Daily Readings

Jackson Hole, Wyoming

I’m perched on a picnic table above the Snake River donating blood.  The reflection in my computer screen shows a little log cabin.  The view over my computer shows a rock beach, the Snake River (*) and a small mountain range (by Teton standards) preparing to play hide the sun.  I have no cell phone service, but somehow Wifi is available. 

As I stood at the Check in counter (*) sweating in my full motorcycle gear, the woman informed me that all of the cabins were booked, however she had a tent site along the river.  As I was paying for the tent site, the phone rang, she said “I’m sorry to hear that – no problem”, and just like that a cabin was available.

It seemed a fitting end to another great day.

Speaking of fit, I have to tell you a quick story about “THE” hat and “THE” shirt.  Two years ago I found the perfect hat and t-shirt in Jackson Hole.  Carrie was with me and witnessed firsthand the agony of my decision making process when I WANT something but don’t NEED it. I certainly did NOT need another hat or another shirt, nor did I have room for souvenirs on the motorcycle.  And perhaps the most compelling argument was the fact that I already had a hat (my Corona hat) that fit perfectly.   I chose to walk away empty handed. 

Well, on my home from Jackson Hole in 2007 that perfect fitting Corona hat blew off the motorcycle somewhere between Albuquerque, New Mexico and Amarillo, Texas.  I was hatless for nearly two years, because nothing seemed to fit as well as “THE” hat in Jackson Hole.  I could be patient.

While in Yosemite, my patience gave out and bought a hat.  It was close enough.  So I ceremoniously dipped the hat in an alpine lake in California, and we have been bonding since.

Welcome to Jackson Hole!  And you can guess where I went first.  I drove nearly a half mile trying to find a parking space.  As usual it was directly in front of the hat store.  My initial pass through the store brought me right back to that agonizing decision process.  Only this time it was much worse.  My agony was due to the fact that couldn’t remember which hat it was…   So I try to call Carrie, who is in a meeting.   I leave and go to lunch.  Carrie calls back, finds out I have left the store again empty-handed, and tells me she will kick my @#$ if I don’t go back and buy a hat and t-shirt.

I go back to the store and find the t-shirt immediately.  The hat remains elusive.  I explained my dilemma to the young woman working.  She is polite and offers to help with my ordeal.  As I tried on nearly every hat, she kept shaking her head.  (I wasn’t sure if this was because the hat wasn’t right, or because of my reason for being there…)  In the end, I walked away without a hat.  I know…I’ll deal with Carrie later. 

In many ways that hat is much like our purpose.  There is a perfect fit for each of us.  However, I think that sometimes in our quest to find our purpose, we forget there is great purpose in the quest itself…

Geoff Glibbery

Canyon Village, Yosemite National Park, Wyoming.

Sometimes it pays to read the fine print.  When I bought that fancy tent at a discount, I did not notice that it said “contains tent, poles, and rain fly”.  So here I am in the middle of Yellowstone erecting a tent that does not have tent stakes. 

After looking into an empty bag three times to make sure it was still empty, I decided I would have to make do.  I put some rocks on the corners and strategically placed all of my stuff on the inside.  For the record, there is nothing wrong with that plan.  However, in placing these heavy objects, I didn’t realize one of them was resting on the mouth piece of the camelbak hydration system. (This is a nifty little backpack that has a hose which allows me to drink water when riding the motorcycle.)

So while I was at dinner, nearly 2.5 liters of water leaked out of the mouth piece in the hydration system and ran ever-so slightly downhill to collect in my sleeping bag.

If you have been camping then you know that the first night of camping is always miserable.  You wake up a lot, and you can’t get comfortable.  By contrast, the second night of camping is amazing – probably because you are so tired.  Regardless, by any standard, a wet sleeping bag makes for a miserable first night of camping. A cold wet sleeping bag raises things up a notch.

The actual temperature INSIDE the tent was 29 degrees.  Yes, 2-9.  I used my motorcycle seat cushion as a pillow and my suit as a blanket.  I randomly placed the travel size camping pillow under whatever part of me hurt the most each time I rolled over.  It was both a long and short night.

The cafeteria opened for breakfast at 6 am.  I walked/shivered nearly two miles to be the first person in line.  I thanked the employees for getting up so early and then asked if I could sit on the stove.  They politely denied my request, but did suggest I take my coffee into the men’s room and activate the automatic hand dryers.

After eating breakfast with most of Japan, I walked over to the “General Store” in hopes of finding some tent stakes.  I needed 9.  They had 6. Perfect, I could put the rocks back in the landscape.

Here is where things get a little interesting… since then I have packed up and changed camp sites three times.  And when I arrived at each new camp site, there was a single metal tent stake sitting on each picnic table.  I know, pretty cool.  And it’s not like I could pick my camp site.  They are assigned somewhere in Washington DC.   Yes, I know…

So guess what I didn’t find on each of those three days?  That’s right – a pony tail holder.  And now that my tent stake collection is complete… I found one waiting for me this morning right next to the coffee machine.

Why do we worry about things?  They ALWAYS work out like they are supposed to…

                                                                                                                                                                                Geoff Glibbery

Lake Lodge, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

I am sitting in a well used leather chair about 8 feet from a warm stone fireplace in the lobby of a lodge that I am not staying in.  The large glass display case to the right of the fireplace provides a beautiful mirror image of the lake behind me.  I am drinking hot chocolate and recharging my batteries.

Per the Ranger at last night’s show, less than 1% of all visitors to Yellowstone will hike a trail.  This explains the volume of people on the road and at the “attractions”, but it doesn’t explain why…  I have been in the park now for three days and have found myself alone in this vast wilderness a few times.  I think I understand why we stay in our cars.

Yellowstone is a wild place.  With each step down the trail and away from the road you feel more vulnerable.  You don’t have a car to jump into or a motorcycle to speed off on… and as fast as you may run, you will not be fast enough.  All of those warning signs posted throughout the park begin to play in your mind.  Bear, Wolf, Bison, Elk, Coyote… You KNOW they are here, because you have already seen them from a comfortable place.

There is some definite symbolism in getting to a trailhead, knowing there is a path, and still having trouble stepping out into the unknown.

Yet the mind has a beautiful way of adapting to the fear you feel.  Almost immediately all of your senses are heightened.  You begin to hear birds, the wind, and animals squeaking.  You smell things like the grass, the sulpher, and the trees.  Your eyes map the colors around you to see what may not fit the pattern.  A black spot on a green hillside sends warning pulses.  It may just be a stump. It may move.

You are engaged and interacting with your entire environment.  It is in this state that you feel the most alive.  And it happens less than a few hundred yards from 99% of the people. 

If you have the fortune of visiting Yellowstone, I would encourage you to take just one hike.  It doesn’t have to be a long one either.  Leave the camera in the car and just walk.  For a brief moment you will go from visiting Yellowstone, to being a visitor.

Geoff Glibbery 

FYI – Microsoft does not like the way I have spelled sulpher.  If this is an incorrect spelling then please substitute the phrase “naturally occurring rotten egg smell”. J

Canyon Village, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

A bear-proof container is often child-proof as well.  As I was walking from my tent to the men’s room, I noticed a young girl (maybe 5) with a handful of garbage.  She was on her tiptoes and had one arm over her head extended as far as it would go.  Even in this position she was still a foot short of opening that container.  I walked over to her and said” hey, would you like some help with that?”

She took one look at me, dropped everything on the ground, and screamed bloody hell.  She then ran back to her campsite, where her mom was already in route.

I don’t know for sure how many campers watched me bend over, pick up the trash, and put it in the bear proof container… but when I turned around to take shelter in the bathroom, the little girl’s brother (maybe 10) walked up to me.  He said “Sorry about that.  She’s just afraid of scary people.”

That was the moment that I decided to find a razor.

This facial hair was not an experiment or a desire to feel more rugged… it was actually a combination of being cheap and a mechanical mistake.… When I started the trip I purchased a set of 5 bargain razors.  They have all since broken.  I still had my electric razor (for haircuts should I decided to stay even longerJ) but it was in need of some oil.  Home Depot in Kansas told me to try WD-40 and the razor has not worked since.  

It was time.  Time for another trip to the “general store” and a few extra minutes in front of the mirror…  I’m ok with the many perceptions associated with rolling up covered in bugs and held together by bungee cords, but I don’t want to be that scary guy…

Geoff Glibbery

West Yellowstone, Montana

A man was sitting on a bench in front of the Exxon station.  The closed sign on the door indicated it had been that way for several years.  “Son, those clouds on the horizon are snow clouds. I smell an early winter…”  I knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “How many years have you been predicting the weather from this bench?”  He smiled and said “Many years son… many years.”  We chatted about some random stuff and then I asked him for some local advice.  I wanted to know where to get a decent meal at a decent price.  He pointed down the block and told me to sit at the bar.

I walked down the wooden sidewalk, crossed the street, and went thru the front door to the bar. While the tables were packed, the bar was completely empty.  I sat down, asked for a dinner menu, and ordered a big glass of water. 

Rachel, the woman tending the bar, said she would take care of me and then assured me I was sitting where all of the fun happens.  I glanced again at the empty stools and wondered where this might be going… 

My limited perception of bartenders is that they are excellent listeners and they multi-task really well. While Rachel was very good at multi-tasking, I am less certain of her ability to listen.  She spent most of the night talking…

I think I may have started it with “So how has your day been?”  My bad.  It must have come out “So tell me about your whole life and please don’t leave out the part about your abusive relationships, the fire in New Orleans, and the long winters in Wyoming that led to heavy drinking.”

The arrival of my grilled trout seemed like a natural stopping point… or so I thought. 

Instead Rachel leaned in and got much closer.  She then told me what she had been waiting all night to say…  She said when she hit rock bottom … God spoke to her. 

He told her to move into town and get involved.  She and her husband found a trailer to rent.  The landlord was a Southern Baptist minister.  She is now the youth leader and is responsible for community outreach (fitting for a bartender).  She prays every day from 12 to 1 (like get down on your knees wherever you are and pray).  She doesn’t grocery shop at lunch anymore because that dropping to your knees like that can make people uncomfortable…  She showed me her intricate crucifixion tattoo and explained that the pain she felt was nothing compared to his pain.

She said when God talks to you, he doesn’t just want you to listen… he wants you to do something.

When I left the bar two hours later I walked back by the bench where the man had been sitting…  He was no longer there.  I shook my head and wondered… had he ever really been there?  I don’t know, but in the midst of those pending snow clouds… I knew I had just gotten much more than a decent meal at a decent price.

                                                                                                                                                                             Geoff Glibbery

Missoula, Montana

The first one I picked up was at the gas station, just outside the restroom.  And then every day since then I have picked up another, in strange and random places.  My collection now totals eight. 

They are pony-tail holders.  The thin kind, not the kind that fit around your gear shift.

I picked up the first one, because pony-tail holders are like duct tape.  They are universal and have unlimited applications.  I should have thought to pack one, but I didn’t, and here it was… 

I think Brian was a little overwhelmed by the odd and bizarre ways in which this stuff happens, but in the end he was quite effective at finding the daily nugget.  We found a pony tail holder while hiking in the woods.  We found one on the first floor roof – from our second floor window.  We found one at the pool next to my chair, in the parking lot of an ice cream shop, on a bench at the Park Café…. 

As Brian and I were trying to record some memories from the week, I asked him about the pony-tail holders.  Why in the world am I collecting them?  And where is the message?  We both agreed that my hair was not long enough to use them; but, there were some possibilities for “why” I had a collection.

1. It could provide a mechanical solution to a problem.
2. I may encounter someone that needs one or two.  (just looking out for a fellow traveler)
3. It could be used to sustain pressure in the event of a first aid issue.
4. If the wind blows hard, it may be all that holds together my “bargain tent”.
5. It could be combined with a sturdy spoon and a small glacial stone to take down a bear on the Iceberg Trail.

And the message?

1. It could be a reminder of the circle of life.
2. It could be a reminder of God’s never ending love.
3. It could be a reminder to stretch ourselves.
4. It could be a reminder that woman lose things.  Brian said he did not need this reminder, it has been ingrained over the past 20 years.

Regardless, the moment of truth came as I was filling the UPS box with things to send home.  My goal was to “lighten my load”.  Should I put some, all, or none of the pony-tails in the box?  I decided to keep them.  All of them.  Worst case I will ride into Tennessee with a visual reminder that my life is filled with stuff that I don’t need…   

Until then, I can cling to the notion that someone will need them.  Our lives are full of things that others may need… and not just material things.  Our time and energy are needed as well.  And the beauty of giving those things away is that each time we do… it makes our load that much lighter.

Geoff Glibbery

Whitefish, Montana

Mrs. Spoonover’s Ice cream café in Whitefish is currently in violation of the city’s regulations.  And Judy, the owner, doesn’t seem to care.  She likes the mural painted on her outside wall.

At first glance, Judy is the grandmother that scoops ice cream and serves award winning soup.   Her café is family run, has less than 1000 sq feet, maybe 5 tables, and everything (including price tags) is handwritten.  I don’t mind telling you that I made four trips to Mrs. Spoonover’s café during a three day period.  I felt welcome there.

Brian and I became known as “the boys” – What are you boys going to do today? Did you go to that place I told you about yesterday?  Are your legs feeling any better?  Did you enjoy your meal at the bistro? Did you go to that bar and sit with the guys wearing big hats and big belt buckles?  No? Well you should have, it’s quite fun.

So when Judy suggested we attend the Thursday night outdoor rodeo in Columbia Falls, we had to go….  Not because we are big rodeo fans, but because we knew there would be a quiz at breakfast in the morning.  And besides, given the unknown status of my motorcycle, it seemed like a good place to find transportation.

We arrived to a packed grand stand and limited parking.  Nothing screams “visitor” like wearing a baseball hat to a rodeo.  I thought that if we bought a bud light, we might blend in better…  I even smudged a little horse duke-y on my hiking boots. No one really noticed.

The event itself was exactly as Judy said – “best people watching in town.”  This was by far the largest collection of REAL cowboys (and cowgirls) that I have ever had the privilege of sharing a bleacher with… It was like Friday night bowling, only they roped calves (as a team) and rode bulls (big and little).

Lavonda had a Canon camera, a Montana story, and was part owner of the largest bull in the arena.  Drinkin and Dreamin was the bull’s name.  She was sitting next to Brian.  In the end, only one person rode their bull the whole 8 seconds (and he was upside down when the whistle blew.)   Lavonda said that was pretty typical, as these guys are all just getting started.

On several occasion I projected myself into the situation.  Not as a participant (those skills come from growing up in the saddle) but maybe as the clown in the red pants, or the overly energetic announcer on the PA system, or as the cowboy moving calves from the east gate to the west gate.  I think I respected him the most.  A quiet man moving cattle.

After nearly a week of being catered to as “the tourist”, it was really nice to get a glimpse of the real culture out here.  I was left with the impression that pride, class, and a deep respect for the past are alive and well in “the west”.   Next time I’ll enter the Blue Moon Bar and saunter over to the big hat/ big belt buckle region.  It’s nice to know that on some level we all have something in common…                      

Geoff Glibbery

Whitefish, MT

My face is having a really bad hair day.

They (and I have never met them) say the first sentence is the door to any story.  It needs to be interesting, welcoming, captivating, and enticing… all those things that would encourage you to read more.  According to my brother in law, I should have gone with “the first girl I really dated was built to be a breeder…”   True, but maybe not relevant to today.

My last update was Saturday August 9, 2009 from Butte, MT.  It was an uncharacteristically emotional morning, followed by a cold but beautiful ride, and then a humbling afternoon.   Since then I have transitioned to vacation mode and spent some time hiking and photographing Glacier National Park. 

Prior to last Saturday, my days consisted of routes that traversed some of the more remote areas of our country.  If there was a dot on the map, it meant a gas station, a post office, a stray dog, and a café.  The distance between these dots was several hours of uninterrupted horizon. 

If you saw the picture, then you know I had a mechanical problem.  While it was very obvious something was wrong, it didn’t seem possible that I could have gotten this lucky.  The failure happened right in front of a huckleberry stand.  We were just minutes from three towns (in each direction).  We were four miles removed from the airport, where Brian had already picked up the rental car.  He was 30 yards behind me.  It could not have happen any better than it did…

 The motorcycle is now three hrs away at the BMW dealer pending a logical reason for why the rear wheel came to a grinding halt… the time frame for fixing it has not been mentioned.  I will tell you the process of transitioning from highspeed to shoulder ornament was quite painless.  And to be honest with you, I am still too humbled by how the whole thing unfolded to put words on it.  I just don’t know how one person can be this blessed…

What I do know, is that Brian leaves Saturday.  This means I shift from vacation mode to a horseless traveler in this great northwest.  History is pretty clear about the guys that were horseless.  And even more clear about the guys that had NO horse and NO departure date.  They called them settlers… 

As a newly deemed settler in the great northwest, I should probably start looking for some work.  I know just the place… It’s called the Wild Rose Huckleberry Stand.  I drove 4000 miles to stop in their front of their business… I should probably explore the reason.

                                                                                                                                                Geoff Glibbery