While sitting on the front porch of the outpost, drinking my coffee, a head popped out the front door and said "there you are." It was Roger Knudson. I met Roger back at the lodge in Jackson along with his friend Bob. Roger is 59, from Minnesota and recently retired and Bob is 67 and from England. They were riding the TransAmerica Trail together when Bob, probably tired from all of the climbing (they were also averaging about 75 miles a day and hadn't taken a day off), decided he needed to get back to England to attend to some business issues that had popped up while he was gone. So, Roger and Bob parted ways two days back and Roger continued on the trail.

We sat on the front porch for a while, drinking coffee and complaining about the wind when we decided to continue riding on together. Roger used to work for the State of Minnesota, where he was an administrator for the state prison's education department. He grew up in Pueblo, Colorado, came to Minneapolis to do his graduate study in special education at UMN and ended up working with the inmates of the prison system. He had been with the state for 31 years and finally reached retirement age, when he promptly decided to pursue the TransAmerica Trail. Roger is phenomenally fit, a strong biker and an avid cross country skiier. Our pace was similar and our conversations pleasant, so the rest of the ride into West Yellowstone was both quick and very enjoyable.

The heat, once again was sweltering, so when we reached West Yellowstone, we decided to call it quits for the day. We found a campsite just on the edge of town and walked up to the camp director's office. The sign on the door said he was somewhere around the sight cleaning up, so just come look for him. Not knowing who to look for, we asked the old guy sitting in a beach chair under a pine tree, smoking a cigar what the camp director looked like. "He's a tall guy wearing a blue striped shirt and a mustache. Answers to the name Ken. Can't miss 'em."

So Roger and I walked around the camp looking for a tall guy wearing a blue striped shirt and a mustache and answers to the name Ken. Shortly after our quest began, we came across a tall guy wearing a blue striped shirt and a mustache watering the grass. Roger called out "Ken?"

Ken turned off the water, looked at us and said "Well, how y'all doin'? Suppose yer looking for a campsite, huh? Well, no need to look any further, this is the best one in town. I got plenty of spaces, but right now the grass is a little wet, considering I just been watering over there, but come on over, I'll give you guys a look. Who sent you anyhow?"

"No one sent us, just happened on your place while we were looking for a place to stay," replied Roger.

"Then how'd ya know my name?"

"The old guy in the chair next to your office told us."

"Oh, that's Walter. He's a regular." The three of us then proceeded over through the maze of RVs, around a couple of cabins, and to a small patch of grass with a picnic table and a charcoal grill. "Well, this is for tenters. You guys are the first ones here today. I try and keep it real nice for the folks who come on through here with their backpacks and bicycles." Ken seemed to over announciate every word, but especially bicycle. Instead of just accenting the first syllable "bi," he would throw in another accent on each syllable, so bicycle would become BI-CY-CLE. "Yup, this here is the cleanest campsite in town. My brother runs a camp down the road. Thought he might have sent you over here, that's why I was wondering who sent ya? He runs a good clean camp too, you know. Not trying to disparage him or take away any of his business, just mine is particularly clean."

Ken then proceeded to give us a full tour of the campground and let both Roger and myself stop to inspect the cleanliness of the bathroom stalls, the shower stalls, the sinks, the laundry room, the game room, and the snack room. "Over there in your section, we got you a charcoal grill. Feel free to use it, but I suspect you're probably not carrying any charcoal on those BI-CY-CLES of yours, huh? Well, no matter, it's here if you need it. One thing you do gotta be careful of round here is bears. You ever camp in bear country?" Roger and I simultaneously said yes.

"Then, you know you shouldn't keep any food around at night. Last year I was sitting in the office and I heard a god awful scream. Went outside and one of my campers was being chased by a 300 pound black bear. She had chicken wings or something in her hands and the bear was after the food. As soon as I come outside, about 4 park rangers came behind the bear and shooed it away. Guess they had been following it all through town. Got to be careful with your food."

"Do you have any place for us to put our food at night?" I asked.

"No, just don't put nothing in your sleeping bag. You should be fine." Roger and I looked at each other with puzzled faces. "So how does it look. You guys want to stay here?"