85.82 mi / 5:18:38 time / 16.1 mph avg. / 41.5 mph max. / 2409 ft. climbing
Staying at Watchman Campground

I slept out on the balcony for the fun of it last night, just me, my sleeping bag and my pad. I think I actually slept better there than inside the room…it helped that it didn’t get down to 25 degrees like it had the night before. I woke just in time to wave goodbye to Swati and Dennis as they packed up the car and drove off. I was sad to see them go, and now I would be truly starting the solo portion of my journey.

Even though we’d had a late night, I made it on the road by 8am. Today would be relatively easy and mostly downhill, so I considered getting one last morning look at Bryce, but decided it would be better to stay ahead of the game. The day started with some riding on the high plateau, through (relatively) lots of tourist-related facilities. Then I hit Red Canyon, where for no apparent reason at all, there is a 5-mile bike trail. Must have come from some odd political earmark. Even stranger, they explicitly prohibit bicycles on the road in that section, even though the road is exactly the same as it is everywhere else. At the beginning, the trail wound back and forth off the road a bit, and it would have annoyed me if I was going the other way (uphill), but going down was just fine. It gave me a nice chance to gawk at Red Canyon, which is sort of like a Bryce Jr., without the admission fee.

Red Canyon suddenly ends, and I was in a different world. There was green (or at least green-ish) everywhere! I would be heading southwest, upstream along the fast-flowing Sevier River, which creates all the greenery. Even though it was uphill for a stretch, I was lucky to have a favorable tailwind that made for easy riding. At 11:30am, I blew past my planned stopping point for the day, covering the 61 miles at nearly an 18mph average. I would easily be making it all the way to Zion today.

After an awesomely disgusting patty melt lunch at Mt. Carmel Junction, I headed west on UT 9, uphill and into a headwind and towards the dreaded Zion tunnel, in which bicycles are not allowed. I’ve been nervous about this tunnel for the whole trip, because I’ve read that some people have had much difficulty getting a ride through, because the park service doesn’t help at all. Though the sagebrush plateau along UT 9 gave no hint of the approaching canyon, I knew I was getting closer when every car coming toward me had their headlights still on. And then suddenly, the pavement turns red, begins winding, and drops between imperial mountains of multi-colored stone, many built with unlikely geometric patterns on their surface. If the drive to get to the entrance is so impressive, I can’t imagine what the park will be like.

Swati had given me their Zion admission which was good for seven days, though I really meant to pay my own entry. As I rolled to the entrance gate, I had my money obviously right in my hand, but the woman looked straight past it and instead saw Swati’s Zion brochure and receipt that I just happened to have stuck in the top of my handlebar bag, and told me to roll on through. She had to know she was doing me a favor, so that was very cool of her. She also said that the ranger at the tunnel would help me hitch-hike through, so that was encouraging.

When I got to the tunnel, there was a short line of cars waiting, because they send RVs and anything else large through it as one-way traffic, for which they pay $15. It’s odd that they make such specific provisions for RVs, but then ignore cyclists, especially since otherwise the park is extremely cyclist-friendly. There’s even a cyclist rate that I should have paid at the entrance gate, which is hard to make logical sense of. “Sure, come in, and pay only $12 because you’re on a bicycle, but sorry, you can’t go past that tunnel coming a mile from here”.

The ranger at the gate wasn’t especially helpful, beyond barking that I should find someone in a pickup to carry me through. He did point out that a pickup had just pulled up a few cars behind me in the line. I walked the bike back and saw that unfortunately the bed was covered. Still, when they rolled down the window, I asked if they had any room under it. No, but if I was cool with laying it on top, they’d take me, as long as I didn’t have sharp stuff that would puncture the cover. Awesome! So my new friend Dave even helped me take off my bags, put them on top of the bed cover, and then lay the bike on top of them. I hopped inside and met his wife Val and their son. Dave did a great job of taking it easy through the mile-long tunnel, and the bike didn’t move an inch. I told him he drives like a professional, and he told me that driving a truck is actually what he does for a living. Ah ha! Once through the tunnel, they let me out at the first safe spot. I was figuring that it could take at least an hour or two for me to find a way through the tunnel, but instead it took barely five minutes! It was yet another heartwarming example of great people helping out strangers in need.

Just as I got my bike off the truck and Dave and Val drove on, a giant bus pulled into the turnout and a load of Dutch tourists piled out. I was mobbed! They were literally surrounding me in a circle and taking dozens pictures of me and the bike. It was hilarious! As an added bonus, some of them helped to steady the bike while I put the bags back on, even though very few of them seemed to have English skills. And as usual, the solar panel was the most interesting thing to them too.

I rolled down a big bunch of switchbacks through more towering mountains, and then I crossed the Virgin River and was in Zion Canyon proper. I rolled past the first campground (“South”, the first-come, first-served one) because the sign said “FULL”. Watchman Campground (the one that allows reservations) also said “FULL”, but I pulled up to the registration booth just for the hell of it. And the clerk inside told me that someone had just left early, so they had a single tent site available! Yet more luck!

Unfortunately, when I shifted my gears while puling up to the booth, I once again shifted past my largest gear in the rear and jammed it between the gear and the spokes. I’d done this before, but this one was much worse, because the chain put a pretty bad kink in one of the spokes, and more catastrophically, bent and fractured the aluminum flange on the hub. That prevented the hub from rotating freely, which meant that no racheting motion could occur, and that’s required any time the bike is moving and I stop pedalling. So I had made it to Zion a day early, made it through the dreaded tunnel with ease, and gotten a campsite in a full campground. But now I had a bike that was completely unrideable. I was pissed at myself, and this was one point where I was happy Dennis wasn’t around, because I knew he would feel the same way, especially since this problem was completely preventable, if only I had done a little bit of maintenance that I had kept putting off.

But, somehow, my streak of incredible luck was not even close to running out. I was now just outside of Springdale, and I knew Springdale had a bike shop. I knew this because it’s the only town with a bike shop between here and Moab, all the way on the other side of the state. On top of that, Zion/Springdale has a free shuttle bus service that picks up right near the campground. If you’re going to be an idiot and break your bike somewhere in southern Utah, there is absolutely no better place to do it.

So, I walked my disabled bike over to my campsite, quickly set up camp, took my wheel off, and walked over to the shuttle stop. In a couple minutes, I was dropped off steps away from Zion Cycles, and, luck again, the door was open even though it was nearly 6pm on a Sunday. In Utah.

I was expecting I would need a whole new hub and have the whole wheel rebuilt, and was willing to pay for that, but Fred looked it over and figured he could just disassemble the hub, go at it a bit with a Dremel to smooth it out, and replace the 9 spokes that had been scarred. Even better, he started working on it even while we were talking, and told me to give a call later on, because he might even have it done before tomorrow!

So I went next door to a pizza & pasta place and ate a whole pizza, then hopped the bus back to the Visitor Center and campground. I gave my mom a call from the pay phone there (thanks for the calling card info, Swati & Dennis!), and then wandered back to my site to clean it up some more. The people who left it early must have left because they had no idea how to camp. They left the site in disgusting shape, with nearly a whole watermelon in the fire grate, a bunch of cans and bottles, and a ton of other food scraps that were attracting flies. And I have no idea what was smeared all over the picnic table. Talking later on back at the bike shop, they mentioned that with the economy, it seems like a lot of people who might have taken motels before are now camping, so it makes for a demographic that is wholly ignorant of respectful camping culture.

Then I called back to Zion Cycles, and yes, my wheel would be ready by the time they closed at 8, so I could come on down and get it. Unbelievable. When I saw it, it was all clean and beautiful and true, and spun like a dream. We talked a bunch more, and I even got some good advice on routes over to the Grand Canyon. Fred and his wife are yet another example of great and helpful people without whom this trip would not be possible.

This time I walked back to the campground (it’s really only like a mile or so), happily spinning my wheel in my hand. I stopped at the small market just outside the park boundary which is the most comprehensively-stocked small market I’ve ever seen, and got some snacks, ice cream, and a beer. I started putting my bike back together as it got dark, but hit the sack and would finish up in the morning.

0 mi / 0 time / – mph avg. / – mph max. / – ft. climbing / 5 mi hiking
Staying at Bryce Canyon Lodge

It was relatively late when we all roused ourselves, and I think we all managed to sleep pretty well together for an odd group of four. Thankfully the room was huge, so even with the bikes, it left plenty of room for me on the floor. I didn’t have any days completely off the bike on my last tour, so this would be a welcome opportunity to take it easy.

I went to do a load of laundry, while Dennis would take a test-ride on his bike, and Swati and her mom would prepare for the day. The laundry machines were funny, a load was $1.50, but it had to be in the form of a dollar coin and two quarters. The dollar coins could be obtained at the attached General Store. Is this some Federal program to artificially induce the use of dollar coins? I now have visions of Sacagaweas (or whatever the dollar coin is these days!) being the only currency accepted in bureaucratic government offices across the country, and poor federal employees hoarding the things in order to obtain a precious Coca-Cola.

We all met again outside the General Store, and Dennis dropped his decision: he would not be continuing on. This, despite the fact that his test-ride had gone pretty well. It was mostly the fear of re-occurance that was guiding his decision, and perhaps that was a rational and well-placed fear. Still, I wanted to make sure that he had all the necessary information on which to base his decision, but we could wait for later for that, and enjoy Bryce Canyon instead.

We went to the Visitor Center and watched the 20-minute park movie, inexplicably projected in horribly-compressed digital video. 70% of the pictures in the video showed snow amongst the stone, so it was too bad we wouldn’t be seeing much of that in the real version. Then we cruised the 18-mile drive to the end of the park, and saw most of the viewpoints on the way back. That was one place where the use of the car was really nice, because a 1100 ft. climb to over 9000 ft. would not have been a lot of fun. It would have made us a lot less sleepy though! For me, having already seen the Amphitheater area near the lodge, the viewpoints weren’t nearly as striking from a geologic perspective, but as the park brochure said, they did provide very expansive views of the surrounding terrain. The Natural Bridge viewpoint (which, as the signs say, isn’t actually a Natural Bridge, so why don’t you just change the name you idiots???) was my favorite of the non-Amphitheater views, with Bryce Point providing an awesome perspective on the Amphitheater that I hadn’t seen the day before.

Then we stopped back at the room for a bit, where I laid out the details of the upcoming days for Dennis. I noted that for at least the next week we would have relatively short distances or downhill grades, with several days off, and also mentioned some opportunities for van pickup service around the Grand Canyon area should we need any sort of bailout there. I really hoped that it would reduce Dennis’s fear of the unknown, and convince him that any issues would be manageable. But I also didn’t want to press him too much, because he is the only one who really knows how he feels, and is the only one capable of making the decision. Even worse than putting himself in a dangerous situation would be me influencing him into a dangerous situation. So I tried to just give the facts. But maybe I should have been more proactive and encouraging. We left it at that for the time, to give him the chance to digest the new information. Which is really the last thing I wanted to foist upon him, since I know he has been giving himself indigestion from all the thinking and re-thinking of the past few days, but I really wanted to make sure he had a full view of the facts to start from.

Then Dennis, Swati and I took a hike down below the rim, down amongst the hoodoos, fins and tunnels. The view of the Amphitheater from the top is incredible, but stepping inside it is like being given a brand new set of eyes to replace your old, worn-out ones. The most surprising part is that it literally takes only a few steps below the rim for the perspective to change dramatically. The late afternoon sun was lighting up the oranges, pinks, whites, and purples to full saturation, and the deep blue sky wasn’t being left out of the game either. The Queens Garden trail took us down and around many of the most famous hoodoos, many defying physics with their balancing acts. But my favorite part was when we connected with the “Wall Street” section of the Navajo Loop Trail, where we found ourselves deep within the orange fins, rising hundreds of feet above us while leaving a gap of less than 10 feet for the trail to wind through at the shadowy bottom. And there were tall evergreen trees growing down there! It was much like the bandit-hideouts at Arches, but even more enclosing, and far greater in scale. When we returned up a long line of switchbacks to the top, we could see that we explored just one of the dozens between-the-fins spaces; I wish I could walk them all. The brochure wrote “some say it’s the best 3-mile hike in the world”, which I thought was simply a load of National Park hyperbole, but after doing it, I think that’s a claim that actually would hold up in court. It was that good.

We had some time to kill before our dinner reservation at the lodge restaurant, so we got a set of cards from the front desk and played a drinking game without the drinks. The lodge has tons of games, which they provide as a replacement for TV, because, splendidly, none of the rooms have TV. Yay National Park Lodges! It was great to see Swati’s mom come to life during the game, and both Saxenas are very accomplished card shufflers!

Then we had our anticipated lodge dinner, treated by Swati’s mom. Even though I had been eating all day (including a whole new 6-pack of bagels), I still had soup, salad, bread, beer, my entire Thai-peanut-pasta dish, some of Swati’s mom’s dish, half of Swati’s dish, and a good chunk of the chocolate cake and ice cream in honor of Dennis’s upcoming birthday. Unfortunately, my meddling earlier meant that Dennis’s mind was elsewhere for much of the dinner, though he did enjoy his cake.

After dinner, Swati and Dennis went off for one last talk, while I waited anxiously in the room to hear the final, final decision. At last, they came back, and Dennis told me that his morning decision held: he would not be going on. That was disappointing to hear, and really quite sucky, but that doesn’t mean it was the wrong decision. And at least we had some finality, and hopefully an end to the mental and emotional torture Dennis had been feeling over the last few days.

We did some final exchanging of supplies to make sure I would really be ok on my own, and then said our goodbyes, since they would be leaving for Salt Lake City early in the morning. I can only hope that in time, Dennis will be able to see our ride together as a great two-week trip, rather than half of a four-week trip. Because that’s really what it was, and I’d have him as my wheelman again, any time, anywhere.

67.84 mi / 6:20:00 time / 10.7 mph avg. / 38.0 mph max. / 5509 ft. climbing
Staying at Bryce Canyon Lodge

I slept well, was up before dawn, and on the road by 7am. I knew that the ride today would consist of a couple of big climbs, but I hadn’t noticed that there was a third climb of 1200 ft. right at the beginning. 12% grades early in the morning will wake you up in a hurry!

I made it to the town of Escalante around 9am, and found some WiFi at a park, so I sent an email to Dennis updating him on my status. I was down to $25, which would be enough to get me into Bryce Canyon National Park, but not enough to get a campsite, even if there were any available. So I was hoping that our assumptions had been right and that Swati had a room booked at the Lodge for tonight, and that I would be able to use it. Luckily, Dennis received my email immediately, and we exchanged a few quick messages (I had no phone coverage). I learned that Swati was calling the Lodge to tell them to let me in, since I would likely be arriving before them. That was a great relief to me, and it meant that I wouldn’t have to hurry in order to try to figure out some other plan when I arrived at Bryce.

I did still have to hurry to beat the winds though. The morning was calm (hence the early start), but I knew they would be picking up into my face throughout the day. And with an 1800 ft. climb (to a pass at 7600 ft) followed by a 2000 ft. climb (ending the day at Bryce at 8000 ft), I wanted to avoid the wind as much as possible. Heck, I always want to avoid the wind as much as possible!

Yesterday the climb was so challenging that it grabbed all of my attention, and I didn’t really have a chance to miss Dennis. But today, I definitely missed him. It would have been nice to have him along not only to trade wind-blocking duties, but also to break up the monotony of the more gradual climbs of the day. And just to have someone to share the experience with.

In the valley between the two peaks, there are three towns in an 8 mile stretch, which is an unprecedented level of density out here. The first, Henrieville, didn’t even have a store (though it had plenty of schoolkids), while Cannonville and Tropic got progressively larger and more tourist-oriented as their distance from the National Park decreased.

I made it to Bryce around 4pm, where the accomodating staff at the Lodge trusted me enough to give me a key to Swati’s room even though I had no official ID. After a shower, I wandered down to the General Store to get some food, but took the long route to the rim of the canyon to see the views of the famous hoodoos. The approach to the rim felt like the approach to a lake, where you ascend a slight rise and can only see the sky above, until you get right to the shore. But instead of water below, an amazing array of pink, orange, and white stone pinnacles came into view. I saw hints of this new type of formation on the way up the hill, but looking down into the maze of spires and fins was quite unlike anything I’ve seen so far.

At the General Store, I got a bag of bagels, a sandwich, a coke, and two beers, and hoped that they would come to less than $11, which is how much money I had left. Total: $11.51. Wait, I have some change…counting it up, I got to exactly $11.50, then took a penny from the take-a-penny bin to complete my transaction. Phew! I was now down to exactly no money, but at least I had some more food! I went back to the lodge and ate it on the beautiful log balcony of our room, including all six bagels (1500 calories!) I did manage to restrain myself and save a beer for Dennis whenever he showed up.

Up here the weather conditions are some of the most unusual I’ve experienced. The sky is so clear and the sun so bright that even at 5pm you can feel it blazing on your skin. But move behind just a tiny bit of shade, and the 8000 ft. elevation can chill you in an instant. So finding a balance between the two can be a slight challenge, but it’s so beautiful up here that it’s well worth it.

Near sunset I took one more stroll out to the rim trail, where there was a small crowd gathered (shocker!) at Sunset Point. It sure is nice to know that I’ll be off the bike for a day and a half and can spend some time lazily wandering around.

Around 10pm, there was a knock at the door, and Dennis, Swati and her mom had arrived safely (after a near miss with a deer!) It was great to see them, though we were all a bit tired from our long days. We did a bit of catching up, some preliminary planning for tomorrow, and then hit the sack. But I took one last run (it was cold now!) out to the rim, to see it under the nearly-blinding moonlight. A strange mix of haunting and peaceful, and on the walk back, I saw a shooting star! A good omen, I hope…

59.86 mi / 5:36:22 time / 10.6 mph avg. / 39.5 mph max. / 5612 ft. climbing
Staying at Calf Creek BLM Campground

Dennis woke up and packed up the bike normally, wisely preparing for that minor miracle of overnight healing, should we be so lucky. And we almost were. On the mile ride back to the park entrance, he felt pretty good. Which made his decision to stay back all the more impressive, since at that point, pressing on would have been the easy choice to make. It was a strategic move to retreat from one battle, in order to have a better chance at winning the larger war. Especially since we had Swati in the area to aid the retreat, and even failing that, Dennis & Pat…it would almost be a waste of help and friendship to carry on! And the fact that there had been much improvement overnight was a great sign, suggesting that this could be a managable injury, rather than a catastrophic one, so better to manage it than make it a catastrophe.

We did a quick exchange of tools to make sure that I would be carrying everything I’d need to survive on my own on the road, and then I got out of there pretty quickly, in a probably-failed attempt to make our split seem like not too big of a deal. But it was a big deal. I felt like I was abandoning my man out there in the battlefield. I was surely violating some code of brothers. And for myself, even though I’m no stranger to being out there on my own, that was not my mindset for this trip, so I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for it.

Well, for the moment, I wouldn’t actually be going solo. Dennis II (who is called “Dennis” by his wife Pat, while I’ve curiously heard her refer to our Dennis as “Denny”) would be filling in as my partner for the first few miles. He was inspired by our epic tales of conquest and vengeance (or maybe just the beautiful morning scenery) and wanted to try it out for himself. Unfortunately the first few miles (first 30, really) were all uphill, which takes quite a bit of fun out of the vengeance, so when Pat went by in the support vehicle, he took the opportunity call off the fight. I had fun riding with him though, and maybe it was a good way to slowly ease into the solo thing. I said my maybe-final goodbyes to our new friends, who we’ll actually be ahead of on the road from now on (which shows how much there is to see and do in this country!)

And then I was on my own, set to climb over 4000 ft. to the top of Boulder Mountain. Well, not really the top, more like the side. It’s not even a traditional pass, the road simply runs way up the side of the mountain and then back down, I assume because the land at lower elevations is just too scarred and twisted to run a road through. The elevation change took me through a lot of different landscapes in a short period of time, which is one of the things I love about mountain climbing. And the biggest extreme of all was the snow still on the ground once I got above 9000 ft., while my thermometer read 87 degrees (admittedly in the sun, but still!)

There were so many points where I said “I wish Dennis could be here for this”, but than an equal number (like the many stretches of 8-12% grade at 4 mph) where I said “Dennis really made the right decision by staying back”. Since it took place over a 30 mile stretch, it wasn’t the hardest mountain ascent I’ve ever done, but it was probably top-3. And it was awesome to reach the summit at 9600 ft., the highest I’ve ever been on my bicycle.

Less awesome were the insane winds at the top, which kept what would have been a 40mph descent under 25 mph for most of the time. In the tiny town of Boulder I stopped at the eclectic Burr Trail cafe and spent some of my precious cash on a bacon & gorgonzola burger and an enormous peanut butter cookie. The gas station/grocery also had all sorts of fancy organic foods, but I didn’t have the cash to spend on that!

Further down the hill, I saw another pair of tourists heading up, solo, but travelling together today, both with Portland as a start or ending destination. The solo woman (third seen in two days!) was excited to hear that there was another of her kind in the area, and hoped to run into her.

Then I hit the craziest part of the descent, where the road runs down the top of a sharp ridge, with steep 1000 ft. dropoffs literally right at the edge of both sides of the road. I made sure to stick close to the centerline, especially with the wild winds blowing unpredictably.

When I turned into Calf Creek campground, the hostess rolled her eyes when I asked if there was any chance that there was still a site available. But she and her husband turned out to be some of the best campground hosts I’ve met, and they found me a spot down in the group area. There were already several other people staying there, so we would be a “group” who simply didn’t previously know each other. The hosts do a great job of letting as many people stay there as is reasonable, without making it too crowded or uncomfortable for anyone, which can be quite a challenging balance to maintain. For me, they said they would have given me a place on their sofabed if nothing else worked out!

I took the six-mile round-trip hike along Calf Creek, which ends at a 100+ ft. waterfall. Any waterfall in this land is pretty amazing (it was back to being blazing hot and dry at these lower elevations), so a big one like this is completely unexpected, and it was a pleasure to sit there alone at the edge of its pool and eat my giant cookie. I was the last one out on the trail for the evening, and much of the walk through the canyon was shaded and relatively cool; it would be a lot less fun earlier in the day.

When I got back, I found that Dennis, Swati, and her mom had stopped by and left some goodies in my tent. That was awesome, and even better, it was good to know that the rescue plan had actually succeeded. I mixed up a wacky dinner of refried beans combined with Cream of Mushroom soup, augmented by some carrots donated by the kind family camping next to me. And then I called it a night, hoping that the drinking group building a giant fire wouldn’t keep me up too much; I needed an early start tomorrow.

39.65 mi / 3:03:01 time / 12.9 mph avg. / 28.0 mph max. / 1713 ft. climbing
Staying at Fruita National Park Campground

We were a bit slower than normal getting out of bed, due both to our late night and the lack of a need to get anywhere in a hurry today. We tried another Hanksville eatery for breakfast, Blondie’s (which means we’ve probably sampled 2/3rds of the restaurants in Hanksville, but only 1/4th of the gas stations). It was an order-at-the-counter, grab-your-milk-in-a-bottle-from-that-cooler kind of place, but they cooked up surprisingly good French Toast and Biscuits & Gravy.

It didn’t take much riding for us to clear out of Hanksville, and now in better light it was interesting to see the different colors of the region. The artist who painted most of the previous areas we’d been through worked in reds, yellows, and browns, while the artist who did the Hanksville area worked in blues and grays. Those colors, along with the different erosion patterns that created tumbling piles of gravel and sand, gave the area the feel of one enormous mining operation. Which can be quite pretty, in its own way!

We were cruising along pretty well upstream along the Fremont River (which actually had water flowing in it!), with Dennis taking the lead because I really felt like relaxing today. Suddenly he called for a stop, complaining of some knee pain. I was concerned, but it said it was something he’s dealt with since he was a kid, so I figured there was a good shot it would be manageable, especially with the short day today.

A little farther on I noticed a woman up in a cottonwood tree in a nice shady grove along the river. Then I saw their bikes and gear…the first fellow tourists we’d crossed paths with! We stopped and exchanged the usual details and routing tips, happy to communicate with people who fully understand us. The amazing thing about this group was that they weren’t only Ben and Sylvette, they had their young son Zian with them, towing him in a Burley-like trailer all around the world for a year. And here I thought Dennis was a handful to deal with on the road! 🙂

Just as we were getting pictures, what do we see coming down the road but another touring cyclist! What a bizarre coincidence. This time it’s a solo woman, heading west like us. We do the introductions over again, but before we can finish exchanging all the new information, here comes another solo woman, this time from the west! So within a period of 10 minutes, four parties of self-supported, fully-loaded touring cyclists converged on this magical cottonwood grove. Perhaps even better than that, three of the six principals are women, two of them on their own. And remember, this is Utah!

When we got going again after the unexpected break, Dennis’s knee had stiffened considerably, and I could tell by the unpleasant noises he was making that he was fighting through quite a bit of pain. I wanted to stop so that we could somehow make it better, but he wanted to press on, with the thought that if we stopped it might freeze up and never move again. So onward he fought, through the hills, the hot gusting winds, and the blasts of dust, with me doing what little I could to shield him from the worst of it.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long time to me, and presumably ten times longer to Dennis, we finally reached the entrance to Capitol Reef National Park. We stopped at the Visitor Center to get some fresh water and cold drinks to use as stand-ins for an ice pack for Dennis’s knee. We were probably standing by the drinking fountain for five minutes, in a general fog wondering what to do, when I suddenly noticed that the white piece of paper tacked to this bulletin board was a message for us! It was from Dennis and Pat, the couple who had given us half their site (and all of their hospitality) two nights before, letting us know what site they were at. Only after that did I notice the sign that said “Campground Full” (ugh!) so once again we would test the limits of their hospitality.

And it apparently has no limits. Pat was relaxing and reading a book when we rolled up, but immediately got some real ice for Dennis once she heard our story, and they immediately offered the option of a lift as far as Escalante (their destination the next day) if it would help us out at all. At that point we weren’t really sure what would help. What we knew was that Dennis’s knee was not good, and that the next day began with a 30 mile climb that would take us to 9600 ft; hardly a rehab opportunity. But we also knew that Swati could be driving through the area tomorrow, and that we were all scheduled to spend two nights together at Bryce in a couple days, and maybe that would give some chance for recuperation.

So we walked (Dennis had absolutely no pain when walking, only when cycling) the mile back to the Visitor Center from the campground to try out their pay phone. Using Swati’s calling card number, Dennis was able to get her voicemail, and talk to his sister to get her to relay the same information to Swati through email. The message was that Swati (who was in the Moab area at the time, but out of cell phone range) might need to swing by Capitol Reef the next day on the way to Zion to pick up Dennis if his knee didn’t start feeling better.

Dinner started with chips & salsa from our hosts, then included mac & cheese from both parties, and concluded with pies, thoughtfully but comically purchased by both parties for each other. Really, our pie gift was purchased by Dennis, who is clearly still way more thoughtful than I, even when his mind was heavily distracted. Another camper came over and interrupted our dinner and conversation to talk touring bikes, which wasn’t a big deal, but it highlighted again what cool people Dennis and Pat are, and that we wouldn’t have clicked with just anyone as well as we did with them.

After dinner I took a moment to look around the park a bit. It’s an interesting place, where the park encompasses an enormous 100-mile-long buckle in the crust of the Earth. From a human perspective, it doesn’t appear substantially different than any of the other crazy piles of rocks that we’ve seen; you’d really need a high-flying airplane to fully grasp it. But the park is brought down to the human scale by the remnants of an 1880s Mormon settlement in which most of the facilities are set. Due to the Fremont River, the settlers we able to create a green oasis in the midst of the harsh and unforgiving land, and much of that remains today, including the many orchards where fruit is still grown and picked. That makes the campground a pretty special place, with watered grass, tall shade trees, millions of birds, and even deer wandering through.

None of that was much comfort to Dennis though, who had just returned from a short practice ride to see if the knee had gotten any better. It probably would have taken a minor miracle to make it instantly better, and unfortunately, we didn’t get one. So the plan was this: split ways temporarily, with me riding onward solo for two days, and Dennis getting lifted from Capitol Reef by Swati, taken with her and her mom to Zion, and then back to Bryce where we would all meet again. That would give Dennis three days for recovery, and then we’d see where to go from there. We remembered that we’d heard there was a phone at the campground (wish we knew about that earlier!) so Dennis was able to get in touch with Swati directly (rather than having me ride to the Visitor Center and relay the message inaccurately).

We went to bed with a wish that everything would snap back into place by morning, as if nothing had happened.

Here!

109.19 mi / 7:46:57 time / 14.0 mph avg. / 39.5 mph max. / 4715 ft. climbing
Staying at Whispering Sands Motel, Hanksville

As if Dennis and Pat sharing their site hadn’t already conferred enough advantages upon us, it also meant that we would be able to see some Natural Bridges! So that’s what we did early in the morning, after getting some tips from our hosts who had done the big hike around all three bridges the day before. For us, we unloaded the bikes and rode the 9-mile loop road, walking down to two of the bridges. And I’m really glad we did, because they were way better than I expected. The bridges are sort of like arches, except they’re formed by water rather than wind. This means that they form a “bridge” over a river (or a dry wash in this case), and the area at the bottom is green, filled with birdsongs, and becomes an oasis of peace and comfort in the harsh, rugged land. So both the atmosphere and the scale was quite different than the Arches. Also, as is normal when we do our early-morning explorations, we had the whole area completely to ourselves.

We were able to ride the extra 9 miles and do a couple miles of strenuous hiking because we knew today would be an easy day. From 6700 ft. at Natural Bridges, we would roll down a 45 mile hill and cross the Colorado River once more at 4000 ft, at the point where it begins to turn into Lake Powell. We were able to confirm at the Natural Bridges visitor center that drinking water would be available at Hite “Marina”; that was a godsend, because this secion would be nearly impossible to complete without that oasis.

The downhill was fairly gradual, and we had a bit of a headwind, so Dennis and I set up a nice rhythm of exchanging the lead every two miles and letting the other person draft. This allowed us to keep a fairly constant 20 mph average, something that would have been impossible to do alone.

Halfway down, we stopped to make a brief attempt at “canyoneering”. We scrambled under the bridge at Fry Canyon and hiked a small distance until we could lower ourselves into the narrow slot cut through the sandstone. Only a few feet wide, and 20-30 ft. high at that point, the walls wind and snake just as the multi-colored layers of sandstone do, forming a beautiful and secluded hideaway. It’s too bad we didn’t have the time or equipment to explore more, but it was great to get a taste of this emerging “sport”, and we found a nice shaded sandstone bowl in which to relax and eat some Twizzlers, M&Ms, and apricots.

Then we completed the final downhill to Hite, with the red bluffs getting taller and more dramatic the closer we got to the river. Hite used to be an active marina on Lake Powell, but the lake level has dropped so low that the boat ramp now sits far, far away from the water, so all that’s really there is pay-at-the-pump gas, an intermittently-open ranger station, and an intermittently-open store. I knew this stuff from the Internet, but getting specifics is difficult. What does “intermittent” mean, and does something written in 2006 still hold up in 2009, or has the area been completely abandoned since then?

Well, not only did they have drinking water, the grocery store was open too! (10am to 4pm at the moment, fyi) And what a glorious place it was. Despite the fact that we tried to stock up on two days of food a couple days before, it seemed that our stomachs were bigger than our eyes had been. So at Hite we chowed down on some Hot Pockets, a can of peaches, cheese, and ice cream, and Gatorade, and bought a whole ton of granola and candy bars to keep us fueled over the next day until we finally reached another town. Dennis also found a small box of Q-tips that he had been looking for, and I picked up a much-needed nail-clipper. I tell you, this store was perfection! We spent over an hour and a half there, until it closed at 4pm, which also allowed us to escape some of the brutal heat down there in the river valley.

Then we had to ride a mile out back to the main road, and cross two rivers, first the Colorado, and then the Dirty Devil. That meant a lot of winding and some big hills. The fact that a road bridges this chasm is an amazing feat in itself, so we couldn’t complain too much to the builders for all the ups and downs they had to put in (I think the only other road crossings of the Colorado are over 100 miles up- and down-stream, at Moab, and in Arizona!)

My original plan for the day was to stop just on the other side of the Dirty Devil River for a short 55 mile day. But Dennis was nervous about the 80 mile day that would leave us for tomorrow, so I decided that we would go 10-15 miles further on this day, shortening our next day by that much, and find a spot to wild-camp off the side of the road. The whole day we had been on SR 95, and the mile posts were counting down the distance to the next town, Hanksville. After we crested a brutal hill that finally brought us to the gradual upward slope of the North Wash that we would follow out of the valley, I saw the 40 mile marker and jokingly said “heck, let’s just blow out these 40 miles today!”

When we stopped at the Hog Springs rest area (only a vault toilet, a picnic shelter, and no water, but the finest facilities in 100 miles along this road), I found that Dennis had actually been thinking seriously about that idea! This, from the guy an hour earlier at Hite was still nervous about making the next 10-15 miles to a place to camp! It initially sounded crazy to me, because it would mean a 108 mile day, twice what we had planned, and even worse, it was already 6pm, so we only had a couple hours of light left to cover 35 miles. I figured it would be easy to recite some horrors of a ride like this and scare the idea out of Dennis, but suddenly that didn’t work at all; while he would defer to my experience, he still wanted to give it a shot! So I brought out the computer to do some analysis of the distance and climbing, and it seemed doable, though it would be painful and slightly crazy. But my main thought was this: if we can pull it off, this will give Dennis the confidence to believe that he can complete any remaining ride scheduled on this trip. And with the idea and decision largely being his own, it would give him some ownership of our planning, rather than having to simply follow whatever I had planned, and that would surely give him some confidence too.

So off we went, and for the first few miles, the slight incline and slight tailwinds made it seem like a reasonable idea. The canyon we were riding up was incredible, with the towering red walls much larger and closer than those we saw on the descent to the river on the other side. Soon the wind turned around though, and slowed us down a good bit, but we pressed on, again using our alternating-drafting technique to conserve energy, this time silently communicating the lead changes whenever one of us would feel stronger than the other. So together we made it to our peak elevation, 1200 ft. above the river, just as the sun was setting.

There were plenty of good areas to camp on the side of the road where we could have stopped if we needed to, but still we pressed on, this time down a slight downhill, though still with a quartering headwind. As it got darker, Dennis turned on his blinking taillight, but luckily there had been almost no traffic on this road the entire day (we almost saw as many cows on the road as we did cars), and the road surface was pretty good.

We had one final uphill to push through, and we made it to the peak just as the final remnants of orange glow in the west equalled the light from the moon in the east. When we saw the twinkling lights of Hanksville down below and 4 miles away: elation! We’d done it! We rode/coasted down the final hill, and turned into the first motel we saw, just after 9pm, tired but happy and proud. For Dennis to have done his first century ride (100 miles) fully-loaded, over such terrain, was quite an impressive feat.

There was a burger joint just down the road that was luckily still open ’til 10, so we chowed down on a bunch more food, including a big ol’ chocolate shake with our burgers. The funny part was that we had lugged two days worth of dinners with us on this segment that are still unused! The connected gas station had a couple of good beers for sale individually, so of course we had to get those, and enjoyed them together sitting outside our motel room much later than usual, knowing that we’d have a short day tomorrow!

68.10 mi / 5:50:12 time / 11.6 mph avg. / 39.0 mph max. / 4551 ft. climbing
Staying at Natural Bridges National Monument Campground

Once we finished writing our computer stuff last night, we went back to our campsite and found that the ferocious winds had thankfully died down quite a bit. There were also several other tent campers that had found spots out on ledges like ours. Even if it had been windy, once my tent pegs are hammered directly into the sandstone (we actually broke some hammer-rocks in the process) and all my gear is strategically laid out on the floor inside, it ain’t going anywhere. Before bed we sat on some rocks and ate Oreos and Nutter Butters with the shadowy hulks of the Mitten monuments looming before us. (that’s another great-to-have Dennis along item: how have I lived for 32 years without being acquainted with the exquisite beauty of Nutter Butters?!)

I kept my the door on my rainfly rolled up so I could see the monuments all night, waking right when the sun rose behind them, and got pictures along with just about everyone else in the campground. I got to use some of my toilet-paper stash since the porta-potties in the high-class campground didn’t supply any, yay!

Once we hit the road, Dennis was pushing hard, partly because he had some doubts about being able to survive the day. I felt bad for that, and would like to be able to give him complete reassurance that we’ll make it through just fine. But that day up to Dead Horse Point didn’t just put doubts into him, it put them into me as well. Due to my experience, I thought I had a much better idea of what we can handle in a day, but my experience counts for little in this canyon country, and that scar from Dead Horse does make me less confident that we are biting off chewable-sized pieces.

Well, the first part of the day wasn’t anything to be concerned about for either of us. It was a mostly-downhill backtrack to Mexican Hat, where we made it by 10am in time for second-breakfast at a cafe we saw on the way out of town the day before (one nice thing about backtracking: you know every place in town by that point). I got an enormous green chili breakfast burrito, which was awesome, along with some more fry bread, since we were still in Navajo Land. Our server was a goofy but very amiable older character with a cane, who almost seemed like he might have a mental deficiency. Only found out later how much I had been judging a book by its cover when he said he would love to do a ride like ours, and that he used to run the Salt Lake Marathon every year, until he got hit by a drunk driver. The Navajo Nation is pretty clear about not allowing any alcohol on the reservation, but judging by all the cans and bottles on the roadside, this is unfortunately an oft-ignored rule.

Then it was back to the Mexican Hat Shell Station/Food Mart, which is surprisingly weak as food marts go, especially since it’s the only grocery store in town. We spent $41 there stocking up on two days of food, because we’re really heading into wide open spaces, where food and water will be tough to come by; we’ll see no real towns for more than two days.

Then it was time to begin the section that Dennis feared, and I simultaneously feared and looked forward to: climbing on top of Cedar Mesa via the Moki Dugway. It would take us up 2400 feet from the San Juan river in 13 miles, most of the climbing in a three-mile stretch of gravel switchbacks rising straight up a 1200-foot cliff face. I knew that if we made it, the views and the experience would be awesome, but what if we didn’t make it? As it turns out, we survived pretty well, with Dennis leading the whole way. The gravel was a little loose and washboard-y, but we could dodge the worst of it, and although there were certainly sections of 10% grade, there were also sections that were lower, and some of the corners of the switchbacks were even paved to make things easier. The only reason I can guess as to why they don’t pave the whole thing is to keep it from becoming a popular shortcut for commercial traffic. The views were astounding (especially looking down at the long, snaking road that we had come from), and the feeling of accomplishment from conquering such a beast is hard to beat, so it put us in just the mood that I had hoped.

Once we were on top of the Mesa, we were in a different world, which included cool temperatures, and trees. The final 30 miles of “flat” riding still took us up another several hundred feet, until we finally descended to Natural Bridges National Monument.

Upon arrival, we found that the campground was full. Crap. The guys in the Visitor Center suggested that we go back out and wild-camp on open BLM land, which actually didn’t sound like all that bad of an idea. The only problem was that it meant we would probably have to skip seeing the Natural Bridges, because we wouldn’t want to come back in for them. Oh well, I actually had never been terribly interested in this particular Monument anyway. So we went to fill up all of our water-carrying devices (really the main reason for stopping here!) and prepared to head back out. But then a couple pulled up from nowhere in a truck-camper and asked if we were looking for a spot. Why, we certainly were! They said they weren’t using the tent pad at their site, so we were welcome to it. Well wasn’t that just darn wonderful? The Visitor Center guys had actually also suggested asking around the campground if anyone wanted to take us on, but I’d have a hard time imposing on someone like that. So we were so grateful that Pat and Dennis took the initiative to offer to share their site with us. Not only that, then they shared their food with us, including a great pot o’ beef stew and days-old cookies that tasted as if they were fresh from the oven, given the circumstances under which we received them. But supreme generosity wasn’t their only gift; they were also great people and fun to talk with over dinner.

So a day that started out with some doubts ended with a restoration of faith in ourselves, and in the kindness of strangers. It was a pretty great example of why I love bike touring.

49.53 mi / 4:12:45 time / 11.7 mph avg. / 38.0 mp max. / 3635 ft. climbing
Staying at Wildcat Primitive Campground, Monument Valley

Today started really crappy, with me being unable to locate my wallet. We tore the room apart (thanks to Dennis for all his help, patience, and ideas), asked a lot of people, and looked everywhere we could think of, but no luck. All I could figure was that it fell out of my pocket while I sat in the motel lounge the night before, but it seems strange that someone would actually take it. All it contined was my driver’s license, one credit card, and exactly $1. In reality, it probably isn’t an enormous calamity; Dennis has money, there were no charges on my card, and I think I’ll be able to pull off the flight home without an ID. But it sure made me feel like shit. Combined with the flat-tire nervousness of the day before, I was really hitting a low point.

But then, as I’ve experienced many times before, days like this can turn on a dime. Today, that dime was a car and a couple of motorcyclists passing us on the road as we climbed, all of them giving us cheerful and encouranging toots of their horn. At that same point, the surroundings were just beautiful, and there were some cows for me to moo at, so suddenly a huge smile broke out on my face. Yes, this bike touring thing is fun, and crappy stuff can’t keep me down!

So today’s ride took us immediately up a big hill, and from the top of that hill we could already see the Monuments in the distance. Giant red buttes rising up against the horizon. The rest of the ride showed us many perspectives of those buttes, with the final perspective being the classic shot in Monument Valley that I posted as my inspiration for this trip in my first entry.

Here in Monument Valley (part of the Navajo Nation) they have apparently demolished the normal campground and replaced it with a hotel, so we were left with the primitive/overflow campground. That meant we could set up our tents anywhere on the bluff overlooking the valley floor. The great part of this was that we could give ourselves a world-class, front-row view; the bad part was that it was crazy-windy, which made setting up our tents very challenging, and made it impossible to keep the fine red sand from getting into everything.

Though the view is fantastic, the idea of preparing our dinner at that site didn’t seem to appetizing, so we rode back over the horrible rock-and-sand road to the new hotel/restaurant complex for dinner. It was another great opportunity for local eating, as they served several Navajo specialties. We each got a different type of stew, which along with the Navajo fry bread was quite tasty and filling. Once again we had a front-row view of the three famous buttes, as our table was right up against the window in a prime spot. Then we discovered WiFi in the brand-new, classy and comfortable hotel lobby, and since we made it in relatively early, had time to sit and write journal entries amidst the soothing Navajo flute music. So a great end to a good day that started out bad. Well, provided our tents haven’t blown away yet!

36.29 mi / 2:01:07 time / 17.9 mph avg. / 41.5 mph max. / 491 ft. climbing
Staying at Kokopelli Inn, Bluff

Today was something new, we actually went through two towns in one day, a first for this tour! We also didn’t climb any hills. Crazy, huh?

We did have to wait out a whole bunch of rain though. It rained lightly through the night, then stopped in the morning long enough for me to go out and eat breakfast under a spacious ledge/cave in the rock, which would have been a perfect place to try some tentless camping, even in the rain, had we discovered it earlier. But then before we could pack up, it started again, heavier, keeping us holed up in our tents until after 10am. We packed up our wet gear (yuck), then rolled down the hill to Blanding.

There, we made great use of their fine visitor center, using their overhangs, power, bathrooms, Internet, and even patio area to dry out our stuff when it got momentarily sunny. But then a heavy storm came through keeping us holed up there until nearly 4pm, with only 10 miles in the bag.

Once we finally got going again on the road towards Bluff, the skies cleared up enough, and after a bunch of 25-30mph cruising, we were suddenly dragged down by the flat-tire demons. Three of them in ridiculously quick succession! Two for me (both the rear wheel, and both different from each other and different from yesterday’s) and one for Dennis (on his trailer wheel). I have no idea if it was just a really crappy highway, or a really crappy stretch of luck.

Anyhow, that ruined any chance of us making it to our planned destination (Goosenecks State Park), so we pulled into a motel in the tiny town of Bluff. It’s a beautiful town though, situated in the San Juan River valley, and surrounded by, well, Bluffs. Dinner was at the San Juan River Kitchen, which is a fantastic place totally unexpected in a town as small as Bluff. It’s almost an art-gallery type building, and in fact there were some pretty great works of art from a local artist hanging on the walls. And then they make a lot of local food, and have a note on their menu saying that their cuts of meat vary from night to night because they only buy one cow at a time. We split a roasted-grape/toasted-walnut/pancetta salad, and I had some fantastic enchiladas. Bluff is very close to the Navajo Nation, so there is a bit of native influence as well. Combine that with the classic diner lunch we had in Blanding (where we talked with a Mormon woman who noted that her touring-cyclist husband could always keep up with his group even though he could not ride on Sundays like they did), and it was a good day full of local color. That helped even out all the rain and flat-tire crappiness.

I fell asleep listening to Tiamat’s “A Deeper Kind of Slumber”, and had a nearly-religious experience. I’ve always loved the album, but this time, in my half-dream-state, I was envisioning enormous sandstone bluffs, flowing and changing and growing along with the music. It told me that this trip is really hitting my subconscious, or, the chef at the restaurant put something funny in my enchiladas!