On the drive over to see our first Yellowstone attraction, The Chemist discovers Alvin is missing. I immediately lambast him for his negligence and boldly claim Alvin as mine if I find him. The Chemist may tell you I threatened to keep Alvin as a slave, but in that hypothetical circumstance I would exercise my Constitutional right to plead the Fifth Amendment. Molly is tucked into my coat pocket, away from all harm. She'll be safe from all the flares, although I know she doesn't care.
There is a scenic viewpoint right where we park, and a hiking trail nearby. We take the picture below and go hike. The Chemist leaves his plastic water bottle at the trail's entrance with the intention of re-getting it when we make it back out. Temporary litterer.
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| We discuss whitewater rafting and decide this place is too easy to be the children's introductory course, so it must be where they store the rafts before they get you started. We never make it to the observation point in the picture because we suck at tourism, unlike Macau, a place where tourism comprises over 50% of its GDP. |
Notably, I was using my sister's camera, which was extremely fancy, but also conferred an inescapable touristy look as it swung below my neck. An appropriate look, but a distasteful one.
The trail goes up right next to the river:
We throw a stick into the river so we can watch it get sucked into the white water. There is a video of this, but it's a terrible video for many reasons. The stick is nearly invisible, it gets stuck before it can make it to the end, and the basic premise isn't even entertaining. That's why instead of posting the video below, I've posted a picture of a bridge. If you really want to see the video, let me know and I'll help you waste some precious seconds of your valuable time.
The constant sound of running water has a deep, calming effect on me. More on this in a future part.
The hike is pleasantly long. We quietly admire the serenity all around us until the trail hits the main road, at which point we turn back and head back to camp. The time is around 7pm.
The Chemist is eager to start a campfire and sip beverages of a very specific type around the fire. For firemaking supplies, we have self-lighting charcoal and the firewood collected earlier. The firewood is soaked through from the earlier rain/hail, but we remember how you only live once, so we put everything we have into the firepit and go for broke:
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| We are utterly broke at this point. We had to sell off the shoe in the picture just to have the gas money to make it back home. None of this is true. |
The charcoal catches just fine. The firewood fails to catch in spite of prolonged coaxings. It gets burnt but does not burn, an annoying non-paradox. Evidently, the secrets of combustion are unknown to such inexperienced campers. The Recycler suggests to simply buy firewood, which is close by. The Chemist and I categorically reject such a bourgeoise solution. We prefer to build our mighty fire on the mighty back of the mighty worker, like how a Mighty Duck might use a Mighty Mite and his mighty might to vacuum a mighty mite off the back of a Mighty Morphin' Power Ranger. Might makes right.
Besides, we will have plenty of time to buy firewood when we are dead from hypothermia. Firewood goes to Valhalla, and we have warrior spirits.
Dinner is hotdogs and bratwusts, which involves certain esoteric mathematical methodologies to ensure fair division, methodologies colloquially referred to as "division", complicated by the fact that The Sojouner only wants dogs and no brats, complicated slightly more by the fact that the abbreviation for "bratwurst" is the first half of "bratwurst", while the abbreviation of "hotdog" is the first half of "dogma". English makes no sense. We eventually get the math right and move on with our lives.
The Chemist wants to play the card game Mao, which I've blogged about before. Mao, unlike my opinions on Jay Z, stratifies people into two distinct groups: Lovers, and haters. (I think Jay Z is just okay.) The Chemist falls in the former category. The Recycler falls into the latter category, which wrecked the experience. We stop after one round. Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal Mao wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level night stretches far away.
I did bring a few board/card games, but none of them are playable in the dim light and awkward tent space. Outside is not an option because the wooden table is on a slope and, much like our firewood, permanently wet. As such, we go to sleep early. More time for visiting attractions the next day.
Part 6
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