Rachel Plassmeyer Bené ’10 | February 10, 2019
My sister Natalie shut her car door and we waited for my husband to get into the driver’s seat.
“Did you bring the growler?” she asked her boyfriend, Zach.
“Yeah, but let’s wait till we get out there,” he answered after a pause, buckling his seatbelt next to her in the back.
Brad put the rental into reverse and I watched him squint into the rearview mirror. He used the orange haze from a floodlight to navigate around the other cars parked at odd angles behind the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel. It was early September in Yellowstone and the place was packed — even though this was the off-season, we had reserved the last room in the park.
The four of us bounced in our seats as we maneuvered through the mud, and then our headlights found the road. Our Toyota Sequoia easily cleared the curb, and I could see Brad’s huge grin in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I love this car. Think we could off-road out there?”
Natalie snorted and I rolled my eyes. Brad was hoping Zach would respond, but he didn’t. We passed the museum and tourist shop on our left, picking up speed. I leaned my head into the window to look up.
“I can see some, but we need to get away from these buildings,” I said.
“I don’t see any clouds!” Natalie said, and then we heard Zach’s head bump his window, too.
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