28. Paige
28
Paige
I understand now why people visit Yellowstone.
The landscape rolls on for miles at a time in all directions, and the sun always seems to know which angle is the best to highlight the beauty of it all. Whoever said Wyoming was flat never visited because it’s full of rocky clefts and deep valleys. Sure, they aren’t mountain peaks covered in evergreens, but they are stunning in their own right, full of different colored rock faces.
Not many people realize—me included—that Montana only claims a sliver of the top portion of the park compared to Wyoming. Sure, Bozeman, Montana, is the best place to fly into, but Wyoming holds the majority of this precious land.
I started in West Yellowstone this morning, holding up the line of cars with no two license plates being the same when I had to hop out and take a selfie with the Yellowstone National Park sign. I wasn’t the only one. Tons of people were snapping photos, even if the background scenery only included a paved road and skinny alders.
Rhodes has never been to Yellowstone, either, so I made sure to send him every photo I took so he could experience it with me—even the blurry ones.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
He’s liked every single one, adding in emojis and voice notes, too.
After pulling off to one of the rest stops inside the park, I hop back in my van and leash up Cleo so she can explore, too. She immediately finds a rock thrice her size to jump on, perched like a killer, ready to pounce on anything that moves.
There’s a waterfall behind the restrooms with a path leading closer. I tug Cleo so I can read the sign and see what I’m looking at, but she refuses to move, chattering to the wildlife that she is armed with claws and ready to destroy something. So I people-watch instead.
The park is incredibly diverse. The stark contrasts of all the different colors and languages are expected now. Full conversations are happening all around without me knowing what they mean. Maybe it’s the land's beauty, or someone has gum on the bottom of their shoe they can’t get off. Oh . And the clothes everyone wears range from designer and brand name to rain poncho—it’s not raining—making for an eclectic mix of people.
I wore my Chacos, jean shorts, and a Yellowstone T-shirt I picked up as a birthday gift to myself at one of the ranger stations. I slipped it on at the last bathroom stop. I’m positive I’ve seen the same one on at least ten different people. But I still smile and throw a thumbs-up of approval when I notice.
Earlier, I spoke to a woman in the checkout line who is from Canada and has visited different parts of Yellowstone every summer for the last ten years. It’s still one of the most magnificent places she’s ever experienced , she touted. Glacier was their favorite stop with icy blue water from the clean mountain run-off.
I’ll have to make a point to go there next year. A promise I make to myself to keep exploring even if I’m settled in life and not traveling in a van.
One thing I wasn’t expecting was how spread out everything is. I likely won’t be able to see everything within the couple of days I have here—a feat that was hard to come by since most campgrounds were already booked—so I’ll have to be particular. Camping near Yellowstone Lake will give me a chance to cover more ground, though.
While Cleocatra makes her chirping noise she only does when hunting, I try to snap a photo and send it to Rhodes, but it won’t go through. The service is spotty, sometimes taking up to fifteen minutes to send one photo. I guess I’ll just have to accept his delayed reaction and enjoy the view in real-time.
Cleo hasn’t moved from her rock, downright refusing, so I scoop her up and decide it’s time to keep going. I overhear someone in line for the bathroom mention a herd of bison just up the way, and I’m eager to see them.
We both get back in the van, buckling in for safety, and pull out of the parking lot. Of course, this is the busy season since the weather is perfect, and the snow from winter is long gone except for perpetually shaded areas on certain peaks, so this takes a while. Once I’m on the two-lane road, the traffic seems to stop completely.
Great .
Cleo is already fast asleep in the backseat, clearly uninterested in the fact I rolled down the passenger window for her. But I hang my arm out mine, tapping a rhythm into the side as I wait to inch forward.
And…nothing.
No movement.
We haven’t moved an inch in twenty minutes. I also haven’t seen any cars pass by us going in the opposite direction. Something’s got to be up.
Before I can investigate, a white and green ranger truck slowly creeps down the other lane with flashing yellow lights and words of encouragement for all of us:
“Do not get out of your vehicles. Bison crossing in progress. I repeat, do not get out of your vehicles.”
Just as he says this, I can see a few large brown heads with protruding horns and long beards at their chins swaying as they walk slowly. The tops of their noggins can be seen over a couple of the cars, and they seem to be taking up both the center of the road and shoulder, boxing our lane of cars in with their imposing bodies.
Naturally, someone decides to get out of their car, doing the exact opposite of what the ranger said to do, and no, it wasn’t me. I made sure to follow the Tourons of Yellowstone social media page prior to coming on this trip after a rabbit-hole search led me to a whole host of potential mishaps. The page is dedicated to actual video footage of people doing the unthinkable: touching the hydrothermal water, attempting to pet or get within twenty-five feet of any animal, climbing rocks they have no business scaling, and the most common, straying off the marked path.
I laughed a lot while binge-watching all of their content, thinking no one really does this kind of stuff.
Well, they do, and I’m witnessing it now.
The man and another woman follow suit, stepping out of their cars to get a better look and an even better picture. Do they know how far a bison can launch a human body? It’s far, according to the internet, and it does not look pleasant in the slightest. I’m talking you’re-getting-airlifted-out-of-here unpleasant.
Peering at my phone, I see two bars of service, so I call Rhodes.
He answers on the first ring. “Are you calling to read me another informational sign at a rest stop?”
I scoff. “No, but it sounds like you didn’t enjoy the five-minute reading about the history of that one ravine.”
“It was…enlightening.”
“Noted,” I say. “No, I called because I’m stuck in my van during a bison crossing, and a couple of people decided to get out of their cars.”
It’s timely since the ranger starts yelling over the loudspeaker: “Get back in your vehicles!”
They do not listen.
He yells again and louder.
“He’s really letting them have it,” Rhodes says, sucking in a breath through his teeth.
“This is better than watching the videos online. I get a front-row seat to how this actually plays out in real life.”
Except, it’s far less exciting.
They all get back in their vehicles after the public shame becomes too much. Or because the ranger somehow pushes his truck through the center of the cars like Moses parting the Red Sea. Just in time, too, since the bison herd is navigating through vehicles like the giant, wild beasts they are.
They are getting closer, and wow, they are huge.
And cute.
“The show’s over. They got back in their cars, but these bison…I think I want one. How about a bison for a souvenir?”
“How about you just get a magnet shaped like a bison?” he suggests.
I laugh. “I would never touch one, considering they live outside and all, but they look fuzzy and soft, like you could curl up next to them and get lost in all the fluffy hair.”
AND THE BABIES.
There are two of them that I can see as they move closer, albeit slowly, and they are precious. Caramel-colored fur, sans horns, with little heads and lithe bodies.
“There are babies, Rhodes!” I can definitely see why someone would want to pet a baby.
But that would mean immediate death.
The large mama gets closer, and I push the automatic window button on my van in case she sees me looking at her little babe and decides she doesn’t like it.
The window doesn’t budge.
“Rhodes,” I say, slight fear creeping into my words. “My window won’t work.”
“What do you mean?”
“The button…”
I keep pressing, over and over, until I’m convinced it’s broken. All I hear is the click of the button as I press it incessantly, harder each time. But the lead bison is now at the hood of my van, stopping only long enough to smell something.
It’s my panic.
That’s what she smells.
I keep trying to put my window up, but it isn’t working. “Stay down, Cleo!”
“Shit, Paige, are you okay? What’s going on?”
Peering into the back, I realize I attached Cleo’s harness to the seat. She’s not going anywhere, and it’s one less thing to worry about.
“Oh, God, Oh God.” The bison’s head easily reaches above my side mirror, and this thing is massive. The head alone likely weighs more than this vehicle. “Rhodes!”
“Paige!”
“Stay calm,” the ranger yells through the intercom. Unfortunately, the yelling only makes me more nervous.
The bison raises her wet, black nose to my window, and I scream . The kind of scream that says I’m trapped and about to die.
“Paige!” Rhodes yells over and over in my ear. “Where are you? What’s going on? Can you get help? Talk to me!”
“Bison!” is all I have the ability to say as she licks my door with her creepily long black tongue, her sharp horn knocking against my mirror.
The park ranger is off to the side of the road now, like a few other people, trying to get out of the beast’s way, but unfortunately, he’s stuck, too, and can’t help right now.
I yelp again; this time, it’s high-pitched and shrieking.
“Are you hurt?” Rhodes yells. “What can I do? Answer me, please!”
But I can’t answer him, too stunned and shocked this is even happening. Why me? Why my van?
The large animal starts to push its body against my van door, shaking my vehicle while it uses it as a scratching post.
“Rhodes! Help! You have to help me!”
“Paige, I need you to focus. Where are you right now?”
I scream even more when the rocking intensifies. Grabbing for the door handle for something to hold onto, I forget my phone is in my hand. It slips out and hits the lip of my window sill, making a slow dive to the pavement below.
I may not be crazy enough to touch a bison, but I blame the shock when I look out my window just in time to see the back hoof of the bison step directly on my phone as it passes by. Unfazed. Uncaring. Totally oblivious. Apparently it was done terrorizing my vehicle, but now my phone has been smashed to smithereens.
Oh no .
Rhodes !