Home Turf

  Living on the edge of the Arizona Strip we have miles of remote, seldom visited land that eventually leads to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. There's miles of roads crisscrossing through these huge swaths of empty sage and juniper. Except for a few herds of cattle, it's deserted here. My neighborhood borders the Arizona state line here in Utah. Our city goes right up to this border, and to my sure grin, abruptly ends. 

“If you're going to have an industrial society you must have places that will look terrible. Other places you set aside—to say, ‘This is the way it was.’ ”

― John McPhee


  A bikepacking trip that leads out our front door is a perfect way to explore chunks of it.

  We left late afternoon on a Friday after I got off work, and planned on peddling twenty five miles to camp for the night. Our trail wasted no time climbing up and over hills, through canyons, and gaining views. The forecast called for a cold front blowing in and some cooler temps over the next few days. Perfect riding weather.

   Our water source for the couple days was Coyote Spring. It trickles out year round and is improved for cattle grazing. It tastes bitter and must have some heavy metals or some other funk in it. It wasn't the best water to drink. I'm curious if adding a carbon element in the gravity filter would get the taste out. Next time I do a big morning ride that passes through here, I'll give it a try. It would be nice to be able to use this spring for future trips since its the only reliable water for some time.

  I don't have any photos of the late evening hours. My mileage was off, and my significant other was not impressed. We got to camp with our headlights on. There was pushing, route finding, and a few curse words. But once a beer was cracked and food was in our belly's. Our spirits were lifted.



No one is out here. The middle of the road will do just fine when it's dark out.

 

Morning coffee.





 This canyon is a gem. Seldom visited and just a handful of topo lines signify its presence on the map. Don't be fooled. The desert is humble like that, it doesn't need to show off. Perfect place for a morning stroll. Escalante and Domigenuz came her in 1776, led by two Paiutes, they had a sour journal entry that day. It is spectacular in the morning light.

Desolation and Solitude personified.

 Spent the whole morning poking around this place. A monument to time and scale right in my backyard. I've watched floods that have washed houses down river 20 miles downstream from here, but all that water came from that slot canyon above us here. Water that fell down just outside Zion eventually ends up here. This wash drains an enormous amount of land. All funneled right here. The walls were all painted with a light brown mud paint. Mist from the wrath of angry gods that flash through here. To be here while that is taking place, what a dream.

 Back at camp we were welcomed with the full force of the midday sun and little wind. Time to move on to the next chapter.

We followed the old Temple Trail that Pioneers built to bring timber off the AZ strip land to build the St. George Temple. Not a cloud in the sky today. No atv's or side by sides seemed to adventure in this valley today. Just two people on bikes. Sometimes pushing was involved. There wasn't any unnatural noises to be heard. No flight paths passed above us on their nonstop flight to LAX.

 The sound of tires rolling on dirt was our sound track today. It got warm at times. We'd stop for a bit and look around. The place was dry. Desolate. Not much life to be had. I like the contrast of places like this. 

  As we advanced further in the afternoon and the sun started getting low, we found ourselves on top of a hill named after what I assume was a local rancher. There are a lot of blakes that live in Southern Utah. And Joe Blake must have been a local. Nice view Joe, good find.

  The low light painting shadows on the topography laid out before us was brilliant. Lower elevations flirted with the Permian, but mostly Triassic and Jurassic sedimentary rock laid out in front of us. Tilted, thrusted and slowly being removed through time. Dancing with rain and gravity. And smack in the top of the frame is the largest laccolith in America. A much younger volcanic uplift thrusted out of the earth. Two hundred million years lay on display for us as we watched the day fade out. I cooked some ramen and drank a warm IPA.

Holocene lava flows capped the Moenkopi formation, Slowing its progress and erosion. It made for a multicolored display as we packed up our gear.

  We ran out of water the next morning, which was expected.I dumped out the Coyote Spring water. I wasn't dead enough yet to drink that shit again. So we eventually found our way back home.