Chapter 10 - Grand Canyon

To paraphrase T. Roosevelt, the Grand Canyon is worth seeing.  The view from the South Rim is truly vast.  The trail is 21 miles across, with a 5000 foot drop and 6000 foot gain on the other side. I was a little worried about my hiking speed, since I hadn't hiked at all in eight months.  I've been riding my bike for almost a month but those are different muscles.

In typical form we didn't actually start hiking until noon.  It takes forever to ride the buses around the park complex, to stop at the grocery for a forgotten item, and to fix our packs just right.  But we soon departed from the South Kaibab trailhead, which descended very steeply from the very first step.

We had heard horror stories about how active Search and Rescue was in the park.  The lady at the backcountry office told us not to be "a statistic in a government chart", like the song by the Police.  The weather was unsettled with storms in the vicinity, which made it not terribly hot by Arizona standards.  Nevertheless, we saw numerous people carrying a little water bottle or nothing at all, hiking out of the depths of the canyon. Although it didn't rain on us, there was no shelter at all if a thunderstorm passed over.  Most people hiking weren't carrying a raincoat or pack or anything.  I shudder to think of how many people have a bad day on that trail in the hotter part of the summer.  It seems like there should be more warning signs at the trailhead, like we have at our backcountry gates on Vail Mountain.  There, one has to push through a turnstile with dire warnings all over it, which gives a tactile warning that one is passing a threshold.

The South Kaibab Trail has no water or shade, and is arid and exposed.  This makes for inspiring views at every turn.  We descended on the wide, well-built trail down countless steps and switchbacks. Occasionally we passed an "ultrarunner" miserably chugging up the trail.  As we got nearer to the bottom, there were fewer people.  We passes one or two groups of people with backpacks who had obviously done the canyon in one day.  They looked tired and I was glad we would be stopping for the night at the bottom. 

I was very curious about the Phantom Ranch facility.  There is a campground and also even a little lodge/restaurant at the bottom of the canyon. It is so remote that all supplies are brought in and out by mule train.  There is even a little post office.  I wondered if I could mail my backpack to the North Rim so I wouldn't have to carry it up.  I'm sure someone has asked this question before.

The campground turned out to be rather underwhelming. There were perhaps 20 sites, all crammed together within 100 yards of riverbank.  The main hiking trails passes through all of them, so every few minutes someone walked next to your site and stared at you.  Later, the guy next door was snoring so badly that we put in earplugs.  In the early morning, everybody was up preparing to hike.  It was like a miniature Everest base camp, with all the brightly colored technical tents crowded together.

In the morning, we weren't sad to leave the campground.  Staying there was better than walking through the whole canyon in a day, though.  The trail up the north side of the canyon was much different.  It had much more vegetation and water.  We walked up the wide grassy valley of Bright Angel Creek and then turned up the narrow Pumphouse Canyon (?), which was steeply-walled and spectacular.   At several points the trail was hacked into the side of a cliff and we instinctively shied away from the edge of the trail.  We stopped perhaps four times to eat food and stretch out throughout the day.  Near the top of the canyon we got into the part of the trail where mule rides travel.  This was really gross, as there were heaping mounds of mule crap all over and ponds of dark yellow mule urine filling the width of the trail.  We breathed through our mouths and kept trudging upwards. 

Finally we heard the sound of a car above and knew we were almost there.  We climbed out into a parking lot expecting to see the lodge or at least a shuttle bus.  There was neither.  The lodge was another 1.5 miles so we walked onwards, pack straps biting into our hips.  We finally reached the majestic North Rim lodge, which was full of old people and tour buses and people crowding around for photos of the sunset.  There was a buffet dinner for $26 that we quickly jumped on.  It was pretty meager by epicurean standards but I had four plateloads. Salad, pasta, brisket, mac n cheese, more brisket, and apple cobbler.  I also had a $5 bottle of O'Doul's to wash it down. 

We also had another stroke of luck in that a cabin had become available in the day before, so we stumbled over and almost immediately fell asleep.  The next morning, Jill left early on the shuttle van back to the South Rim and then to Flagstaff and Boulder.  I wondered who would make sure my backpack zippers were closed? :(

That morning, I waited around at the lodge and studied maps until the northbound shuttle bus arrived at noon.  My bike was attached to the roof and I helped the driver take it down.  Just as creaky and dirty as I left it!  I pedaled down to the campground and got a tent spot right on the Rim for $6.  It was the best camping spot of my trip so far.  I had all day, so I set about repairing my tires and oiling the creaks.  A Canadian fellow named James set up camp nearby and we chatted and watched the magnificent sunset together.  He had traveled from Vancouver on his BMW dual-sport bike and was on his way to Lake Havasu. I've seen a handful of people doing this and it seems like a really good way to travel.  You can take some dirt roads and have all of your camping gear with you.

A front was moving in and the winds steadily increased all night.  After dark, the winds were roaring our of the canyon and shaking my tent.  I found it hard to sleep with all of the noise.  At about midnight I got up to use the restroom and gazed across the canyon bathed in moonlight. I tried to take some photos but my little pocket camera is incapable of doing much in low light conditions.  But the massive depths of the canyon swallowed up all the moonlight and imparted an eerie vastness.

In the morning James cooked up some eggs and offered me an egg quesadilla.  It was hot and good and I ate it in a few bites.  After pedaling back to the lodge to mail my hiking shoes to Vail, I strapped on my bike shoes and began pedaling out of the park.

Chapter 9 - Flagstaff to Grand Canyon

Jill brought her Revelate bikepacking gear which we affixed to a rented fat-tire bike.  After much stuffing and smashing and cramming (an everyday process), we managed to get everything packed.  We had met a young guy named Jim Walmsley who worked at a local bike shop, and he allowed us to park the rental car at his house.  He also agreed to give Jill a ride back to Flagstaff after we reached the Grand Canyon.   She later tried to pay him but he refused.  He is a long-distance runner and runs down the canyon once a week.  He competes around the country doing such madness.

We cruised out of Flagstaff on the road for a few miles and then turned onto a dirt road that led to the Arizona Trail.  The views of Humphrey's Peak were spectacular as we pedaled along a well-graded forest road.  Eventually we turned north and headed down out of the San Francisco hills into sparse cattle country.  At one point I must have pedaled through a thick patch of catclaw acacia, otherwise known as "goatheads". 

These little spiny things are the bane of cyclists, and I got clobbered with them.  There were at least fifty, probably more, in each of my tires.  Although the tires are self-sealing, there's no way they could seal this many holes.  I patched them up best I could, and kept pedaling. Soon I was flat again. This process repeated itself for a few hours.  The sun was now getting low and we were nowhere near our destination.  Yet another flat... and another.  Coyotes were howling around us as I struggled to fix another flat in the dark.  We tried to ride on in the dark but the rocky, muddy trail was too much.  We ended up finding a relatively flat spot amidst cow pies and rocks, and gave up for the night. 

The following day my tires held up for awhile but I was soon getting flats again. I had used up all of my patches and sealant and slime tubes and CO2.  So I would go a couple of miles and then use the hand pump.  Repeat.  We were hoping to make it to the backcountry office at the Grand Canyon to get a lottery number for a last minute permit to hike, but it was terribly slow going.  We decided it would be best if I rode as fast as possible between pumping stops so as to maximize efficiency.  So I would stop and use the hand pump until my arms were tired, then pedal as fast as I could until my front tire was flat again.  Repeat. 

At some point the Slime tube in the front tire began to seal itself and hold air.  We were now rolling without having to stop.  We decided to sprint for the South Rim so we could get in the lottery for a walk-up backcountry permit. 

We pedaled and pedaled and finally made it to the town of Tusyan.  We had about 45 minutes before the backcountry office closed.  But it was yet seven miles away.  I volunteered to ride my bike there.  I didn't think I would make it, but I halfheartedly vowed to try. 

The fee booth had a long line of vehicles  waiting to get into the park, and I was on my bicycle in between RVs.  Finally I got to the window and the attendant told me that canyon campground permits were impossible to get, that they had been reserved for months (information information already knew), and that I would never make it to the backcountry office before it closed.  He was a real jerk about it.  But I figured I'd try anyway.

Sprinting down the maze of roads in the park, my legs were like rubber.  Finally I pulled in front of the office where the lady was locking the door.  Summoning the correct submissive tone to persuade a bureaucrat, I asked if I could possibly have a lottery number.  To my surprise, she was very nice and agreed to go back inside to get me one.  It was a great victory and I was terribly relieved.  But the real test would be at 8 am the next morning when the drawing took place. 

The next morning, Jill and I called a taxi at 7:15 am to get us to the backcountry office.  He showed up almost 45 minutes later.  Apparently he was new and was waiting at the wrong hotel.  Heartbroken and frustrated, we went to see if the lottery had taken place yet. 

The backcountry office was crowded with backpacker types all anxiously waiting.  As soon as we entered, the people in back imperceptibly crowded together so as to make sure we couldn't get in front of them.  Luckily, due to the prior night's efforts, I already had a number.  The clerk called "Number Five!".  I looked in my hand and we had number seven.  Rejoicing (and gloating), I waited for my turn.  Number Six didn't show up, so we were next.  When we were called, the lady said she indeed had a site available for the following night.  We were giddy.  The girl at the adjacent counter was not so lucky and was pleading her case.  But we were the last ones.  The whole journey to get a permit was almost thwarted at every turn, and we got one. 

Chapter 8 - Sedona to Flagstaff

My current whereabouts via satellite tracking can be found here:

https://share.delorme.com/RayDixon

After a couple of 'rest' days in Sedona (trail riding without all the camping gear attached), I loaded up and hit the road again.  The only feasible way to Flagstaff is via the 4wd Schnebly Hill road, which eventually leads up to I-17 for the rest of the journey.  I reckoned that the first part of the day would be fun and that the second half... not so much.  I was right. 

There was scattered rain in the forecast, and it began to sprinkle as I headed up Schnebly Hill.  I was the only bicyclist out there, but there were many jeeps taking tourists up for photos.  It was a long climb but my spirits were lifted by the fantastic views of red rock buttes and pinnacles.  At the top the road continued into a flat plateau of piñon forest.  It was much cooler up here and the rain continued to fall. 

Eventually the rain turned to sleet and came down even harder.  My fingertips were white as I dug into my backpack to put on every piece of clothing I had.  At one point I passed an old trailer in the woods and took shelter underneath it.  The rain eased a bit after awhile and I continued on to Flagstaff.  I was on the interstate for about 20 miles and then got on the urban bike path.  It was pretty late and getting dark and I was cold and hungry.  I fished around for some jerky and ate it while pedaling, drool coming off my lips.  I couldn't see very well because my sunglasses were coated in rain and sweat and sunblock.  Finally I pulled into the driveway of the AirBnB that Jill had arranged, and met the proprietor, who offered some chili.  I couldn't turn that down. 

Arizona - Chapter 7 - Sedona

Sedona, as everyone knows, is a real new age center.  It's full of shops selling crystals and vortex tours and palm readings and whatnot.  The landscape there is indeed inspiring.  I felt the town was a little sprawly, without a real center where one could walk around.  But there are abundant hiking/biking trails, so I explored these for a couple of days. 

The first day I took a trail up over a ridge toward the south of town, which led eventually to Cathedral Rock.  There was a creek crossing and I felt pretty cool holding my bike over my head as I waded through the water with many onlookers observing.  They were probably hoping I would fall in the water and cause some excitement, but I managed not to slip. 

The trail went south and climbed up onto some slickrock (not actually slick at all, but very sticky -- great traction).  Here the trail was shared with quite a few pedestrians toting cameras and children.  Trying to be as courteous as possible, I slowed to a walking pace when I encountered anyone.  I was dismayed when a group of five mountain bikers came roaring through the trail and almost hit me, shouting "coming through!!".  I am assuming they scared more hikers along the trail.  It's a bummer, because poor etiquette makes all bikers look bad. 

The second day I ride some more trail, this time in the less crowded northwest part of town.  It was really beautiful and peaceful.  I met a guy named Pat who had driven out from LA and we rode together for awhile.  He is a mechanical engineer and was just out for the weekend with his truck and his mountain bike.  Nice fellow. 

Sedona denizens talking about wheatgrass and bee pollen

Pat, my riding partner for the Chuckwagon trail

Friendly help at Over the Edge Cycles

Questionable Sedona yard art

Arizona -- Chapter 6 -- Cottonwood to Sedona to Flagstaff

The Lime Kiln Trail is an old wagon road that leads from Cottonwood to Sedona.  Some people got together a few years ago to resurrect it as a multi use trail.  I decided to take it from Cottonwood to Sedona.  It turned out to be variable, but mostly decent. 

It annoyed me that the state park charges $3 to ride through to access the trailhead, so I pedaled on the highway a couple of miles to avoid the park.  It turned into some desert scrublands with sand in the washes.  Nobody was out there and it was very silent.  As I climbed atop some small hills I got a view of the gorgeous red rocks and spires of Sedona in the distance. 

Coming out of the hills, I thought maybe I'd try out the pistol I brought along.  I could see for a long ways in every direction, so I didn't think I'd disturb anyone.  I found an old can and a fragment of skeet and put some holes in them, which was fun. 

Pedaling up the hill into Sedona was difficult and my butt got sore again.  I was hoping to camp near town but camping is prohibited anywhere near Sedona.  So I got a room at the Days Inn and unloaded my stuff. 

It was evening by now, and I decided I wanted to catch the sunset.  Dressed in sandals, I pedaled up the road from the hotel and saw a trail on the side of the road.  I felt pretty hardcore when I passed a couple of bikers on a fairly technical bike trail -- me wearing sandals and a baseball cap while they were decked out in helmets and all the gear. 

The sunset was nice, but I soon discovered that I had lost my bike light on the previous rocky bike trail.  I walked around through the rocks and desert until it was very dark, looking for my light.  No luck.  I've lost quite a few items on this trip and I was mad at myself about this one.  Oh well. 

Nice Sedona sunset

Shooting some cans in the desert

View of Sedona from Lime Kiln Trail

Arizona - Chapter 5 -- Camp Verde to Cottonwood

It's always a process to pack up my things and stuff them into my tiny bike bags just so.  There is barely any room, so it takes some serious origami and elbow grease.  I finally got this accomplished and set out to check out the nearby cliff dwellings,  named Montezuma Castle. 

Montezuma Castle didn't have anything to do with the Aztecs, but were the apartments of some people who lived there around 1200AD.  They have been extensively looted but there is an interpretive center to tell what these people did.   There was this mournful flute music being played.  I wondered to myself how anyone knew what kind of music these people played.  I figured it was a recording, but I turned a corner and saw that it was being played by a rotund man with a recorder.  He took a break for awhile and then started up with a few dramatic notes that sounded like the beginning of John Williams' Star Wars theme.  I was really excited for a moment but then he settled back into a sad, slow minor key melody.  So close...

After having had my fill of flute music and cliff dwellings, I pedaled on to Cottonwood.  The road was busy but it had a shoulder.  It was damn hot, so I kept sucking water and cranking away.  At one point I crested a hill and saw a bicyclist standing on the shoulder.  I pulled up alongside him and asked if everything was OK.  He said he was fine... his name was Tim and he had just come out of the nearby desert where he had been camping out.  We ended up cruising together for a few miles on our way into town. 

I found a bike shop and got some air in my rear shock, then headed over to the state park to find a campsite.  The lady at the kiosk said it was $25 for a tent site.  That was kind of steep, I thought.  "May I go have a look at the site first?", I asked.  It was pretty important that there was some shade.  She said no, because a bicyclist might just decide to ride around and enjoy the park without paying.  If I were in a car, she said, I would be more trustworthy.   I was incredulous but kept my cool. I offered to leave my phone with her as collateral but she relented. 

The tent sites turned out to be pretty miserable.  No shade, just forlorn windswept asphalt.  The RV sites were nicer, but they were $35/night, which is quite a bit when you're just looking for a patch of grass.  So I pedaled back out of there and back into town. 

Then I inquired at an RV park if I could pitch a tent, but the proprietor said no.  I think he thought I was a vagrant.  Finally, I paid for a room at a local mom and pop motel which turned out to be very nice.  I felt kind of dumb having carried all of my camping gear around and not using it.  However, the shower was delightful and I slept well. 

 When I have cell service and a full battery, I listen to some tunes.

 Cliff dwellings at Montezuma Castle

 Rode with Tim on the way into Cottonwood

 This fellow at the bike shop in Cottonwood helped to pump up my rear shock

 Somebody looking for a handout

 Riding on the interstate isn't too much fun, but sometimes it's the only way.

Arizona - Chapter 4

Day 14 (?) Strawberry - Camp Verde

Mick at Certified Bicycles had suggested that I take Fossil Creek Road over to Camp Verde.  There are some access issues since Arizona decided to make it permit-only this year.  This was in response to huge crowds that left lots of trash and had to be rescued.  Apparently 200 people got rescued last year due to hiking out in the desert in flip flops, getting dehydrated, and calling for help.  So this summer there are a million signs for miles around saying the area is closed.

I was pretty worried as I pedaled down the road that I would get turned back.  I knew the highway didn't have a shoulder and wouldn't be pleasant.  Soon enough, I came upon a guard post that consisted of a couple of young park rangers and a truck.  A girl looked up from her book and I asked with great politeness if I could pass through.  She was wary and had to call her boss.  The boss showed up and extracted promises from me that I was prepared, that I knew the trail was rough, that I knew that I might die, and that I wouldn't stop and look at anything.  Reluctantly, they let me through. 

It turned out to be a really cool ride, and free from vehicle traffic which was nice.  The road descended really far down a canyon until it got to Fossil Creek, which supports a little forest along its banks.  It was a welcome change from the stark desert. 

I dismounted my bike and took a trail up to a waterfall that descended into a pool called the "Toilet Bowl".  It was scenic and idyllic, with some kids jumping off a rope swing and the remnants of an old dam.  I was kind of sad to notice that even in a permit area, in one of Arizona's must-see attractions, that there was still a decent amount of trash along the trail.  For comparison, at Hanging Lake Trail, a comparable in Colorado, there is nary a shred of trash even though it attracts probably 100,000 people per year.  I guess I'm beating a dead horse. 

Next I had to climb out the other side of the canyon, which was fairly arduous and hot but not excruciating.   The dirt road was well graded and smooth.  Unfortunately a cloud of biting gnats assaulted me every time I stopped, so I kept pedaling. 

After the climb, it was a smooth coast all the way down to Camp Verde, which was a tiny settlement that had a few farms supported by the nearby Verde River.  The USFS campground was hot and dusty with a smelly pit toilet in the middle.  So I pedaled on, getting a room at the Days Inn.  The proprietor looked and acted a bit like Travis Bickle.  I asked him if he was from Camp Verde, and he replied that he was from Southern California but he moved to Camp Verde "for a change of pace".  I'm pretty sure this meant that he probably was trying to escape a criminal record or a bounty on his head. 

Went to Denny's for a chef salad and slept well. 

 Friendly rangers at the Fossil Creek Road

 Headed into Fossil Creek Canyon

 A nice touch, especially if you are near death by dehydration

 The verdant Fossil Creek oasis

 Local wildlife

Stopping to filter some water.  Looks nice, but still plenty of cattle around.