Our National Parks and bicycles seem to have a rather bizarre love-hate relationship, and you need to look no further than the park system’s own marketing twist on the subject:
“Biking through national parks is a great way to see beautiful scenery and discover new places,” it reads on the NPS website. “Cyclists can travel by roads (which are sometimes car-free!) and, in some parks, on select trails. There are many places in parks that cars cannot go, but you can cover more ground and visit new places on a bike.”
That’s about as vague as one can be, right?
I mean, it doesn’t really say that bikes can go in those “many places in parks that cars cannot go.” And while it says cyclists can travel on select trails, well, at least that’s better than years ago when it was a straight up bikes are prohibited on all trails at national parks, although I’ve yet to find one bike-friendly trail.
I’ve pedaled around many national parks — Grand Canyon, Zion, Glacier, Crater Lake, Yosemite and Yellowstone, just to name a few. Without question motor vehicle traffic is the greatest danger especially since, well, there’s a lot to look at and keeping an eye open for a bike rider can get overlooked.
But the wildlife dangers loom, too.
There are places where only shuttle buses, not cars, are allowed, and bikes are. That’s cool.
So I’ve had some success in some national parks, and have come away with some grand memories. Such was the case when we made our first visit to Yellowstone years ago.
Without question, the very first thing anyone should do upon arriving at Yellowstone is watch the introductory video at the Ranger’s Station. Before you venture out to play where the Buffalo roam, you should see first-hand how one of those cuddly Bisons can rip apart a car with ease if properly motivated, er, agitated.
Yet my favorite Ranger tidbit came when the Ranger’s welcome discussion moved to Bears. The Ranger said many people ask, how you can tell the difference between a Black Bear and a Brown Bear, aka, Grizzly? He said this:
If you encounter a Bear and climb a tree to get away, the Black Bear will climb up after you. The Grizzly will simply swat the tree down with one swing of its massive paw.
Timber!!
Back to the Bisons. I felt pretty confident that simply riding past a Bison or two on my bike wouldn’t ignite a hellacious response. Heck, they say only one or two visitors get attacked each year. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thought, but I stood by it.
Riding through the Hayden Valley felt other worldly. It didn’t take long for the vehicular traffic to slow to a standstill as they stopped to gawk at the magnificent beasts and, of course, stop when they decided to cross the road.
At first it felt great, continuing on at my own gentle pace, gazing at the Bisons from afar. As I pedaled on, more appeared closer to the road, grazing in the ditch, and my heart-rate climbed even though my pace remained steady.
Eventually there were Bison just off the road, less than 10 feet from me, with me, of course, penned in-between the Bison and the onlookers in the relative safety of their vehicles.
Soon one became two, two became a few and eventually a few became a small herd. Bison everywhere, which meant that I couldn’t keep a watchful eye on all of them.
That’s when the concept of watchful eyes sprung to life in my head. I studied the many icy brown eyes as I passed by, finding it impossible to discern if they were looking at their meal, or me, or if those were one in the same.
For the most part the Bison stood absolutely motionless and as I peered into more and more of those eyes my never-let-me-down nutty sense of humor began playing “round and round the mulberry bush …” in my head, waiting for the surprise attack.
Ratcheting up the anxiety were the various folks leaning out open car windows, including kids, teenagers and most pressing: excitable canines.
A wave of fear overcame me.
This is about the time when you’re in nature and you recall someone sometime somewhere telling you about the stunning ability of many animals to “smell fear.”
The conga line of cars stretched as far as I could see ahead of me, and aside from asking someone to toss my bike in the back of a pickup truck, I had no option but to continue onward.
I glided past eventually mesmerized by their stunning beauty that soothed my fears. At one point I had to roll to a stop as a couple crossed the road in front of me, sauntering carefree knowing full well they held the upper hand.
When a cow with her calf close to her side stepped gingerly across the road just 20 feet in front of me, I felt some sort of primal connection.
The masses continued their migration to the vast fields away from the road. The traffic resumed and I rolled on, not really sure how much time I spent under their spell. I just knew it was a spell I’ve remember forever.
Time to ride
