in proper campgrounds. Some times we get lucky camping in a state park by the lake, but then you can’t beat a good boondocking spot in the middle of nowhere.

After leaving Whitefish, we found ourselves an awesome remote spot for the weekend. On the far side of the river: Glacier National Park. On our side of the river: National Forest land, home to the most perfect rustic camping spot, right on the riverbank, surrounded by nature.

With a little stone fire ring already in place, Darren thought it would be a shame to waste it, even though it was still pretty warm out.

And then the sky itself caught fire.

After a week of nightly rumbling, screeching and earthquake-like vibrations in Whitefish, it was such a relief to not be within earshot of those damn trains. Although as far as a good night’s sleep was concerned, the local mice had other ideas. So much smaller than a train but just as mighty. Been there, done that, not going to regale you with any more mouse trapping stories.

Talking of wildlife, we spotted a moose the next day on our way into the park.

The scenery on the way into the park was rugged. The stalwart tree remnants of a 2001 forest fire stood sentry, like proud steel-grey spears of invisible soldiers.

Polebridge was the only two shop stop town between us and Glacier NP. Like a one horse town, only smaller. It consisted of 1) the Polebridge Mercantile, proudly established in 1914, selling huckleberry bear claws and other freshly baked goods along with anything else you might want, including locally made Montana mustard or a stuffed mountain goat head.

And 2) The Northern Lights Saloon.

And so, Glacier National Park, here we come. (Again)

The previous weekend we’d done one of the most stunning bike rides ever, in Glacier NP. This weekend, the hike we did in the park could be categorized as not the most stunning hike ever, in fact maybe even the most underwhelming hike of the trip.

It started off promising, with lovely views as we set off from Bowman Lake. Little did we know they were the best (pretty much the only) views we’d get on the whole walk to Lower Quartz Lake and back.

The main problem was fallen trees. To the extent it felt more like an obstacle course than a hike.

The smaller/lower ones (unfortunately a tiny minority), you could merely step over. Job done, no big deal, what you whinging about.

Most however, required various levels of clambering, arms and legs akimbo, trying to avoid the snapped off branch stumps and knots in precarious places. I am not bendy, supple or good at climbing. I am also not quiet when it comes to expressing my dissatisfaction.

Yet other ‘Tree Blocked Trail’ obstacles required limboing under or crawling under, getting way too up close and personal with the other creepy crawlies on the forest floor. At least I had the upper hand over Darren here, my short legs and frame for once an advantage.

When all else failed and it was impossible to go over or under, the only remaining option was to go around, bushwhacking through the jungle (technically the forest but it felt as dense, impenetrable and inhospitable as a jungle).

To distract from this nonsense on the way back, we decided to count the fallen tree obstacles, coming up with a song with the relevant number in the lyrics. Play along with me then… 🎶

1, 2, 3, easy peasy, starting with Robbie Williams “She’s the One”, then Rolf Harris “Two little boys had two little toys”. Followed by “Three blind mice” (and Three Times a Lady… but quite honestly, once I had three blind mice playing on repeat in my head, it took a momentous effort to move on). Got stuck on six, and felt obliged to loosen the rules to allow ‘similar’ words. What should come to mind but Right Said Fred’s “I’m too Sexy for my …”

With cheat rules enabled, we fared quite well up to nineteen “N-n-n-n-nineteen”. After that, the trees were coming thick and fast, erm, the song lyrics not so much. Should have realized we were on to a loser, I mean who sings about 27, let alone 32. Yes indeed, a total of 32 fallen trees. That’s 8 per mile. Or a total of 64 damn trees to negotiate on the full out and back route. (🎵 When I’m 64…)

What we needed after all that palaver was a wee dram to take away the pain. Well, would you look at that, Glacier Distilling. Don’t mind if I do.

Totally looking forward to going to work on Monday if it means not climbing over/under/around any more trees!

Going To The Sun Road meanders through the rocky mountains of Glacier National Park, Montana, crossing through the Continental Divide via Logan Pass, at over 6,500ft elevation. It’s a bucket list item for many with exceptional views.

While some of the lower sections remain open year round, the higher elevation road is closed due to snowfall for most of the year. It doesn’t fully open to drive through the park until late June/early July, depending on weather conditions and ploughing progress. However, there’s a magic window of opportunity in the Spring when it’s part ploughed and open to bikes only. And we found ourselves there in just that window. Anyone would think we’d planned it.

No need for words, the pictures give the full picture. And there’s no shortage of pictures.

Just a hop, skip and a jump from Glacier NP in northwest Montana is the resort town of Whitefish. A cool place to spend the week, and no shortage of scenery and awesome walks here to fit in around work.

The co-working office in the heart of downtown Whitefish was a home away from home – it was actually called Basecamp.

Whitefish marked the two week point after our J&J vaccination and one week after the CDC announced that masks were no longer required for vaccinated people inside as well as outside. At this point, around 40% of the US population was fully vaccinated. But looking around, there was no way 60% of people were wearing masks. Maybe 5% tops.

So basically the CDC’s attempt to incentivize vaccinations by relaxing the rules for vaccinated people backfired. American businesses threw their hands in the air and their toys out of the pram and said we can’t possibly police this. Virtually overnight, it was as if Covid-19 never existed and masks were a thing of the past. Here’s hoping the third wave isn’t just around the corner.

Meanwhile, we settled into our shady woodland campsite at Whitefish Lake State Park. Nice enough little spot, apart from the slight issue of the trains. The train track was mere inches from the BaseCamp. Which meant inches from my head. Trains in the US are ridiculously long and run at all times of the day and night. Each and every one felt like a powerful earthquake, both inside and outside my head. In short, not a good week’s sleep.

And for the birthday boy, no birthday is complete without a brewery. One by one, Darren’s years-old triathlon and event t-shirts are gradually being replaced by brewery attire. He continued this trend with a little number from Bonsai Brewing Project.

Good birthday food and drink also came in the form of Amazing Crepes for brunch. And literally the BEST tacos outside of Mexico, accompanied by jalapeño margaritas.