Looking out from Thomas Fox's garage, the outside world seemed harsh and unforgiving. I'm sure he felt that way more than once, while homesteading this land in the early 1900's. There are no traces left of the house. So, evidently, he put more stock into protecting his wheels - his means of escape! I can understand that.
According my most detailed map, Jonathan and I had about five miles left to make our own escape from High Rock Canyon. After battling through the deep water, sand, and silt, we were pretty exhausted. The short break here had done us good, though, and we were as ready as we were going to get to tackle whatever obstacles were left on the trail.
Saddle up!
Walking around my bike to get back on, I noticed this, hanging from the rear of the right side pannier - my luggage keys! I hadn't gotten into the box all day, so they'd been there since leaving the ranch - 15 extremely rough miles ago! I do have an extra set, zipped up in my jacket, so losing the keys would not be a major issue. The scary part was that I'd never turned the lock. For that whole time, the lid was not secured to the box, and the box itself was not secured to the bike! I can't believe the whole thing didn't bounce off somewhere, or get ripped off by the brush.
That would have been a hard-learned lesson.
After we left the garage, the path was firm and easy for about a quarter-mile. Then, I abruptly found myself stalled out, and pointed the wrong direction - perpendicular to the trail!
I'd begun traversing yet another loose cobble section, when my rear tire overturned a particularly large one that threw the back end of the bike wildly to the left. Fortunately, the trail here was unusually wide and level, and I had little trouble getting pointed in the correct direction again.
Next, it was Jonathan's turn to have a bit of trouble. But, as is often the case, the scariest-looking parts don't end up on 'film'. You're too focused on just getting through!
It began with a matter-of-fact announcement over my in-helmet com. system, "I'm down." I sped up immediately to make time on the straight, then slowed way down for a blind corner, not knowing exactly where I'd catch up with my friend.
Just before I spotted him, he'd already followed up with, "OK, I'm up again." That made me feel much better, of course. He was about 100 feet up a rock-strewn hill, standing by the bike, holding it up. Parking the KTM at the bottom, I walked up and grabbed the KLR, as there was no way to put the kickstand down in the severely rutted portion of trail. That gave Jonathan a chance to finish his personal damage assessment, while I began looking over my side of the bike.
Jonathan seemed whole, and there were no levers missing, and no obviously bent steel. In fact, the bike (and rider) had not really gone over very far. They were chugging along the right side wall of a deeply entrenched section, when the rear wheel 'skipped out' to the left. Sound familiar? The duo was tossed only a few degrees from vertical, over onto the rather soft bank - and the motor never stalled.
Everything looked good to go, but there was only one way to find out. I offered to ride the KLR to the top of the hill, and tossed my leg over the seat. Once I got it moving again, and through the largest boulders, it was clear that no serious damage had been done. I parked it as soon as the terrain leveled off, and walked back towards the KTM.
Now it was the big bike's turn. The spot that had fouled Jonathan was pretty technical. You had to thread your way between a large boulder on the left, and a nasty ditch on the right.
I decided to avoid the entire situation, by taking to the air!!
No, not really. That's a professional rider at my bike's official press launch. I could do that if I wanted to, though. If I didn't care about the landing.
But back to our story.
With the benefit of learning from Jonathan's mistake, I was able get past his trouble spot - a whole 10 feet past it. Somehow, I ended up with my rear wheel on top of a different boulder, perched above the ditch, mentioned earlier. I had not kept up enough momentum during my climb, and was balancing at a stand-still, with no way of reaching ground with either foot. This could last only another second at best, before gravity took over and brought man and machine crashing to earth.
My only hope was to hit the throttle, jump off the rock, and stick the landing.
It worked!
I killed the motor in the process, but was able to get a foot down, and take a breather before continuing up the hill.
But the photo above is not from that story. On this one, I chickened out and called for reinforcements. Jonathan had made it safely through this obstacle, a 6-foot deep v-shaped rut, with a tree reaching out over the trail. In the process though, he'd knocked a soccer ball-sized rock into the bottom of the 'V', which I saw no way around. The trench was so narrow I couldn't get the stand down, either, so it was my turn to call for help on the com. So glad I brought him along!
It took a few minutes for Jonathan to find a parking spot himself, then walk back down to me. Once on site, he handled the rock with little problem, and I ducked behind my windscreen and blasted through the tree.
It was my turn to lead, so he waited where he'd stopped, and let me pass.
In truth, I didn't know how many more of these loose, rocky climbs I could handle. We paused to catch our breath at the bottom and top of each one, but every time, the recovery period took longer.
We were wearing out fast.
How much longer could this go on?
And then, just as the canyon walls disappeared, I caught a green flash out of the corner of my eye.
It was a gate! An open gate, half hidden in the brush, but painted bright green, just like the one at the entrance to the trail. We'd made it out!
The route immediately got better, though not much wider. It was another mile before we passed this sign, identical to the one now far below us. It was official. We'd survived High Rock Canyon!
We still had over 20 miles to get back to the pavement, but the worst was obviously behind us. The combination of jubilant triumph, satisfaction, and relief is hard to adequately explain. But it was sufficient - for me, anyway - to immediately justify all the angst, suffering, and brief moments of terror.
I'm sure Jonathan felt the same way - pretty sure. I'll find out next year, when I ask him to go to Utah with me. For now though, let's just keep those plans under wraps - until the time is right.
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