SWEATER WEATHER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK, WYOMING-2025

Bozeman to Gardiner, 2 a.m., mid-January.

Couldn't sleep, so I rolled out of bed and got in the truck.

Minus twenty-two. Snow coming down heavy enough that the high beams just light up the fall instead of the road, so you run the low beams and trust the truck. Highway 89 south through Paradise Valley, mountains out there somewhere.

Beanie down, coffee in the cupholder, heater going full blast. Dashboard glow doing all the lighting I need. Wipers keeping time. Engine noise and the hush that heavy snowfall puts over everything.

Nobody else on the road. The roads are mine until sunrise.

More like checking on something than visiting it. Not loneliness out here alone on a snowed-over highway. Solitude. Not adrenaline getting through minus twenty-two in a whiteout. Contentment. Any hunter, rancher, plow driver, or ski-lift operator west of here would know this feeling immediately.

Found him on the side of the road, snow packed thick into his coat. Not doing anything in particular. I wasn't doing anything in particular either.

Stopped. Window down. Cold. Shot. Window up. Heater back on. Coffee still warm, somehow, sitting right where I'd left it.

He was dressed for the same morning I was.

Home is a funny thing.

Back in bed by 9 a.m.