Great use of hyphenation, tremendous road.
Going-To-The-Sun Road goes East-West across Glacier National Park. That's no easy task. The park is mountainous and wild, not at all interested in being tamed. That's why it's the one and only road that cuts across this massive park. Started in 1921 and finished 12 years later, it's a testament to the ingenuity (or stubbornness) of man, and a hell of a fun drive.
But how is it in the snow? Not great. From Wikipedia: "The road is one of the most difficult roads in North America to snowplow in the spring. Up to 80 feet (24 m) of snow can lie on top of Logan Pass, and more just east of the pass where the deepest snowfield has long been referred to as the Big Drift. The road takes about ten weeks to plow, even with equipment that can move 4,000 tons of snow in an hour. The snowplow crew can clear as little as 500 feet (150 m) of the road per day."
I saw some beautiful creatures and critters, and many gorgeous bodies of water, from rivers to streams to lakes to waterfalls. But the star of the show was this road, particularly from my vantage point on a bike.
Imagine the poor humans tasked with hacking a chunk out of this mountain in the 1920s so I could cross this road a century later.
That little line across the middle of that mountain is the road.
Approaching from either side of the park, East or West, builds up the anticipation before you get into the fun stuff.
Once you're in the thick of it, the road is treacherous and scary for maybe 20 miles. A 2-foot wall of rocks separates you from a fall off a cliff, and the road unspools in s-curves and loops and dramatic twists. On the other side, there's no shoulder -- only a jagged side of a mountain, with some hunks of rock jutting out far more than others.
The mountain-side of the road above is nothing compared to what was happening at the top, but I couldn't stop to take a photo in those terrifyingly narrow sections.
Along the road, there are waterfalls going straight down the sheer rock face, right next to you, falling into drainage systems just a few feet from where you drive by. It's beautiful -- and nuts -- and also near-impossible to photograph. In general, 20 miles of the road look like this:
Here's a closer look at that long stretch along the side of a mountain.
And another that captures the kind of rock wall you have on the right.
One more shot of those jagged mountain shoulders, with a little moisture on the right that's probably from one of the zillions of waterfalls running down the side of the mountain.
And, finally, a car in the frame for some perspective.
Riding this road is a lot like driving my RV. You rejoice while you're driving, and you rejoice all the more when you're done.
Going-To-The-Sun Road goes East-West across Glacier National Park. That's no easy task. The park is mountainous and wild, not at all interested in being tamed. That's why it's the one and only road that cuts across this massive park. Started in 1921 and finished 12 years later, it's a testament to the ingenuity (or stubbornness) of man, and a hell of a fun drive.
But how is it in the snow? Not great. From Wikipedia: "The road is one of the most difficult roads in North America to snowplow in the spring. Up to 80 feet (24 m) of snow can lie on top of Logan Pass, and more just east of the pass where the deepest snowfield has long been referred to as the Big Drift. The road takes about ten weeks to plow, even with equipment that can move 4,000 tons of snow in an hour. The snowplow crew can clear as little as 500 feet (150 m) of the road per day."
I saw some beautiful creatures and critters, and many gorgeous bodies of water, from rivers to streams to lakes to waterfalls. But the star of the show was this road, particularly from my vantage point on a bike.
Imagine the poor humans tasked with hacking a chunk out of this mountain in the 1920s so I could cross this road a century later.
That little line across the middle of that mountain is the road.
Approaching from either side of the park, East or West, builds up the anticipation before you get into the fun stuff.
Once you're in the thick of it, the road is treacherous and scary for maybe 20 miles. A 2-foot wall of rocks separates you from a fall off a cliff, and the road unspools in s-curves and loops and dramatic twists. On the other side, there's no shoulder -- only a jagged side of a mountain, with some hunks of rock jutting out far more than others.
The mountain-side of the road above is nothing compared to what was happening at the top, but I couldn't stop to take a photo in those terrifyingly narrow sections.
Along the road, there are waterfalls going straight down the sheer rock face, right next to you, falling into drainage systems just a few feet from where you drive by. It's beautiful -- and nuts -- and also near-impossible to photograph. In general, 20 miles of the road look like this:
The relatively low-octane portions of the road have the same setup. If you over-correct there, you only end up in a nearby lake, rather than off a cliff.
Here's a closer look at that long stretch along the side of a mountain.
And another that captures the kind of rock wall you have on the right.
One more shot of those jagged mountain shoulders, with a little moisture on the right that's probably from one of the zillions of waterfalls running down the side of the mountain.
And, finally, a car in the frame for some perspective.
Riding this road is a lot like driving my RV. You rejoice while you're driving, and you rejoice all the more when you're done.
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