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!
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