With a quarter-pound of peanut butter chocolate fudge, we headed for the Pass. By the time I realized I was driving a steep road around the rim of a yawning canyon, I was too stunned — by the soaring mountains and the sheer absurdity that I was the one at the wheel — to voice alarm. Though I dared not look into the abyss. Eyes on the road, I pushed up, past evergreens and a waterfall that skidded down a mountain like a vein. During seven miles of switchbacks, one of us would, on occasion, burst into the refrain from “This Land Is Your Land,” or some other song generally reserved for campfires. No car radio. No iPhone. An untested driver needs no distraction. As it is, when I adjust my window I have a tendency to drift into the next lane. There is no next lane on Beartooth Pass.

There is, however, the occasional turnout, including one overlooking glaciers and Custer National Forest. I parked on a stretch of dirt and followed Dan to the edge of a cliff.

“Listen,” he said.

From below came the sound of rushing water. We stood in silence. The sky had drained of color. There were no other cars, no other people, though there was evidence of the latter. On the mountainside by the road, in a dirty patch of snow, were block letters: ALEX WAS HERE. I stuck my finger into a slightly less filthy spot and drew our initials. No sooner were we back in the car than a rock the size of a basketball tumbled to where I’d been writing. Time to move on.

Beartooth Pass, part of Beartooth Highway, is, to borrow a phrase from the author Joseph Campbell, a “road of trials.” Along with stirring panoramas come signs warning of falling rocks, icy roads and hairpin turns to be taken at 20 miles an hour. At 9,190 feet, I pulled into Rock Creek Vista Point. “This is bear country!” said a sign in a restroom stall. “Be alert, make noise, carry bear spray and know how to use it.” Bear spray? I was still getting accustomed to carrying a car key.

It had begun raining as I zigzagged down the wet mountain byway toward the words “Open Range. Expect Cows on the Road.” Why hadn’t I done this sort of drive before? It was kind of thrilling.

“You may want to slow down, Mario Andretti,” said Dan.

At 8:31 p.m. the sign we had been waiting for materialized: “Welcome to Yellowstone.”