Bozeman - with a slight detour

Our last day in Yellowstone at the Rocky Mountain RV Park in Gardiner, Montana was a Saturday and the next night – a Sunday – was the first since the beginning of the trip that we did not have a campsite reservation. I had looked at a map and read a few reviews for boondocking (also known as dry camping, where you have no hookups) sites and found a few national forest campgrounds in and around Yellowstone where I figured we could roll in Sunday morning and look around for a place to park for the rest of the day and night.

I only started to think more about the logistics of this as we approached Gardiner the Friday before. When I was planning the trip, I couldn’t possibly know how large we would be, what the Yellowstone roads and campgrounds would be like, or what driving down a dirt road with our rig would be like (Super slow, terribly bumpy and dust everywhere).

Alex took a drive up the road/mountain from the campground we were at to the national forest campground that I was sort of counting on as a back-up plan. He quickly put the kibosh on that plan, noting that the road turned into rough gravel with no less than an 8% grade. The views were incredible, he claimed, but it was not workable with the RV. That is saying something, because he otherwise thinks we can fit anywhere. Alright, back to square one.

I started panicking a little bit at that point. It was Saturday night and we had nowhere to stay the next night. And it’s not like we could sneak up on anyone. I called around to every campground I could find between Gardiner and Bozeman, our next stop. Nothing had an opening.

As a next-to-last resort (last resort was the Walmart parking lot in Bozeman – yikes), I emailed the two Harvest Host sites that were near Bozeman and practically begged for a spot. Harvest Host is a membership-based platform where they connect RV members with property owners who allow camping on their land in exchange for a small purchase at their winery, farm, store, or what not. It’s a pretty sweet deal for RV-ers. The two options near Bozeman were: 1) an alpaca farm just northwest of Bozeman; and 2) an event center/hobby farm-type spot a little bit further out. Neither place showed availability for Sunday night on their Harvest Host member sites. But look, I figured they have many, many acres of land and could potentially be convinced by my tale of desperation. And as Alex repeats in his job everyday – you don’t get what you don’t ask for. So, I sent each place an email and told our sad story of no place to go, three kids, and please, please sir/ma’am, just one night.

Within 20 minutes Karen from the event center/hobby farm CALLED me- yes, a live phone call to my cell phone, and said we were welcome to stay on her property. She asked to talk with the driver of the rig and proceeded to share with Alex many, many instructions on how to get there, where to park, how NOT to drive on her grass, and who may or may not be there (including herself?). I repeatedly stressed that we should NOT park on the grass. Other than that oddity, all I heard was “yes, you can stay here,” so I was happy.

We left Gardiner on Sunday morning about 15-20 minutes after our required check out time, and we were on our way. This is our norm thus far. We are still underestimating how long it takes us to clean up, pack up, and be on our way. We tell ourselves “Oh, sure, we have plenty of time to walk to a breakfast spot, eat, and walk back again and then get ready to go – it can’t take more than an hour, right?” Yes, yes it can. In fact, it usually takes longer. I think that whole process is another post in itself (I’ll let my guest blogger, Alex, handle that one sometime soon).

Anyway, we drove back to Highway 90 from Gardiner and then West on 90 past Bozeman to an obscure exit listing “No Services” to get to Karen’s place. As we drove the back road toward Karen’s, both that first time and again later that evening, we saw several pull-outs right off the main road where people were taking target practice with rifles and handguns. It’s more than a little off-putting to see men (and a few women) put their guns down and stare you down as you drive by them shooting rounds into a target 50 feet off the road. It felt like we were intruding on some secret military training operation and were now most certainly going to be followed for the next 48 hours. Creepy.

We made it to Karen’s and holy cow, was it dusty. She lives down a dirt road only about a half mile long, but it turns out Montana is in a bit of a drought and boy, did we know it. Not only was the road to get to Karen’s dusty, but she had us park at the front of her property (not on the grass!), also known as road adjacent. As you can see, we were basically in a gravel desert, on the side of a dirt road, and at the mercy of the cars and trucks that sped by without a care.

It was about that time that the alpaca farm people texted me and said we were welcome at their place for the night. Good timing. We considered moving locations for a minute, but ugh, what a hassle. We decided instead to just visit the alpaca farm, a genius idea for an activity on an otherwise hot and dusty day trapped at Karen’s.

The girls loved the alpacas. I didn’t know this, but alpacas are like llamas, but much smaller, lighter, and friendlier. They were sweet and approachable, all except the mamas and new babies, who skittered away despite the girls’ best efforts to try to pet them. We were able to get some pretty great photos with them. For many days after, every time we got in the truck Audrey asked if we were going to see the “pacas.”

The girls and I had a partial day to kill before we could check in at our campground in Bozeman. So - another day, another park. This one had a splash pad which kept the girls wholly entertained by running and splashing through the fountains.

Later that day we left Karen’s (fhew…). It’s not that we were not grateful for Karen letting us stay last minute – we were. It was just a lot of dust and a lot of heat. But beggars cannot be choosers, and (I think?) it was better than a Walmart parking lot. The next stop was the Bozeman Hot Springs. I had been looking forward to this one since I booked it last winter. The campground stay came with passes to the hot springs next door, which had many different pools of varying temperatures (from a 50 degree cold plunge to a scalding 106 degree hot tub), a sauna, steam room, and full gym (!!).

Bozeman is most definitely a city in which we could see ourselves living. If you have been following along with us thus far, you’ll know that this is not the first time I’ve said that. I think this is because we are in such an attractive part of the country. Yes, looks-wise for sure. Looks are important after all, let’s not pretend. But I’m also talking personality-wise. Bozeman has a laid-back vibe; unassuming, low-maintenance, and unlikely to nag. What you see is what you get. I was smitten with the place.

Here’s a good example - I saw another mom at the park with her kids and she was wearing a trucker hat, race t-shirt, and chaco sandals; she had sunglasses tan lines and arm muscles that were not messing around. I could tell she wasn’t a poser. In fact, she wouldn’t even know how to pose. No, no - the portrayal of her active lifestyle is 100% authentic. Looking at her you know she does something legit in her free time – mountain biking, trail running, fly fishing – whatever it is, she is a competitor, it is super cool, and I want to be friends. Just living in a place where a plethora of outdoor activities are available year-round means we would effortlessly transform into an ultra-fit and adventuresome family, right? I’m sure of it.

Back to the hot springs. They were very neat. We spent a LOT of time in the pools and hanging around the pools. Audrey even took another epic nap poolside. She rarely naps in a bed. When she does nap it is full pass-out mode and usually on top of me in some way.

Another Bozeman highlight was the Museum of the Rockies, where we saw dinosaur bones and full skeletons and learned about the Vikings, early travelers along the Oregon Trail, and the beginnings of Yellowstone. We tried to blend in with the locals at the farmer’s market (my favorite), and had a great and surprisingly vegetarian dinner out. The girls and I found more parks to test out, and of course went on several hikes when Alex was free to join us.

One such hike was just about 15 minutes outside of Bozeman. The trail entrance had signs warning – “This is bear country! Here is what a black bear looks like… and here is what a grizzly bear looks like…” “Bring bear spray and know how to use it!” Do we have bear spray? Yes, of course we do. We have a bear horn, a small mace spray (meant for protection while running), and an actual bear spray canister, all of which were safely packed in a kitchen cabinet in the RV. Oops. There were several cars in the parking lot and we were only planning on going a few miles, so we decided to press on.

The “easy” trail (thanks, AllTrails) led us straight up switchbacks and gave us (false) security in the form of barbed wire fencing just feet away from the edge of both sides of the path – an assurance that no bears could get close to us. After slipping and sliding a bit as we climbed the first 500 yards or so, we reached a fork in the path and continued our hike on the less strenuous path. We are not ones to turn back – sometimes to a fault.

The girls are decent on hikes. Decent at best. We like to tell ourselves that they are constantly improving – working toward liking and appreciating nature and hiking in the woods, and that such love and appreciation isn’t going to form overnight. One of my mantras that the girls have committed to memory is: “the way back is always quicker.” I say this because I truly believe it. Once you hit the halfway mark, whether it’s a loop or an out and back, the way back always feels faster than the way out. Usually, in our case, it actually is faster on the way back; faster because the way back is downhill whereas the way out is an all-out uphill climb.

With a few snack breaks and Audrey landing in the ergo carrier, we made it to the overlook part of the hike. The forest opened up to reveal a slope of evergreens and a sliver of the city way off in the distance.

We snapped this quick picture and thought we would sit and rest before starting the descent.

That’s when I heard it – a distinct snorting sound. It was quiet and muffled in an attempted disguise. The sound made me pause, brow furrowed in concern, but the girls didn’t hear it and I wasn’t sure Alex did either, so I pretended everything was fine.

Then I heard it again. The same snorting, grunting sound, only louder and more defined. I looked at Alex and our eyes widened. “Did you hear that?” we said, with our eyes first and then out loud. We didn’t say this so as not to scare the girls, but it was most definitely a bear. The sound was unmistakable. We were on the top of a ridge, so it was likely right down the hill beyond the curve of the mountain and just out of sight. We weren’t going to take any chances. Without saying anything, Alex abruptly shouted a scary sound to let the bear know we were there, and he and I both grabbed the girls’ hands and led them briskly down the trail.

We didn’t quite feel safe until we were squarely within the barbed wire boundary zone, which took only about 15 minutes since, well, it’s always faster on the way back, and much faster when you are scenario planning a bear attack. Nothing like a little bear snort to get your heart racing in the middle of a 2-mile hike.