The ground is a patchwork of sagebrush, juniper, dry gullies and eroded bluffs in shades of red, yellow and grey, laid down by volcanic activity long before the first people arrived. The Absarokas are volcanic in origin, made of old lava and ash flows, and so they have a very different look to the granite peaks of nearby ranges, with dark, crumbling ridges and jagged tops.
This is cattle country, with ranches strung along the creeks, and the roads are quiet, with only a few vehicles an hour in most seasons. The riding is relaxed and rolling, with long straights and easy bends, and the surface is mostly good, though patched in places by winter frost. The main risk is wildlife. Mule deer and pronghorn cross the road without warning, especially at dawn and dusk, and a collision on a motorbike is a serious matter. Cattle guards, metal grids across the road, can be slippery when wet, so cross them upright and at moderate speed.
The sense of space is the main thing. Distances here are large, and a day of riding may take you past just a few small settlements. Fuel is not available in this section, and the last reliable pumps are in Cody, which lies about thirty-five kilometres behind. Stock up before leaving, bring water, and carry a rain jacket, since the sky can change in minutes. Cell service fades away in the foothills, so tell someone where you are headed.
Historically, the area was a corridor for the Crow and Shoshone peoples, and then for trappers and prospectors. The Nez Perce passed through in 1877 and baffled the army by crossing country that cavalry believed impassable. A scatter of homestead cabins and old corrals reminds you how hard the ranching life was.
The light in the late afternoon is the best of the day, warming the bluffs to copper and throwing long shadows across the sage. The smell of dry sagebrush after rain is the unforgettable thing about this country, sharp and clean, and well worth stopping for.