The first time I visited Canyonlands, I fell hard in love
with the place. And when I learned that
there was a 100-mile 4WD road that loops around the Island in the Sky mesa, I
started dreaming about biking it.
Several years later, I set out to do exactly that with Keith, my
boyfriend. Neither of us was prepared.
The White Rim Road has been cycled in six hours, but most
mortals require four days, three if they are “athletic”. Those are four days in rugged desert
conditions with no civilization beyond the occasional pit toilet, and no escape
routes for bailing partway through.
There is no drinkable water, and in the red rock desert, the standard
estimate is to plan for at least one gallon of water per person per day. The options are to join a guided party or
assemble a group of friends with a support vehicle (ideally, two support
vehicles in case one breaks down), to cache water in advance by driving the
road or hiking to a midpoint in the trail, or to carry upwards of 33.4 lbs of
water in addition to the rest of your gear.
Keith had a rugged 4WD truck,, which we planned to use for caching water
at our campsites the day before setting out with our bikes. Major Setback #1 came when Keith, never known
for his punctuality, showed up a full day late.
So rather than setting out first thing in the morning to cache water, we
set out at about 2 PM. I knew that most
people take at least eight hours to drive the road, but I ignored that fact
because I was stoked… Of course,
darkness fell when we were about a third of the way through. There aren’t exactly streetlights out
there. After dark, the road became hard
to follow, as we kept mistaking sandy washes for the road. And, we didn’t have
enough gas to finish the loop (most drivers bring bottles of extra fuel). Finally, we turned around, and were lucky to
make it back to our motel in Moab that night!
With no water caches, we moved to Plan B: to drive Keith’s
truck with our bikes loaded in the back, and break out the bikes for rides
after reaching camp. Any thoughts of a
shorter bikepack were thwarted by my realization that my full-suspension bike
and large seatpack wouldn’t work together, not for the amount of gear we needed
to carry. Keith had worked hard to build
a new bike for the trip, and had shown up with the bike built but the rest of
his gear in disarray in the back of his truck.
The next day, while Keith organized his gear in the parking lot, I
waited with growing frustration that a beautiful day was ticking by. We finally reached our first campsite well
after dark.
The next morning, while Keith slept in, I pulled out my bike
to ride the road at long last – and discovered Major Setback #2. In the jostling along the road, the pin that
held my rear brake pads in place had disappeared into the void of Keith’s
truck, leaving my bike effectively un-rideable. I went for a long walk to seek (and find)
solace in the beauty of the place.
Subsequently, Keith and I returned to Moab to break up.
Back at work the next week, I relayed my sad tale to Jorge:
my ex, close friend, and favorite outdoor companion. After recounting the disappointments, I added
bravely that the White Road is truly beautiful, and I’d had a chance to gather
lots of facts, so I’d have to return someday with a stronger companion. To which, Jorge replied: “Like me!”.
Six months later, Jorge and I had established that yes we
were doing this, we’d targeted dates, and it was time to make
reservations. Camping is allowed only at
designated campsites, which are few in number, and can be reserved up to four
months in advance. Our dates fell within
high season, so making reservations required getting online at midnight four
months in advance to reserve each site in the first instant it became
available. On the first night, we
succeeded, and nailed a reservation at the Airport campground for the first night
of our trip. The second night didn’t go
as well. While we worked to reserve a
campsite at Murphy Hogback, someone else was just a few milliseconds before
us. By the time we made it back to the
main menu, few campsites were still available, and I hastily grabbed
something. This something was a site at
Hardscrabble Bottom, fifty miles from Airport.
I lay awake that night thinking, “What have I done???”. For me, a normal day’s mountain biking ride
is 25 miles at most – without carrying camping gear and water. This demanded training.
I called my friend Lindsay, and invited myself on her next
road ride. When she asked how far I wanted
to ride, I replied unknowingly, “oh, I don’t know – 40 miles?”. Her response was silence. “Or whatever”, I continued. She planned us a hilly ride of 35 miles. It kicked my butt! The next day, I thought about how I’d need to
ride 15 miles farther, carrying gear, on dirt roads rather than smooth
asphalt. There came those words again:
“What have I done???”.
About a month and many training rides later, Jorge and I
rode the 75-mile Santa Cruz Mountain Challenge, with its grueling climb up Alba
Road (so steep that whenever I pulled against my handlebars to push the pedals
forward, that my front wheel would lift off the asphalt). But we completed the 75 miles and 6,700’
elevation gain in seven hours! Now it
was time to practice carrying gear.
A few weeks later, Jorge and I embarked on a bikepacking
trip. This was a new experience for both
of us: we’d both done lots of biking and lots of backpacking, but never the two
together. We settled on a target close
to home: Castle Rock State Park in the Santa Cruz mountains. That turned out to be a very good
choice! I showed up with my bikepacking
bags packed but untested on my full-suspension bike. First, the handlebar bag wouldn’t fit on my
wide handlebars. We returned to Santa
Cruz for my other full suspension bike. I loaded up my seat pack for a test
ride. I came back discouraged before I
reached the end of the driveway. So, we
ran up to Felton for Jorge’s girlfriend’s hardtail bike. “Gary”, an old-model Gary Fisher Tassajara,
lacked disc brakes, and its externally-routed cables ruled out carrying a frame
bag, but at least it showed me the light: use a hardtail. At the campsite, my backpacking skills showed
dire need for a tune-up. My brand new
water filter, which I hadn’t tested at home (“What could possibly go wrong?”),
dripped clean water with all the speed of an I.V. I’d packed a freeze-dried dinner that looked
old and I’d figured should be eaten; when I pulled it out at the campsite, I
discovered the bag contained not food but garbage! Sometime previously, I’d been on a trip where
we’d eaten that dinner, and afterwards used its Ziploc bag as a garbage
bag. When I’d unpacked afterwards, I’d
pulled out the bag, absentmindedly failed to notice that it had been used, and
put it back in the pantry! Fortunately,
we’d both brought plenty of food (not counting garbage), there was a water
fountain near the campground, and we enjoyed a beautiful 35 mile ride on the
Ridge Trail.
And a few weeks later, I was the proud owner of a new
hardtail. Sean and the crew at Epicenter
Cycling helped me set up the bike with a rack, a saddle that would not turn
into a Medieval torture device over the miles, and handlebar grips that would
maintain circulation into my fingers. I
cashed out my REI dividend on new panniers.
Mark Davidson invited me over for dinner, and sent me home with
expertly-selected bikepacks. I was ready
for the next test ride!
We loaded up the bikes with close proxies of the gear we
expected to carry on the White Rim Road, including many gallons of water
apiece! We started riding, and after about
ten minutes, returned home so I could change my bike loading strategy. The second time was better: we returned home
after 3 ½ hours, 22 miles, 1600’ of elevation gain, and one celebratory beer. It was time!
Three days before my birthday, we set out for Utah with
Cricket’s VW Travato camper van loaded with two people, four bikes and a small mountain
of gear! We unloaded the full-suspension
bikes at Hurricane Cliffs for a highly-enjoyable day of fast, flowy
trails. We celebrated my birthday at
Gooseberry Mesa, with a first taste of technical slickrock. We stopped in Red Canyon to stretch our legs,
and ended up spending the rest of the day on strenuous trails with sensational
views. Next came Capitol Reef National
Park, where Jorge continued to meet his goal of visiting at least one new
national park every year, and where the afternoon sunlight on the rocks was so
spectacular that they appeared to glow from within. We stopped in Goblin Valley State Park for
some enjoyable hiking and to put a fresh coat of dirt on the full-suspension
bikes, and then reached Moab.
Our first stop in Moab was the Canyonlands Visitor’s Center
to ask about the “snowball’s chance in Hell” that additional campsite
reservations had opened up. This time,
the snowball had a chance! The forecast
of strong winds, cold temperatures and possible precipitation was enough to
discourage someone from going on the White Rim, opening up a prime campsite at
Murphy Hogback. We had the exact reservation
we’d failed to get four months earlier – with no more need to do 50-mile
days! Now, our shortest day was going to
be a “mere” 44-mile day – with strong headwinds. But first came a day of water-caching.
We each loaded our packs with two gallons (16.7 lbs) of
water to hike to Murphy Hogback, our halfway point and now our campsite for
Night 2. A masterpiece of trail
construction led us down a steep cliff, with dizzying exposure and stunning
views. At Murphy Hogback, we scouted out
hiding places for our water, and found a crevice between two rocks. As we lowered the first water bottle into the
crevice, it sprang a leak and turned into a small water fountain! We patched the leak with a taping job that
inspired no confidence, and carefully positioned the bag with its wound at the top,
propped up by the still-intact second bag.
We left with no great confidence.
Back in Moab, we enjoyed our Last Supper - with Julie, who
was out there celebrating her birthday with a mountain biking trip (what a fine
idea!). We drove to our trailhead and
both slept restlessly.
The next morning, we set out with loaded bikes! The first 20 miles were the un-beautiful access
roads that connect the two ends of the White Rim road. It was fun to be underway – except for the
roaring headwind, which threatened to blow my (well-fitted) helmet right off my
head! A few miles of precipitous
switchbacks later, we were off the mesa top and occasionally protected from the
wind, with amazing views opening up around us!
A park ranger in a jeep stopped to check our permit, and make sure we
were prepared for the below-freezing temperatures to come. My actual preparation included a plan to try
a different strategy: bring a lightweight, wimpy sleeping bag, and wear extra
clothing inside the bag. Nothing like
trying out a new plan when you’re getting warned off by a park ranger!
The headwinds met us again at a pass where two mesas formed
a wind tunnel. After a wind gust nearly
blew me over sideways (I recovered with an unplanned u-turn), I got off to push
my bike upwind and into the mouth of the beast.
It took all my body weight! After the pass, we got back on our bikes for a
wobbly ride the rest of the way to our first campsite (at Airport), where
setting up the tent required care that the tent didn’t turn into a big,
untethered kite. The forecast had included
a wind advisory until 9 PM, but the winds eventually calmed down for a pleasant
late afternoon. Then after sunset, they
shifted direction and returned with a vengeance. Inside the tent, every time a wind gust would
flatten the tent on top of us, we’d ask if it was 9 PM yet. After about 9:30, the gusts became less
frequent. In the morning, everything was
covered with a layer of dust worthy of Burning Man, and Jorge’s bike had
somehow been flipped over the top of a small boulder. And I had made it through the night without
hypothermia!
Day 2 rewarded us with calmer conditions, cool temperatures,
a mere 30 mile ride, and a jaw-dropping view from our campsite at Murphy Hogback! It also rewarded us with two more leaking
water bottles. We retrieved our water
cache, which had leaked about a gallon of the four gallons we’d laboriously
hiked in. More duct tape slowed down the
leaks, and we transferred the remaining water to the dwindling number of
bottles with no leaks.
That night, as the temperatures dropped below freezing, we discovered
another leak – in my inflatable mattress!
We passed a cramped but cozy night with two people squeezed onto one
therm-a-rest. At least it was warm...
The next day was gorgeous!
The morning temperatures were chilly, but the day warmed up to perfect
riding conditions with temperatures in the sixties and no gale-force wind gusts. We had reservations to camp that night at
Hardscrabble Bottom, but when we realized that the van was only twelve miles
further, we decided to go for it. So we
filled up our hydration bladders, poured out the rest of the water (amazingly,
we still had some that hadn’t leaked out!), and set out with no extra water
weight to carry. We passed our would-be campsite at 2:30 PM,
and soon were nearing our 1000’ climb out.
We stopped for one last snack break, and Jorge told me, “Remember Alba Road!”.
“You got this!”, cheered two mountain bikers near the bottom
of the switchbacks. I put my head down
and pushed through one waypoint at a time: “let’s just get to that rock”, “now
let’s just get to that bush”, … Finally,
the sky became closer, the road opened up, and in front of me was the camper van
with cold beer!
We completed the ride in an “athletic” three days!
