On the Road Again
One on one - two for life
The road trip. A staple of American mythology. Picking up and setting off on an adventure. The wanderer looms large in the American imagination: Jack Kerouac. Hunter S Thompson. Zach Galifianakis and Robert Downey Jr. in the cinematic masterpiece Due Date. I’m currently on one with my cousin; I write this from a cabin in Yellowstone National Park where I hope a single bar of service will transmit these important nuggets of human wisdom. He’s tending to a phone call, and I’m one (now two) IPA’s deep, freshly showered after a few nights at a campground. This is our return to civilization. We have a shower but no cell service so I’m writing this locally on my Google Drive. If my computer gets destroyed between now and upload, nobody will ever read this treasure trove of insights about Americana, the Great West, ersatz sibling/cousin dynamics, my rankings of jerkies I’ve encountered thus far, and whether or not I got out of the car when we saw buffalos crossing the road today on our drive north today. Or were they bison?
Today, we woke up at 6am to get an early start at Delta Lake in Grand Tetons National Park in Wyoming. We packed up camp and rewarded ourselves with breakfast. After some oatmeal and an MSR freeze dried breakfast skillet respectively (you guess who ate what), we ventured out to Delta Lake. Back into the Grand Tetons.
My cousin, fresh with blisters but newly equipped with moleskin after a venture into Jackson Hole yesterday post-hike, was ready to rock. Once we arrived at the trailhead, we began our ascent. 7.5 miles out and back to Delta Lake with ~2,500 feet in ascent. We knew the last half mile or so would involve a fair bit of scrambling but we were up for the challenge. Pulling into the parking lot around 8am, we laced up our boots and trail-runners respectively (you guess who wore what), and headed off.
The hike had three sections: river valley build, mountain flower switchbacks, and rock field scramble. Well, then a glacial melt lake. Call it four.
A fairly popular hike in the greater Jackson Hole/Grand National Tetons area, Delta Lake attracts hikers of all kinds: French families taking an RV tour of America’s national parks during their vacation month (we should really take some notes from them), Jackson locals looking to get a quick work out in, wannabe hikers like us, and animals that have been de-wilded, particularly fearless chipmunks who don’t flinch when you swat at them with your almond butter covered spork (I assume).
We yoyo’ed with a few groups while on the switchbacks, passing on the left while they took breathers, taking our own in turn and soon seeing our fellow mountain men. We greeted one father with his 3 year old son in tow on his back probably five times.
To get to Delta Lake, one must ascend the switchbacks, skinny parallel rails cut into lush beds of mountain shrubs before turning off trail and narrowly traversing to a sea of rocks. The steep grade is the only way through. Sucking wind from some immodest mixture of altitude and lack of fitness, we took breaks every 20 or so feet of vertical climb. After enough sip, suck, and repeat, we finally made it. The promised land. Delta Lake.
Exhibit A. A lake of glacial melt in the Grand Tetons. The picture doesn’t capture the murky blueness.
Once we made it, we found a spot on a sit-able rock among the other groups and had ourselves a rest. Time to take in the view.
A group of mid twenty something girls sat above a high rock. We watched as three brave members plunged into the glacial melt. “SO COLD” shouted one sopping water warrior, shivering unconsciously. “What are the odds?” I asked my cousin. “One in 20,” he responded. I asked one of the nearby boys from Oregon to count us down. “Three. Two. One,” he rattled. “19,” I hazarded. “17.” Damn.
“It cuts in two?” he posed. Nah. “Same odds,” I meekly replied. “Count us down again.”
“Three. Two. One.”
“11,” we both declared. Of course.
I immediately peeled off my shoes and socks. I’m a man of my word, and I wanted to dip anyways. I stepped tentatively on the jutting rocks leading me to where another group had just been jumping into the water for brief seconds of photographed staged spontaneity. I shed my shorts and shirt and dove in. Cold but not bad. I’ve had worse. My soul left my body while plunging into Occam Pond with a rope tied around my torso in case I went limp during Winter Carnival at Dartmouth. Everything else since then is mimicry.
I emerged from the water and stood in the Wyoming alpine sunlight that was shining down on us. I flexed unconsciously, because I was cold. Girls were also there. My Jewish star dangled from my neck. I pulled my Smurf blue Under Armour compression shorts so the outline of my flaccid penis was less discernible. I chattered with strangers. “So good.” “Wow.” Time to warm up - I donned my shorts and shirt and proceeded to watch the other Oregon boys follow their friend’s lead. “Get a photo of me on the rock,” the most handsome of the three said. The other boy did.
On the descent, we cruised. Genetically, the Weiss’ have thick legs. We’re built for incline. It’s our birthright. Our disregard for our cartilage, however, was a function of the brashness of our youth. Descending upon the rock field, I thought carefully about each step - will this rock move at all or is stable? I attempted to reduce downward force on either knee at any moment; I want to run when I’m old. I don’t know if I’ll be able to.
After our drive north to Yellowstone, we made it to our cabin - a mustard yellow Lincoln log concoction a few hundred feet from a hotel vaguely resembling the Grand Budapest. For now, a few IPA’s we picked up from a gift shop while my cousin hunted for a button down he could wear for a surprise interview later this week.
Exhibit B. Luck o’ the Jewish.
There’s a lot more that I want to say, but this update will be a bit cut short. I promised updates on Sunday, and I recognize this is a Monday. I’m sorry. I hope you will forgive me. More to come next Sunday, when I’ll be back in Park City with a bit more space to digest.
For now, I’m dirty and happy.