The Parashant: Long Way Home

Up just after 6:00, I dressed, packed, and headed downstairs.  Surprised to find complimentary donuts in the lobby, I joined a few fellow lodgers, and took two for myself.  The topic of conversation was Alaska, and I couldn't resist pointing to my bike, right outside the window, and interjecting in a matter of fact way, "I've been to Alaska on that." 

After the gasps and questions died down, I was able to turn the focus to the weather, and asked the woman behind the desk if she could look up pass conditions for me on her computer.  The most direct route home was via Willamette Pass at 5,128 feet.  It had been clear on my way over, but frigidly winter-like.  I was actually hoping she'd say it was snow packed and icy, so I could take the longer, southern route, and have a good excuse for riding in some new territory.  But the report came back - open and dry.

Of course, it was hardly a nice, clear day, I thought, as I went out to check over the bike.  It could easily be snowing up there by the time I arrived.

All looked well - just as I left it the night before.  The engine oil was finally a bit low, however, so I extracted my full-synthetic 5W50 reserves from the rear of the right pannier, and topped it off.  Super tough looking bottle holders from the adventure motorcycle websites cost over $100.  That blue plastic one is from the bicycle section of Target.  It's held my oil for six trans-continental passes now.  But even more impressive was that most recent 52 miles of Jeep trail to the rim of the Grand Canyon and back.  I still can't believe nothing fell off!

I left Lakeview, still not knowing which route I would take home.  I had almost 100 miles to decide - all the way west to Klamath Falls.  And for that entire time, the sun hid behind varying thicknesses of cloud, and the temperature hovered around the freezing point.  Fortunately the roads were all dry - no frost, but the weather was making up my mind for me.  The thought of heading farther north, and higher in elevation, was not at all a pleasant one.  

I continued west at Klamath Falls, and within 10 miles of committing to that longer route, the sky turned blue and the sun came out!  I believe this is the Klamath River, just before entering Keno on Highway 66.  This was new territory for me, and I was loving it already!

From Keno, the climb began, and while I checked carefully for ice around each corner, this was obviously a dryer forest than the one around Willamette Pass.  And traffic was largely nonexistent!

There are multiple passes along this route.  Parker is not quite the highest, but it is more scenic.  The fact that it's hundreds of feet lower than Willamette, and about 100 miles farther south, certainly made a difference this time of year in the pleasantness factor.

It was still quite cold, however, and as I returned to the bike, the couple in that SUV came over to ask if I wanted any coffee.  Despite my disdain for the taste, I almost took them up on it!

Relieved at having dodged any bad weather or road conditions, I got out my new MP3 player, to enjoy some tunes on my way down the mountain.  But it was dead!  Fear not!  One of the advantages this unit has over my last one, is that I can plug it in to the dash, running it off of the bike's electrical system.  The other advantage, obviously, is that it's bright KTM orange!

The road through Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument was a delightfully twisty romp through the forest, but when the vegetation opened up near Ashland, things got even more technical.  The curves were surprisingly tight and steep, as I threw the bike back and forth to keep it between the rocks and the drops.  This one had been on my list for years, and I was elated to finally be trying it out.

While that looks like a lot of clouds, the sun was squarely on my back for most of the way.  It felt so good, after being so cold for so long!

A few minutes later, I stopped for gas, before merging onto I5.  Twenty miles farther, on the other side of Medford, a sign for Portland prompted a quick mental calculation.  I could still make it home before dark!

The rain held off all the way through the race track of a freeway, between Grants Pass and Roseburg.  At least that's what it feels like, when you're on a 100 horse power bike, and the vast majority of the traffic is slow-moving trucks.  I'd forgotten how much the road snakes around through all the passes.  It really is one of the most enjoyable Interstate rides in the country.

But when I crossed the Tillamook County line - yes, nearly exactly on the line - the rains came down.  I stopped to put the cover on my tank bag, but decided to soldier through, without donning my complete set of rain gear.  Just didn't want to take the time.  I had a hot shower waiting for me, so I'd survive.

It never got that bad, and I pulled into my garage well before dark.  That was a first!  My spare front tire was still securely strapped around my tool box and gas can.  Two thousand five hundred miles on it now, and it still looks brand new!  Oh well, better safe than sorry, right?

After my shower, I took another look at my foot - and showed my wife.  While it felt considerably better, the toes were looking considerably worse. 

And there was a new bruise above my arch, which I hadn't seen at all before.

As I write this now, however, all is pretty much back to normal - though it did take a while.  As for the bike, several of my luggage stickers are all scratched up.  I had to reattach my battery charger leads, and clean out my front fork seals again.  But otherwise, the bike is in good shape as well.  Pretty amazing really - for both of us!

Oh yes, the gas smell out on the rim.  It never turned up again.  My best guess is that all the tough, slow going, on a fairly warm day, kept engine temps up - and therefore gas tank temps up.  This caused a more than normal amount of fumes to be forced out the valves in the filler caps - that were designed for that very reason.  A similar thing happens with the Kawasaki, when I park it in the sun all day at work.  Without the relief valves, the pressure in the tank would build up to dangerous levels - not something you want between your knees. 

Funny how the slightest irregularity can seem so dire when you're all alone and far from home.  Of course, it could have been a major issue, along with any number of the other things I feared would happen, but didn't.  What I scrawled in my notebook, out there on the rim, could very well be true.  Perhaps, I should not have gone.  But I'm sure glad I did.







 

The Parashant: Flight Over Nevada

After backing my KTM out of his garage the next morning, I asked Ed to pose with his now classic BMW - the same one he'd had when we first met in 2001, and many years before.  Now that's commitment.  Though of course, the life he and Karen have lived together is a vastly superior example!  I've said something to this effect before, but my plan for decades has been to surround myself with great people, in the hope that some of it would eventually rub off on me!  Hope they don't feel used.  

I'd gotten up at 6:30 Utah time, but didn't get off until almost nine.  In my defense, there really was quite a bit to do.  I checked and added some engine oil, lubed the drive chain, reinstalled my windscreen, and repacked all the gear I'd jettisoned for the trail to the rim and back.  And I still had not decided what route to take home, so that necessitated the two of us pouring over the atlas for a while.  Then Ed cooked up a hot breakfast!

On the plus side, 9:00 UT time is only 8:00 OR time, so that's not bad at all.  I'd decided to start the day with a road I'd never been on before - hard to go wrong with that, right?  This is Utah 21, a lonely and starkly beautiful 76-mile run between Milford and Garrison, on the Nevada border.  Never heard of them?  That's probably just fine with most of the locals. 

After joining US 50, I followed it west to Eureka, NV, a great little Old West mining town, then turned north on 278 for 87 miles of nothing.  Interstate 80 then brought me quickly to Winnemucca, where I headed north again, this time on US 95.  Thirty one miles from my last fill-up, I turned west onto 140 (which leads to Oregon) and saw this sign.  I was shocked!  I couldn't remember if there was gas on the border in Denio Junction, when Dad and I passed through, but I was sure there was in Adel, OR.  Hmm.  One hundred seventy-nine miles plus 31 miles is 210.  That's 10 miles over my limit.  I still had about 15 miles worth of fuel in my aluminum canister, but that was cutting it close.  There was a gas station several miles ago, at the last junction, but I wasn't sure if it was open.  If I went back and it was closed, I'd have to go all the way to Winnemucca - a 60 mile round trip!  What to do?  Take a chance to save some time and daylight, or retreat, resupply, and play it safe?

I absolutely loathe backtracking for any reason, but it had to be done.  Running out of gas in the middle of the high desert on a cold night did not sound fun.  I turned the bike around and headed south again.  Ten miles later, I found that the gas station was indeed open, and topped off my tanks.  I was still anxious, however, until I finally reached the sign again, and calm was restored.  By now though, it was nearly dark.

Reducing my speed and flipping on the auxiliary lights, I settled in for a long night.  It was 110 miles to my next decision point, the old store and motel on the border.  The last time I stayed there, the room next to ours caught fire, and the whole building had to evacuate!  Much as I wanted a picture of the KTM parked in front of that memorable place, when the time came, I just couldn't do it.  It was only 7:00, and the night was clear, and the stars were brilliant.  There was no gas station, so there was no reason to stop.  According to the map, it was 82  miles to Adel.  There might be a place to stay there, I couldn't remember.

There wasn't.  This is Adel.  Well OK, there is one more gas pump in front of a small store, but both were shut down and dark.  And this one only accepts special club cards.  Neither my VISA nor MasterCard were recognized.

Very good thing I'd gone back to that last station before dark.  I pulled out my trusty Sigg bottle and carefully poured it in.  This handy fella has been with me since my first cross country motorcycle trip, way back in 1992!  Then, it was strapped to the handlebars of my Yamaha XT600.  Several bikes and countless miles later, it's never leaked a drop.

Only 30 more miles to Lakeview, and having already descended several switchbacks, I assumed the coldest part of the night was over.  I was wrong.  The temperature had remained above freezing so far, though not by much, but then I entered Warner Canyon.  The mountains squeezed in, the road shoulders disappeared, and the readout on my dash dropped to 33 degrees, 32, 31, 30!  I could feel the moisture in the air, so I knew that frost would be forming eventually.  But I also knew that it had been a warm, sunny day, so I surmised that the blacktop was still above freezing.  Regardless, I rode slower and slower, until the road finally opened up and straightened out again, near the junction with US 395.

Five more miles put me in Lakeview, OR, a real town of over 2,000 people!  For the first time this trip, I actually had a choice of where to stay.  The "Interstate 8" looked pretty inviting, with its covered and lighted drive up.  Even at 9:00, there were rooms still available, and I could keep the bike parked there in front of the window all night.  Where do I sign?

Restaurants were a different matter - all closed.  The Safeway was still open for stragglers like myself, however, so I bought a deli sandwich, some chips, a drink, and a candy bar, tied the bag on to the bike, and headed back to the motel.

Oh yes, I left you hanging last time about my bum foot.  Well, when I finally took off my boots at Ed and Karen's - after a ravenous late night visit to Arby's - it hadn't looked too bad.  It hurt a bit more in the morning, though, and seemed a little swollen, but by now the damage had become even more pronounced.  Note the obvious puffiness - you can clearly see all the veins in my left foot, but barely at all in the right.  The bruising was also well under way at this point, especially in the middle toes.

The original plan had been to take another long Jeep trail on the way home.  With my foot still looking and feeling worse each day, skipping it was obviously the right choice.  It would make a good, mid-distance excuse to get my Seattle friend on a bike again in the spring.  That's YOU, Jonathan.

I didn't hit the pillow until midnight.  Very pleased that I'd covered nearly 800 miles that day, there were now two viable options for the last leg of the trip - 400 miles vs. 500 miles.  A lot would depend on the weather in the morning.  A heavy frost could delay my departure by hours.  Touring in fall rather than summer did involve additional challenges.

The Parashant: Bruised but Unbroken

Fearing the worst, I dropped to my knees and thoroughly inspected the dirt beneath the engine and tanks.  There was no gas running, or even dripping onto the ground, so I figured I had some time.  It had been 116 lonely miles from the closest gas station to where I now stood, overlooking the Grand Canyon at Kelly Point.  Doubling that makes 232.  With the extra gallon and a half, my range should be around 260 - if it was all nicely graded road.  The extremely rough trail, however, likely dropped my mileage considerably.  How much?  I didn't know.  A quick calculation did nothing positive for my confidence level.  If I was averaging 35 miles per gallon instead of my usual 40, my max range would be about 228 - four miles short!  Now, astute readers may remember that I also carried an emergency 50-ounce canister.  That could end up saving me from a rather long walk.  In short, I didn't have a whole lot of wiggle room, so stopping any fuel leak was of primary importance. 

Despite the fact that I couldn't see any evidence, however, the strong gas odor remained.  It then occurred to me that I hadn't considered the worst case scenario after all.  What if the highly explosive liquid was dripping onto a hot metal surface somewhere, and thus not making it to the ground?

With that even more disturbing thought, I searched every nook and cranny between the bike's fuel system, and the motor and exhaust.  Still nothing.  Even the gasket that seals the fuel pump to the underside of the tank was bone dry.  It had leaked for a short while after reassembling it last year, but mysteriously fixed itself.

So at least I had no major leak, and no extremely dangerous one.  Though still quite unsettled about it, I forced a smile for the camera.  After all, even if I didn't make it back, I did finally make it to Kelly Point - along the toughest trail I had ever attempted!

I went back to the rim and settled down for a while with my water bottle and a homemade molasses energy bar one of my friend's breakfast gang had given me.  Taking my journal from my jacket's right chest pocket, I wrote "Kelly Point 3:00.  Should not have come."

Truth is, potential gas leak aside, I was also extremely concerned about the ride back.  I couldn't believe I had made it here without dropping the big, heavy bike in the rocks - and I figured the chances of doing it again without incident were dishearteningly slim.  Part of me wanted to remain here for hours.  The canyon exerts a palpable attractive force that's difficult to break away from.  But I knew I was only delaying the inevitable.  Whatever was going to happen on my way back, the sooner it happened, the sooner I'd figure a way out, and the sooner I'd get back to town.

I stood up at a quarter after three, having been at the point for only fifteen minutes.  The sun would be largely at my back this time - that was good.  And I knew what to expect, so I could check off the most challenging sections as I completed them.  That always seems to make the return leg of an 'out and back' ride pass more quickly.  That calorie-dense snack was already picking me up a bit.  I was as ready as I was going to be.  "Keep your head up, Troy.  Stay as far away from the cacti as possible.  Never let your attention waver.  And take it easy as much as possible, but don't be afraid to gas it when necessary.  Maybe you can do this after all."

The first major challenge was a series of 3-foot deep "V"-shaped ruts.  This time, I immediately dropped down to the bottom, rather than attempting to balance on the edge, along the tree line, as I had done on my way down.  Squeezing past one particular tree, the bike had nearly fallen over into the crevasse - a predicament from which it would have been extremely difficult to extract myself.

Now I'd just remain, meandering along the bottom, until an opportunity to get out presented itself - which it eventually did.  Next up were the steep troughs full of loose, softball-sized stones.  These are what had concerned me the most on my way down.  Below each pitch, I paused to catch my breath, and gather my nerve.  I knew that if I got stopped mid-climb, it would be nearly impossible to get started again.  There really was no particular route that looked better than any other.  So my plan of attack was simply to stay on the gas to keep my momentum, and to hold on tight, as the bike dodged and bucked wildly beneath me.  It was quite a ride!  At the top of each section, I had to pause again - to give my heart a chance to calm down a bit.

Passing the 21.9 mile marker, I knew the only real challenges left were the fields of large boulders.  On the way down, it had been relatively easy to pick the best line around the worst ones, and slowly roll over the rest, taking advantage of gravity to keep me going.  Going up was harder.  One, it's tougher to see the trail above you than the trail below.  The angles are all wrong.  Two, gravity is always working against you, so if you don't keep some throttle dialed up, and/or a steady hand on the clutch, you're going to kill the engine when the front tire hits up against an immovable object - like a large embedded rock.  Before this trip, I'd considered investing in a "slipper" clutch.  It would take most of the tricky part out of ascents like these - making it virtually impossible to stall the motor.  But I'm a cheapskate for the most part, and thought I'd never really need it.  I killed it - twice.

But I didn't fall!  I rolled back in to Waring Ranch at 5:15 - only two hours this time, for those 26 miles.  That was half an hour better than my time going down.  I practically bounded over to the trail log book to record that I'd made it.  Yeeoow!!  That was a mistake.  My foot began throbbing again.

Oh yea, I forgot that part of the story, didn't I?  As I'd started up one of those boulder-strewn hills, my right foot slammed into something large and hard, and intense pain shot up my leg.  The force nearly ripped me off the bike, but I stayed on and we both kept moving forward.  Out of the corner of my eye, I just caught a glimpse of the rock that, unfortunately had somehow escaped my attention until it was too late.  With that foot completely numb for the rest of the climb, I'd made it to the top, and put the other one down to assess the situation.  I wiggled all my toes and the pain didn't seem to get any worse, so I assumed no bones were sticking out.  Confident enough then to take a look, I glanced at my boot, and couldn't make out more than a little scuff mark.  Unlike the slipper clutch, I had invested in high quality full leather riding boots years ago, and that decision had certainly paid off today.  I've heard stories of mountaineers making the mistake of taking boots off their injured feet - and then not being able to get them back on, because of the swelling.  I opted to wait until I was safely back at my friends' house, before conducting a more thorough examination.

It was better on the bike - as long as I didn't stand up on the pegs.  On the nicely graded gravel again, emotions began to swell, as the reality of my accomplishment sank in.  I guess that's largely why I do this.  The feelings are nearly indescribable - immense relief at first, as tensions melt away and hope is restored, then a calm satisfaction from the completion of an impossible task.  If it ended at that, I might be content to return home and stay there.  But there's one more phase in the progression...

Bolstered Confidence.  Five miles back on the trail, I was thinking I'd stick to pavement for the rest of my life.  But here, five miles closer to civilization, I was already considering other routes across the country, that I'd previously deemed too difficult - you know, for next time.

Yes, I've thought of that.  For me, it might actually be labeled an addictive behavior.  But "obsessive" sounds a little better, and "passionate," has even fewer negative overtones.

I had to stop here, because even though there was nothing in my mirrors, I couldn't shake the feeling that a large object was about to overtake me from the rear.  Peering over my shoulder, I realized it was the cloud of dust from my tires, blocking out the brilliant setting sun, and creating a huge shadow.

Guess I don't need my sunglasses anymore.  And no, I don't have a clue where that dark ring around my right eye came from!  In fact, I didn't notice it until I posted this picture.  It must have faded by the time I got town, because my hosts never mentioned it. 

Speaking of my hosts, I figured this would be a good time to try and give them a call.  I knew the Parashant was not supposed to have cell service, but I was sitting atop the highest point around, so thought I'd give it a try.  Yes, you're looking at not one, but two different flip phones - they do still exist!  Each utilizes a different network, to increase my chances of making contact in remote areas.  In this case, however, neither were going to do me any good.

I climbed the road cut bank to get this last shot of the sun.  From this point on, things would get even more interesting.

Fortunately, I had just the thing for night riding!  I'd used these auxiliary lights several times on the pavement, but this would be their first real test in the rough stuff.  After that terrible trail, they were no longer actually pointed down the road, but an additional stop or two for fine adjustment did the trick.

Later, when the city lights of St. George came into view far below, I pulled out the phones again.  Surely now I could check in, and update my estimated time of arrival - but no.

And then suddenly, those brilliant white LEDs revealed a hulking form, spanning the road in the inky blackness.  At first, I had no idea what it could be.  Then it dawned on me - the highway overpass!  I'd been concentrating so hard on dodging suicidal jack rabbits, that the miles had passed much quicker than anticipated.  I'd made it to the pavement!  The time was 8:00.

A few more miles to the gas station, and I was finally able to tell my friends and my wife that I'd made it and was OK.  Over the last 30 minutes, I'd finally encountered a few vehicles, heading the opposite direction, probably up to the view point, from where I'd first seen the city.  I slowed for each one, until I confirmed that it wasn't Ed's Suburban, coming to find me!

It was a quarter 'til nine before I was finally safe and sound in my friend's garage.  After greetings and a couple quick stories, I found my Sharpie and ceremoniously filled in the outline of Arizona on my RV sticker.  I was certainly feeling good! - until I climbed the steps into the house, and the sharp pain in my foot reminded me of a story I hadn't told anyone yet.  No, not my wife either.  Plenty of time for that later.

The Parashant: Kelly Point

Just past the gate, the pine forest disappeared, and the road became narrow, but fast.  This must be the meadow the monument staff are trying to protect by closing the road in winter.  I could imagine how muddy it would get after a few storms.

I arrived at Waring Ranch at 12:30.  Jonathan Waring homesteaded here in the 1920's, and by the 60's had acquired 13,000 acres of grazing land - the largest private holding on the Arizona Strip.  Not sure what happened after that, but it was pretty quiet the day I rode through.

The tiny barn behind me was the only other structure I encountered the entire day.  Under the shade of that large tree, you can see what looks like a speaker's podium.  It's actually a solid steel box, with a hinged top - like those commonly found at backpacking trail heads.

Inside was a log book, a stack of maps, and two unopened bottles of water.  Very thoughtful of them, I mused.  The maps were originals of the one I'd printed off the Internet.  I'll take that, thank you.  I still had almost a gallon of water with me, so I left those for someone who might pass by later, perhaps in desperate need.

Now to the log.  I entered the usual information - date, state of origin, number of people and vehicles, purpose of visit.  And there's always the comment section.  The one highlighted in yellow mentioned a prescribed burn, and warned of the possibility of falling dead trees.  I'd keep my helmet on.  Another mentioned mud holes, but that was back in August.  What to say?  I imagine most visitors don't think much about what they write in these, but I probably tend to think about the unthinkable, more than most.  For me, it's a somewhat solemn occasion - especially since I noticed that no one had made an entry in an entire week!  I wrote, "Plan to be back tonight."  If someone came along in a day or two and saw that I had not 'updated my status' perhaps they would look under a bush or two on their way out. 

Then, having covered the possibility of a late return, I addressed the possibility of a no return.  After all, this could be the last written word from a Mr. Troy L. Ramsell.  I added "Jesus is Lord!" put down the pen, and closed the lid.  After all, nothing else really matters.

Having crossed the remainder of the meadow, it became immediately clear that this was, indeed, the start of the 4 X 4 Jeep trail.  The path was almost completely full of basket ball-sized and larger boulders.  With extreme care, I was able to pick my way around and between most of them, but some left no option, but going directly over the top.  In these cases, I was glad for rather extreme ground clearance, stout long-travel suspension, and  the tough skid plate under the KTM's vital parts.  Even so, I found that if I happen to get stopped with either wheel on top of one of the big ones, it was an extra long reach to the ground!  More than once, I was barely able to find the right purchase for my foot, to keep the bike upright.  Of course, getting started again from this position - rear hanging off the seat, arms nearly over my head, was far from the easy part.  If this did not get better soon, it was going to be a very long 26 miles to Kelly Point!

It did not get better soon.  Of course, the pictures don't quite do it justice, but you get the idea.  You may have noticed from previous shots that I left my spare tire and taller wind screen at my friends house.  I also took all non-essentials out of the saddle bags - clothes and rain gear, mostly.  But the tools and other emergency gear had to come along.  A 250-pound dirt bike would have been ideal for this portion of the trip.  My bike weighs twice that!  It was going to be an exhausting ride.

This dry creek crossing broke up the monotony of boulder hopping, but presented its own unique challenges.  The bottom was deep sand, and the other side was much steeper than it looks.  I'd seen a picture of it in a Jeeper's blog, and seemed to remember the author saying it was one of the worst spots.  Once past it, that thought was reason for hope that the trail would soon improve.

And improve, it did!  I had actually considered turning back in the middle of all those rocks.  Only two thoughts kept me going.  One, Kelly Point was THE destination of the trip.  I've mentioned before that wandering is not my thing.  My outings are very goal driven.  Two, it simply HAD to get better - didn't it?

This section was smooth, wide, and level - all relative terms of course.  I was nearly tripling my average speed - from 7 to 20 miles per hour!

The euphoria lasted about two minutes - until this tree blocked my way.  The trail was crossing another meadow, this one with 18-inch deep ruts.  What had once been mud was now rock hard.  It wasn't slippery, but that didn't make the ruts any easier to get out of.  When the one I was following led me here, I had to stop, lean the bike almost to the point the left engine guard was scraping bottom, and carefully feather the clutch to get by.

By the time I made it to the 21 mile point (that's 5 miles left to go) I was so exhausted I had to stop and take a break under what little shade was available beneath the stunted trees.  It was only 76 degrees, but I'd been going so slow and working so hard to keep the bike vertical, that it felt much hotter.  No, the jacket was not helping with my core temperature, but long ago I'd given up dodging all but the stiffest looking branches that jutted into the trail.  And thus, I'd taken some pretty good hits to my arms and shoulders.  There was no way I was making it without the protection of that jacket.

Those wide saddle bags were getting abused as well.  Yes, I probably could have left them back in town, but I would have had to strap a lot of gear higher up on the back of the seat, raising the bike's center of gravity, making it harder to control in the loose stuff.  But it was really hard to say which situation would have been worse.  

I took off the jacket, guzzled a lot of water - and again considered turning back.  At this point, even if the trail got better, it would still mean 10 additional miles before I was safely back to the pavement.  I was not going to make it by dark.  I was way in over my head this time.

But after a few minutes, the shade and water began to have a positive effect.  I'd just take it easier.  No rush.  I'd told my friends there was a good chance I wouldn't make it by sunset, so they wouldn't be worried.  It was only five more miles.  And there was no way it could get any worse than what I had already gone through.

But it did get worse!  Next up was the plague of softballs.  Only these were not soft at all, but iron-hard and sharp edged!  You can make out a narrow strip of stone-free trail on the right edge, but it ended at the next tree, and the pit of loose, tire-devouring vermin continued as far as I could see.  I was glad I'd decided not to swap that front tire.  Sure, the new one would have given better traction on dirt and sand, but made of softer rubber, it would have been more likely to puncture.

There was nothing to do but ride down the center and try to keep the front wheel straight, so it didn't catch and toss me over the bars.  At least it was slightly downhill, so I could take my time.

The remaining five miles, somehow turned into six, but finally the trees got even shorter, and I could see nothing but blue sky between them.  I must be close!  I was actually going to make it! 

But the feeling of impending euphoria was tainted with one of dread.  That had not been the only stretch of "softballs."  There were at least three more, and two of them were quite steep.  Mid-way down one, a troubling thought occurred to me, "How am I ever going to make it back up?"  Again, I considered turning around, but again convinced myself that the worst was behind - and continued.

Oh, there was one more thing that disturbed me so much I could not even bear to consciously take a picture of it.  Beginning to appear shortly after the softball fields, they are hidden there, in the shadows to the right of my faring - CACTI!  Fortunately, most of them were just off the trail and avoidable, if I was paying close enough attention.  Because of other obstacles, however, I often had to pass within a few inches of their long stiff needles.  I knew from experience that bicycle tires didn't stand a chance.  I didn't want to find out about motorcycles.

And then...    Everything dropped away!

I parked the bike - far from the edge - and slowly panned left.

And left...

Still left...

And back to the rim again!

BEHOLD!  The Grand Canyon!

I stood for a moment, dumbfounded.  Though I've seen it many times, from multiple vantage points (including bottom up) there is still no fully adequate response.  "Amazed, astonished, astounded, awestruck... stunned, and stupefied."  Yep, a quick consult with Webster verifies I chose a pretty good word.  I'm one of those crazies who thinks it was mostly formed quite rapidly - like from the receding of a cataclysmic, world-wide flood.  So I'll add "affirming" to that list of mostly "A" words.

I walked back to the bike, and yes, I did take off my helmet.  And immediately, a pungent odor was unmistakable - GAS!