Everywhere but south

Winter arrived here in Prescott a few weeks ago. Three storms, one on the heels of the last, blanketed hid the rocks and trees beneath a calm shroud of white. All our trails met the same fate, but if you knew where they meandered, you could still find them. I headed out on my fattest set of tires to explore. It was one of the more peaceful rides I've been on in quite some time, even with several hours of hiking involved.

But with the semester finished up, grading completed, this was just about the last of the Arizona snow I saw for quite some time. In Minnesota, I found more of the same - snowpacked and icy trails. I had the pleasure of riding with some of the Salsa crew at the River Bottoms trails. Back in high school, I rode this long, sandy, mosquito-infested trail more often in the summers than probably any other trail in the Twin Cities. But I had not been back on it in more than a decade, so it was a treat to get back out there and hear about how it had changed in recent years. To me, it looked like the same old trail, though.

Then it was time to head west to drier lands. First came Nevada, where we found somewhat disconcerted skies, cobbly washes, and contorted layers of rock in all directions.

A few days in California followed. The deep valleys, enormous mountains, salt flats, and desolate yet inviting landscapes of the Death Valley region surrounded us. Many roads stretched for miles toward opposite horizons. We sought out one that didn't and pedaled on for a day, finding virtually no level terrain the entire day. Instead, we spent hours on steady climbs and descents, with an incessant cold wind blowing steadily out of the north.

Then heading east, we aimed for the Beaver Dam Mountains and the St. George Basin. I'll soon be teaching a class in the area, so I had some recon to do. And there was also some pedaling to be done. So we did both. It was exciting to be back in some familiar country that I've grown to really love. Chilly winds and cold nights persisted here, too, but the red cliffs beneath snowy Pine Valley Mountain seemed to have a bit of a warming effect. I'm looking forward to sharing this place and its fantastic geology with my students next month. But for now, it's back to snowy Prescott.

The remote side of the Bradshaws

Prescott sits along the northeastern edge of the Bradshaw Mountains. This isn't a hugely impressive range, but it's tall enough to support millions of Ponderosa pines, snow in the winters, and large wildfires in the summers. The mining-town-turned-summer-getaway town of Crown King stands high on the southern end of the range, but there really are no other proper communities in the mountains. All that's there is a maze of jeep routes, quad trails, steep moto trails, and miles and miles of forgotten, overgrown singletrack. 

I've explored the Bradshaws around Prescott a fair bit now, but the time has begun to expand the radius of my "territory" farther south into the more remote parts of the mountains. On Sunday, I was due for a long, hard ride, so I set out for Crown King on Senator "Highway." It's a fantastic 2-track that connects the hills above Prescott with the southern end of the range, suitable for high-clearance vehicles only. Don't head up there for a weekend drive like so many Phoenix residents do, expecting nice, scenic gravel road. But for a mountain bike, it's fantastic - 30 miles from the end of the pavement near my house to Crown King.

I blasted south through the most familiar part of the route, below Mt Union, past the old outpost of Palace Station, and toward the lowest spot in the range. The forecasted wind began to pick up, swirling up the gulches and through the scraggly scrub oak thickets. Before long, the road tilted up toward the granite-capped peaks of the southern end of the range.

Freshly blackened skeletons of manzanita bushes appeared as I rounded one of the many bends. I had reached the northwestern most edge of the area burned by the massive Gladiator fire earlier this year. The damage was patchy and not terribly severe along my route, but burned hillsides showed the signs of recent monsoon flash floods through deep rills. The road had been washed out at every minor wash crossing, and the larger, lower gradient washes were filled with several feet of new sand. Towers Mountain, capped by millions of dollars worth of communications towers, was stained red by fire retardant dropped by slurry bombers. Branches and rocks along the road also were covered by this reddish paint in places.

I quickly stopped at the Crown King store, bought a tasty sandwich, heated it up in the microwave, and gulped it down before climbing back up to the top of the road. Instead of taking the direct way back home, I turned left onto FR362 and descended into new territory. The rough road when down, down, down, and before long, I was out of the pines and into a dry juniper woodland. I hoped I was on the correct road, and for some reason, I lacked a map or a GPS.

As the temperature rose, my water disappeared far faster than anticipated, so I stopped at a windmill that was squeaking loudly in the now-steady wind. After scrambling up the side of the tank to get some of the fresh water pouring out of the pipe, I noticed a spigot right beneath the center of the windmill. I guess I should always look there first!

The road wound through the rugged foothills for another 15 miles before slowly improving as I reached the outlying ranches of the Maughn empire. From there, the road climbed gradually for 25 miles, directly into the ever-strengthening wind. My mind wandered to and fro as I road, wondering what the Hassayampa River Canyon just out of view to the southwest was like. I stopped and examined some outcrops of tilted basin-fill sediment that recorded the early stages of formation of the valley. I passed the site of the former town of Wagoner, now host to only a water tank and an eerily playground slide. 120 years ago, this road had been an important stage route connecting Phoenix to Prescott. Farther north, I passed the site of another vanished town, Walnut Grove. I didn't even see any evidence of the place remaining.

Occasionally, trails and 2-tracks dropping down from the mountains intersected my route. They're routes for future exploration - trails of highly variable quality that climb all the way up to the crest of the range and offer options for a whole host of different loops.



My mind returned to an idea that's been slowly developing for a 300-400 mile loop through the region. Recon on some of the potential sections of that loop revealed horrendously rocky tracks that stretched to the horizon and beyond. Private property in several key areas also presents a real challenge for access. But as the wind howled in my ears, a new idea for the loop was hatched: Prescott-Crown King-Wickenburg-Stanton-Congress-Bagdad-Walnut Creek-Skull Valley-Prescott. Time for some more recon.

Sunday's loop on an 1874 map of the region

Combining it all . . .

Let's try something that I don't think has ever been done before. Take a bit of the spectacular geology of the Colorado Plateau . . .

. . . combine it with some excited geology students . . .

. . . and then some bikepacking to really become fully immersed in the landscape.

What's the resulting concoction? A new Environmental Studies/ Adventure Education course at Prescott College:

Geology through Bikepacking

Fall Block (September) 2013

A blank slate

Looking at maps of the Southwest as I often do, my eyes are always drawn to the wilds of southern Utah and the Arizona Strip. This area has fascinating geology, an incredibly low population density, few roads, fewer trails, and I have spent very little time exploring the region. Accessibility is a bit of a challenge, water sources are few and far between, and Mesozoic sandstone formations often result in vast expanses of the modern landscape being covered by sand. It's not the friendliest of places, but my mind has recently been fixated on potential routes through the region.

Over Thanksgiving, Caroline and I took advantage of our days off work and school to make a first pedal-powered foray into one remote corner of this area. After driving to Big Water, UT, we camped along an actual flowing creek just outside of town, picked up our free camping permit at the Grand Staircase - Escalante National Monument visitors center the following morning, loaded bags on our bikes, and drifted out of town on a wave of eagerness.

The planned route followed dirt roads of unknown quality east on the benches above Lake Powell, then north through the Burning Hills on Croton Road, across Fiftymile Mountain via Left Hand Collet Canyon, and down to Hole-in-the-Rock Road. From there, we had the option of heading as far south toward the Colorado River as we wanted before turning around and riding north to Escalante, following the Straight Cliffs the entire way. After picking up some rations in town, we planned to return to Big Water on Smoky Mountain Road. Five days, ~260 miles, incredible countryside, and knobby tires. What could be better?

 

The first couple days rewarded us with views of long cliff lines capped by rounded red hills towering above grey and yellow badlands. In areas, coal seams burned underground, sending wisps of sulfur-rich smoke into the sky. To the north, ironically, the Navajo Generating Station, a coal-fired powerplant in Page, sent a continuous stream of yellow haze off to the northeast, obscuring our view of the imposing ediface of the Navajo Mountain laccolith. We pedaled all day, stopping frequently to take in the views, explore geological and historial curiosities, and relax in the warm November sun. We had nowhere to be and several days to get there, so we took advantage of the situation.

Evenings came early each day, with the sun setting by 5:30 pm. There was no shortage of ideal camp spots, so we'd choose the best one, scrounge around for wood to burn, and enjoy the clear night skies with a small crackling fire at our toes before crawling in to our cozy sleeping bags.

One challenge for me, after so many bikepacking races in the past few years, was figuring out how to carry sufficient food and water for three days in territory with no resupply options and virtually no reliable water sources. Food for many days is not a problem, but doubling or tripling our normal water capacity was more of an issue. My solution was a typical bikepacking bag setup with the addition of a rack and panniers. I used an Old Man Mountain Pioneer rack, the strongest option out there (I have had problems with breaking racks in the past...). The panniers were a pair of shiny new 20 L bags. We left Bigwater carrying 4+ gallons of water, excessively warm sleeping bags, and a few other creature comforts. This was far from the ultralight means of travel to which I've become accustomed.

By twenty miles in, one of the panniers had sailed off my rack and gone tumbling down a hill. Later one of the mounting brackets snapped. Then another plastic piece snapped. Luckily, I had packed a couple webbing straps because I was skeptical of the plastic parts, and the straps subsequently held the bags in place fairly well. Clearly these bags weren't designed for rough dirt roads, which was a rather disappointing.

Croton Road was beautiful and rugged, seemingly stealing from us 75% of any elevation gain we accomplished in the form of one steep, short descent after another. We climbed higher and higher as I stared out over the Burning Hills to the west, Fiftymile Mountain to the east, and Glen Canyon back to the south. The "road" down Left Hand Collet Canyon had recently been graded and was in fantastic shape, save a few sand pits and ice rinks. Hole-in-the-Rock Road provided ample sand and washboards, rattling Caroline and I around for hours on end. After nearly two days of riding and seeing two vehicles (the driver of one promptly stopped and held two cans of beer out the open window and wished us a great ride), cars were strangely common, carrying tourists to the popular slot canyon hikes in the area.

One car stopped ahead of us and waved us down. The driver leaned out the window, looking a bit frazzled.

"Can you tell us which way to the slot canyons?" he asked. An annoyed-looking woman sat in the passenger seat, and a small girl stared out one of the back windows.

"Which one are you looking for?" I inquired.

"Any of them!"

I was a bit concerned by the response. He apparently had no map, no idea exactly where he was going, and with only a couple hours of daylight remaining, and was looking to do a hike in one of the more unforgiving places in the Southwest. After describing how to get to a couple of the more accessible canyons, he thanked us and turned the little red car around and rattled back north.

We camped under another beautiful night sky, the nearly-full moon blazing overhead. Morning delivered a glowing pink sunrise over the sculpted Navajo Sandstone domes to the east and the impenetrable wall of the Straight Cliffs just to our west. We stashed our bags among the sage for the day and headed south toward Hole-in-the-Rock to do some sightseeing. Sooner Rocks provided some unique rock formations amongst which we scrambled, and then we followed switchbacks several thousand feet up a relatively recent landslide to Fiftymile Bench. The sandy scrublands below extended off to the Escalante Canyon, and the Henry Mountains and Bear's Ears punctuated the horizon. The views were splendid, the air comfortably cool, and we moseyed along the 2-track. We could see a few tiny specs pass along Hole-in-the-Rock Road far below us, but we shared the bench only with a few scrub jays and hawks.

The following morning, we coasted into Escalante. Our food supply was completely extinguished, save a small bag of pretzels, and our water was nearly out, so refilled our bags and ate some calzones for brunch. Half the shops on main street were empty, several of the motels out of business, and the place had the feel of so many other small towns in the region, standing on the precipice of a very uncertain future.

The final 80 miles of our route followed Smoky Mountain Road up onto the Kaiparowits Plateau, along the base of several impressive cliff lines, and then down the remarkable switchbacks of Kelly Grade. We continually remarked to one another about all the remarkable vistas. The narrow road often tilted upward before topping out at a saddle, revealing an entirely new view to us. Our last night was spent camping on a small sandy knob with a deep canyon on one side and an impressive mountain to the other, with views all the way south well into Arizona. It rivaled most other places I've camped in recent years, and the big moon casting a cool glow across the entire landscape was mere icing on the cake.

I've never had any urge to do any road touring. But dirt road touring is an entirely different beast, and in areas where singletrack is sparse or non-existent, what better way is there to explore? This trip really only served as a stepping stone for some more ambitious trips that are floating around in my mind. I can't wait for a bigger block of time to get back for more . . .

Black Canyon

The Black Canyon Trail in central Arizona is an absolute gem, linking the northernmost exurbs of Phoenix with the small town of Mayer, following a dizzying sequence of exquisitely benched switchbacks, cobbly saguaro-lined canyons, and grassy mesas. The full trail now stretches more than 70 miles, and more trail is in the planning stages.

Typical BCT views

Amazingly, I hadn't ridden a meter of this trail in the ten months since moving to Arizona until recently. Last month, I raced an Arizona Endurance Series event that combines 20 miles of dirt road with 30 miles of the Black Canyon Trail. It was a whirlwind of a morning for me. I had not seen any of the course, didn't really know what to expect in terms of terrain or technical challenges, and hadn't been doing any serious training. I took my usual brilliant approach of going out hard, pinning it for as long as possible, and hoping my legs would hold out until the end. After only a few miles, I found myself alone at the front of the race, heart rate higher than it should have been, but legs feeling strangely superb. Hands draped over the bars, head down, and legs pushing a big gear, I powered along the dusty dirt road for 90 minutes before turning onto a faint singletrack.

I had thought that from that point, I'd be able to relax a bit once reaching trail. Boy was I ever wrong. While not adversely technical, the trail is slippery and windy enough that you're on your toes the entire time. Well-designed sections of trail contour for miles above rugged canyons, but the views are challenging to appreciate without stopping. I raced for all I was worth, eventually reaching my breaking point amongst the unexpected steep climbs in the final half hour. Luckily, the guys behind me faced a similar fate, and I limped in alone for the win and proceeded to relax with subsequent finishers in one of the coolest aspects of AES races - the post-race festivities.

Post-race gathering. Photo by maad jurger.

This past Friday, I returned to the Black Canyon Trail with a group of guys from Prescott. The goal was to ride as much of the trail as possible before dark. We were pedaling south shortly after sunrise, all smiles amidst the yellow grass and soft early light. Stopping frequently to regroup, a general sense of excitement lasted well into the afternoon before fatigue finally started to set in for many of us. By that point, half our group had surpassed the length of their previous longest rides! The steep climbs began to take their toll, but the descents were enjoyable enough that everyone's motivation remained high. An hour before dark, it was apparent we weren't going to have sufficient daylight to reach the southern end of the trail, so our pick-up was diverted to a closer trailhead, which we reached just as the sun was dropping behind the basalt-capped mesas to the west. We covered 50+ miles in 10 hours, and everyone came out relatively unscathed, save the extensive cat claw damage done to all of us.

Our crew rolling south from Mayer

 Steve's biggest ride ever!

Yours truly, courtesy of Steve Lummer

The other Steve grinned the entire way on his fat bike

The Black Canyon Trail really is a spectacular trail, one of the best I've ridden anywhere in the region. It also has fantastic bike-packing potential - views are stunning, there's not much hiking, and while the route has a secluded feeling, there is a convenient resupply option mid-way along the route. There are numerous bail options to dirt roads should that become necessary. Water availability may be a challenge, but with the nearby dirt roads, water can easily be stashed ahead of time (just be sure to gather your empty bottles). If you are ever in the area, take a day or two and explore this trail. I guarantee that you will not regret it.