Day 1
Day 1: june 13th, 0700. We skipped breakfast in hopes of beating the entrance line at Yellowstone, and the gamble paid off—only about 15 minutes of waiting. I proudly flashed our America the Beautiful pass to the cheerful woman at the gate and we were in. It’s a 45-minute drive to Madison Campground, the first major junction in the park. There, visitors must make their first choice: North or South. Our tummies reminded us never to make a decision on an empty stomach and so before reaching Madison Campground, pulled off along the river and smashed some yogurt.
Line of cars getting back onto the road after breakfast
saw a ton of trout during breakfast
At the junction, we turned south and made our first official Yellowstone stop at Lower Geyser Basin. We found ourselves beside a man in a folding chair, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, film of sunscreen and your typical white safari button up shirt taking notes. Nicole, naturally curious, struck up a conversation, laying into the poor bastard with more questions than a teenage boy in anatomy class. Turned out, this guy happened to be one of the more knowledgeable humans on the planet of this subject, none other than James St. John, a senior lecturer at Ohio State University, home to one of the shittiest college football teams in America. He was in for the long haul, cooler, chair, umbrella, 8 ball of pure Columbia, if that geyser even thought about farting, he jotted it down in his notebook. “08:45 am Geyer thought about farting” Some lady was flashing her hairy bush right in front of him, said she was offering it to the gods and he didn't even notice. No, but if you are interested in seeing his work, i encourage you to check him out!
James St. John
The literal view from where James St. John was sitting
As we wandered the boardwalks from one gurgling circle of sludge to the next, a child-like giddiness began to pop into my body, subtle, like a memory I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten. For reasons obvious to ensure survival in this cut-throat society we find ourselves in, I had shoved this wonder deep into the depths of my being for so long i had forgotten it even existed. I watched others, grown men and business like women, soften around the edges and loose themself in amazement. There was this unspoken camaraderie, as if we’d all silently agreed to stop pretending life wasn’t amazing. A shared nod at the edge of a boiling pit said it all: “Pretty cool, huh?”
this was just one spot the earth just a gurggled
The last big attraction of the day was none other than the big kahuna himself. OLD FAITHFUL. To avoid the crowds, it is suggested not to visit old faith from 6am to midnight. It is also not suggested to visit midnight to 6am because thats when the rangers come out to play, plus the old bastard sleeps at night and doesnt even erupt. We went around 15:00 and got super lucky because we found a 350 pound hairy beast of a man and used him as a plow to get through the crowds, however it turned out to be unlucky, because he just led us to the concession stand.
Getting a front row view to old faithful is like getting to the front row at a Taylor Swift concert. I watched some guy try to get in front of this other guy and before long they started yelling at each other in Russian and beating the shit out each other. Then these two other guys ran over, yelling in russian and joined the brawl. God Damn Russians…
It was sweltering hot that day and old faithful was over 30 minutes late, the crowd in the sun was beginning to lose it. A warden was walking around reassuring everyone that old faithful would blow any minute, that father time had spent a little extra time exploring his kinky side during foreplay but had in fact began penetration. It was just a matter of time before old faith’s prostate got enough stimulation and that todays explosion would be a big one.
From Old Faithful, it took nearly two hours to reach Bridge Bay Marina, our campground for the night. Somewhere near West Thumb, I missed a left turn and made a swift (and technically illegal) U-turn. As I corrected course, a black Mercedes Sprinter van appeared from nowhere, cut me off, and gave me the finger. A professional chauffeur, no doubt, running on his last nerve after a day of tourist traffic. I was so pissed, I reached into the glovebox, grabbed the 9mm I’d brought just in case we ran into any meth heads, rolled down the window, and let a few rounds fly at his tires. That seemed to piss him off even more. He sped up, leaned out his window, and started shooting back. I floored it just before a curve, swerved into his rear and jackknifed his ass, causing him to flip and roll a few times. One of the rear windows blew out and some old grandma who was clearly not wearing her seatbelt, flew out and rolled a few times on the simmering asphalt, her curly white hair laced with the shiny red of blood from where her head smacked the concrete.
Just kidding. None of that happened. All that really happened was him cutting me off. But that is exactly what played in my head as I gripped the wheel and fantasized about justice.
Ironically, we caught up to him five minutes later. He was tailgating an RV with Florida plates, crawling along the curves like molasses. The Sprinter kept trying to pass, but every time the road opened up, someone happened to be driving the other direction, minding their business and ruining his. Eventually, he got so fed up he dove into the ditch, kicking up a cloud of dust thicker than a patch of pubic hair from the 70’s. The RV, unfazed, slowed down to let him back in. But the Sprinter gunned it too hard and lost control, crashing head-on into a woman on a motorcycle, flattening her like a bulldog's face.
Just kidding again. I followed him until he finally passed the RV and disappeared into the trees, rage and all.
We arrived at the campground not long after, took a dip in the ice-cold waters of Lake Yellowstone and settled in for the night.
Nicole modeling at the campground where every single spot at every single campground is occupied because Yellowstone is occupied.
View from the North/West side of Lake Yellowstone
it took Nicole almost 30 minutes to finally enter the freezing lake and take a shower
Elk smashing some grass at the campground, there were about 50 other people also taking photos