A little over a decade ago I graduated from college and set out on the adventure of a lifetime with my husband: a cross-country road trip from Boston to the Pacific Coast, and back again.
Custer State Park in Custer, South Dakota was our first stop of interest after staying with friends and family closer to the East Coast and then cruising through the Great Plains. We saw our first bison at Custer, along the side of the road as we drove to our campsite. From there, we drove through the Shoshone Mountain Range, where a scenic stop at the peak where the states officially change names offered a view of the valley below, the gateway into Yellowstone National Park.
The most impressive memory of our entrance into Yellowstone was the sheer size of the park. After days of driving and finally arriving at our most anticipated destination yet, we had the impression that we were there as soon as we crossed into the park boundaries. However, it took several hours to make our way through the winding hills and valleys to our campsite, which was not an unpleasant journey as much as a surprise.
The landscape more than makes up for the distance: expansive vistas welcomed us with herds of bison, deer, and even a mother bear and her cub. I will never forget the way the sun gleamed golden across the fields. This is the mental vision of Yellowstone I will always remember, beyond the amazing sights we saw in the subsequent days: Old Faithful, the paint pots, and bison making their way across half-frozen fields by the geyser trail.
Yellowstone is one of America’s most beautiful places. Looking back on my journey across the country, few places compare with the sheer expanse of its natural beauty. When you are there, it feels like you are living in the “real” America. When you are not there, you never stop thinking about going back.