THE HIGH COUNTRY.

7/13/18 (Originally)

Okay. Two things.This is the first post I am attempting to write using voice to text; and I am doing this post out of order because I want to get it down as quickly as I can - there are several posts still being edited that come between the "bang bang kiss kiss" post and this. Also, if you are reading this first please notice that I have finished editing "bang bang kiss kiss" and added photographs. Yes, I know that it has been almost a week - I'm just exhausted. God, am I exhausted.

I realize now, thinking about it, that yesterday is a day I have been anticipating since I first conceived of this journey. Although Pirsig does not mention it by name, it is clear from reading the book that the route they follow take them over the Beartooth Pass. Now, if you are motorcyclist, you know that the Beartooth Highway is on the the "top three roads to ride" list of any motorcyclist. The Tail of the Dragon on the border between North Carolina and Tennessee is another, and the third will vary, probably, depending on where the motorcyclist lives. I have now ridden two of the three, and I can tell you, with no lack of certainty, that if I had to do one again (and again) it would be the Beartooth Highway. One of the challenges of riding the highway, is, of course, that it is only possible about three months out of the year: when we traversed the pass, I saw some of the heavy machinery, off to the side of the road, that they used to clear the pass when it becomes possible, and let me tell you: that is some seriously heavy equipment. But, anyway, I have been posting (on Facebook) some shares from "ZMMQuality: On Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" a Facebook page to which I belong.

Photo of Chris, John and Sylvia at Beartooth Pass
ZMM Quality

They have been posting every day since the anniversary of the beginning of Pirsig's ride and there is a photo there from their time, going across the Beartooth pass. Pirsig really launches into the philosophical portion of the book at this point, and it becomes clear that he is drawing an analogy between the "High Country" and what he calls the "High Country of the Mind"

It all makes sense now.

In this place, one has access to what C.S. Lewis referred to as "The Numinous" - a sense of the divine that transcends morality, and simply inspires awe (and, if one is lucky, I think, gratitude).

Red Lodge - a charming "frontier" town.

Yesterday began cool, (what a relief!) I had stopped in Laurel, but I made my way to Red Lodge

John and Marcus at breakfast. I was late, and they were very patient.

to meet Elspeth Payne's friend Randy, and to meet the two other motorcyclists with whom I have occasionally joined on the road: Marcus and John. We are taking different approaches to following Pirsig's passage, but we are also equally aghast that we have not found any other motorcyclists following Pirsig's  route, as far as we can tell on the 50th anniversary of the ride. I suppose we three are the ultimate effete  ninnies of the motorcycling world.  At any rate, on the recommendation of Randy, we all met at the red Lodge Café for a 

hearty breakfast. I hope I remembered to get a photograph of the unbelievably tacky sign outside the café. We enjoyed our breakfast and Randy joined us when we were near completion. We all sat and chatted (as I have been unable to with anyone else - more on that later -  about the state of world affairs. And then Marcus and John headed off on their bikes immediately. I took a brief tour of Red Lodge with Randy who was kind enough to direct me to a Trail outfitters, where I could get a bedroll - I have been traveling with only a sleeping pad to put it inside my tent, and do not have a sleeping bag and Randy was concerned that my neck would be exposed on our trip over the pass, so I am now the proud owner of a BUFF - (Google it).

Randy in front of the bank that Butch Cassidy utterly failed to rob.

But I was also fortunate enough to get a sort of backpackers quilt that I can use as a bed cover should I decide to camp - which, given the cost of motel rooms in this part of the world, I think I will be doing soon.


At any rate, as I noted in the previous blog post I was, upon arriving in Laurel, able to discern the mountains in the distance above the foothills: a ghostly shadow, delineating what I realized would be the first real mountains I have ever seen in my life, hovering over the clear outlines of the foothills. As one nears Red Lodge, they grow in one's field of view precipitously, but, at first for someone who has lived in Central Maryland and traveled extensively up-and-down West Virginia, my response was "meh" - I've seen mountains before.

This looks like West Virginia - what's the big dea-

Oh.

Oh.

They just keep getting bigger.

And bigger.

It doesn't take long for that "meh" impression to be completely and forever dispelled - as we begin to rise up, the majesty of the mountains surrounding us is genuinely awe-inspiring - and those who know me know: I don't say that easily. Additionally,  the realization that we are going to be climbing those (on a motorcycle) is a little bit terrifying. But, the Beartooth Highway is as enjoyable a road for a motorcyclist as one can imagine.

And I realize that if only briefly, on this entire journey,  for ONE day I am going to be the envy of every motorcyclist here. I have endured a constantly sore butt, horrible back spasms and pain,
joint aches and pains in my elbows and shoulders, you name it, all because I chose to bring the bike I brought, that most motorcyclists, who have chosen far more suitable machines for their long-distance trek, do not have to endure - but for one brief day, I am going to be traveling the roads for which my machine was actually designed. And I lick my chops with anticipation.

Beyond that,  words literally fail - something else that will sound odd, coming from me... but:

Following will be the pictures that I was able to take with my phone while I travel the highway, bridged the Pass and came back down. There will be far better photos up on the photograph site, because for the first time, I regularly employed my grown-up camera, and getting those to the web will be more time consuming than this post permits.

Nothing else can possibly do justice to the vistas surrounding the roads I traveled. It is simply one of the two most beautiful places I have ever been (the other being The Dingle Peninsula of Ireland, and parenthetically, in many ways for the same reasons)

But for now I'm going to shut up. I leave you to the photographs.

This is one of those times that I missed a real opportunity - this couple was lovely (they took the picture of me above - and they live in Peoria. I am going THROUGH Peoria - on the way home, in theory - so if I had gotten contact info, I could have met up with them, assuming they were home before me. 

I'm thinking of doing a picture book of the journey - if I do, this will be the last page: sunset selfie.

            (Note: it did...)