Black Rock Desert: High Rock Canyon

Our decision to take the right fork, back on the flats, appeared to be the correct one.  It brought us closer to the mountains, and into some more interesting terrain.

According to the map, we must be entering Fly Canyon.  It should take us down into another large valley, where we would skirt the north edge of High Rock Lake.  So far, so good.

At the bottom of this last steady grade, we crossed a broad, flat area, that had obviously been wet in the winter.  We could just see a large empty expanse to the south.  Assuming that to be the now dry lake, we figured we were on the right track.  These 'two-track' roads were fast going and loads of fun - as long as we spotted the loose sand traps soon enough to slow down for them.

To help with that, the in-helmet communicators were really nice to have.  We took turns in the lead, calling out the bad spots to the rider behind.  That way we didn't both have to be quite so focused 100% of the time.  If you were following, you could relax a bit, and look around at the ruggedly beautiful surroundings.

But then we came to another unmarked junction.  This time, the most well traveled track appeared to be heading south.  Now, I knew there was a major county road in that direction, but that our chosen path was generally northwest.  Why take the easy route?  Defying the GPS's protestations, we kept to the right.  We also relied here on a bit of information we gleaned back at breakfast, "When you get to the lake, head for the mouth of the canyon.  You can see it from there."

Sure enough, in a couple of miles we spotted an open steel gate and a nice full-color sign!  High Rock Canyon is managed by the BLM and closes for a few months each spring to protect nesting raptors and big horn sheep - hence, the gate.

Originally an Indian trail, in the 1850's the Applegate brothers led immigrants to Oregon this way.  It was also a route that gold prospectors took to California.

I'd stumbled upon reports about this remote Jeep trail years ago, and it's been on my list ever since.  I passed fairly close to the north end of it once, on a trip to the east coast, thinking it might be a nice diversion from the pavement.  On the morning I could have gone, however, I decided I'd better make time and stay on the pavement.

I could already tell that skipping it that day was the right choice.  Unless things drastically improved, this was going to be slow going!

The path was very narrow, with tall, stiff sage brush on each side.  Because of the deep loose silt, we pretty much had to stay in the bottom of either the left or right wheel track.  That meant scratching up my beautiful new aluminum panniers. [Gentle Sobbing]  But part of the reason for this trip was to break in the new bike.  I'd been far too concerned with keeping it pristine up in Canada - one of the factors which eventually led to my turning back.

But the surface did get a little better, once we started climbing out of the valley.  Traction here was good, and we could relax and speed up a bit.  I came around the corner and saw Jonathan taking this photo of me.  But why had he stopped?

Ah yes - to take a picture of what lay ahead!  This is similar to one of the shots I'd seen online, that got me interested in this trail in the first place.  It was pretty exciting to finally be here!

But that excitement soon turned into, "What have we gotten ourselves into?"  As is always the case, this rocky hill was a LOT worse in reality than it looks like on 'film'.  Sure, on a light-weight 250 cc dirt bike, it would be a ton of easy fun!  But our bikes, designed to work well on the street, and still be somewhat competent in the dirt - are far from light-weights.

Enough fretting.  Here we go!!

I don't remember who went first on that one, but somehow we both made it up to the top!  There, we found a rare wide spot in the trail - big enough to safely park the bikes, get off, and take a well-deserved break.

The day was warming up a bit by this time - no more worry about rain.  But hopefully we'd brought enough water!

After a drink and a snack, we surveyed our surroundings.  That vertical gap in the rock wall up ahead looked interesting.  Though we were generally heading up-canyon towards higher ground in California, we'd obviously be going down through that first.  And often, down is trickier on a bike than up.  Better get going.

Well, before we had to deal with any loose, steep downhill, we found ourselves confronted with something even worse!  At the base of that shear rock wall we'd noticed from the hilltop was a spring that had completely flooded the road.

What wasn't water was strewn with huge boulders - there was no way around.  I dismounted and waded through the entire length of the obstacle to try and find the best route through.  It was bad.  Some parts were nearly as deep as my knees, but the shallower areas were hiding a jumble of loose, slippery rocks.

This was going to be tough.

What we'd thought was the "big water crossing" we were warned about at the ranch, had just been the opening act.  This must surely be the main event.

Back on the bike, I still didn't really have a plan.  I sat there for a minute, thinking this might be the last moment of unblemished perfection the mighty 1290 would ever know.  Deep breath.  Exhale slowwwly.  And let out the clutch.

It wasn't pretty.  I frantically thrust my foot into the water more than once, but I made it without dropping and submerging my rather expensive new bike.

Watching me struggle from behind, Jonathan decided he'd rather not be the one to put an abrupt end to my much older bike's illustrious career.  "And besides," he pointed out, "Now that you've done it once, the smaller bike will be a piece of cake!" - or something to that effect.

I trudged back through the muck once more and threw a leg over the KLR.  This time, I did it a bit differently, starting on the same side, but then switching to the left mid stream - to avoid the deepest hole.  The transition over the hump in the middle was difficult, but once across, the going was better.

With all four of us safely through, we knew two things for certain.  One, waterproof boots are not at all effective, once you enter water above their top edge.  And two, come what may up ahead on the trail, we were NOT going back the way we came!

Oh, and one more.  We knew at least the water crossings were behind us now.

But they weren't.

Only minutes later, we came upon this little gem, at the bottom of a steep, loose hill.  Stopping here, at the top, we walked down to check it out.  At the water's edge, the road dropped vertically about a foot, but the other side appeared to be OK.  It looked VERY deep.  You couldn't see the bottom anywhere.

Yet again, I plunged in and made my way across on foot.  Unlike the last one, there were no hidden boulders, but instead the bottom consisted of several inches of mucky silt.  And the water was even deeper!  On the plus side, the hole wasn't as long, and beneath the silt layer, there seemed to be a firmer foundation.

So the plan here was simple.  Drop carefully into the water, then hit the gas and power through to the other side.  Without the rocks, finesse would not be necessary, but momentum to get through the mud certainly would be.

This time, execution went more according to plan.  When the bikes dropped into the deepest hole, however, the few inches of mud seemed to increase dramatically, and even more throttle was desperately applied - but we made it!

Shortly after that, the canyon opened up, and we spotted a historic stone structure.  It was the Fox Homestead garage!  According to the map, that meant we were about two thirds of the way up the 16-mile trail.  I don't know why we were so excited, but we obviously were.  Maybe it was just that we'd passed the half-way point, or the feeling that surely if a Model T Ford had made it down the canyon this far in 1916, we could make it out in 2018!

I'd hoped to be all the way to Cedarville, CA by now.  It was just past mid-day.  We were only averaging about 3 miles per hour.

But in the cool shade of the 102 year old stone building, all was well.  We drank up, and even finished off the cookies my wife had baked for us before we left.

I knew it was very likely there would still be some challenging sections left.  A lot can happen in five miles of rough trail.  But the tops of the canyon walls looked so close!  Surely the worst was behind us.

Black Rock Desert: Soldier Meadows

For such a critical day, I slept in a bit longer than I might have, for two reasons.  Breakfast was not served until 8:00, and every time I drifted off in the night, I was soon awakened again - more on that later.

Even so, we were still up in plenty of time to load the bikes before eating.  But first thing is always to ensure that all tires are still inflated - check!

As we were prepping the bikes, a fellow visitor came over and inquired about our planned route for the day.  "We're heading out through High Rock Canyon," I replied, trying to sound confident - for my own sake.  "We're going that way too," he revealed.  "We're in side-by-sides and a Hummer.  We'll let you get out first, and come up behind - in case you have any trouble."

That sounded like a great plan to me and Jonathan.  First, we certainly didn't want to eat their dust for miles and miles.  Second, even though we'd packed about everything we would likely need in a trail-side emergency scenario, one of our bikes was still largely untested in the rough stuff, and the other was ten years old, with rather high mileage.  Now we had a back-up plan!

We chatted a bit longer about the trail itself.  Evidently, there was a water crossing that was quite deep for another group of travelers, just a couple of weeks ago, after the last rain.  It was hard to imagine there being any water at all in this desert, at the end of a long, dry summer.  But one person's idea of deep is not necessarily the same as another's.  We'd find out, soon enough.

The blue, dune buggy looking vehicle above is what's known as a side-by-side.  Behind it, you can see the Hummer.  Their group stayed in that separate white building, and had their own supper last night.  They would all be joining us for breakfast, though.

Another prominent structure on the property was this old rock house.  Unfortunately, I forgot to ask about it specifically, but I know the ranch began as a military fort back in 1865 - to manage relations between pioneers, traveling on the Applegate Cutoff wagon road, and the Paiute Indians.  At its height, there were 176 men stationed here, with 100 horses!

Making my way back to the bikes, I noticed this small shed, with some rather large storage tanks behind it - and what appeared to be a power line running out of it.

That explains it.  This is what kept waking me up all through the night - a diesel powered generator.  The ranch was completely 'off the grid' and so produced their own electricity.  If we spent one more night, I'd probably get used to it, and have little trouble sleeping with the noise.  But it was a small price to pay, to visit such a remote and unique place.

They probably could have fed most of those 176 soldiers with the food our hosts set out for breakfast that day.  It was an incredible spread.  You may have noticed that I didn't take pictures of any of the food at the ranch - got to leave some things for the imagination.  Or, you'll just have to visit yourself!

We departed right after eating, and backtracked over the mile we had covered the night before - to the junction with the sign for High Rock Lake.

As soon as we left the gravel road for the two-track dirt one, the surface actually improved!  Though narrow, it was hard-packed and fairly smooth.  Jonathan was excited.  I was still a little concerned about the clouds, but the clear blue band in the distance was encouraging.  And besides, I'm always concerned about something.

And then we spotted it - the water crossing.  I dismounted and walked into it a ways.  There was a layer of soft silt on the bottom, but it seemed to be firm underneath that.  It had been over a decade since my friend had ridden through water off-road, so I offered to go first.

It wasn't too bad.  Sure I got a little wet, but that's what water-proof gear is for.  Jonathan followed, when he saw that I was clear - and made it look like he was a pro.

It was a real confidence booster - for both of us.  We'd conquered the water crossing, the first obstacle.  Our skills and the bikes' competence had prevailed!  The sky was even clearing.  What's next?

"Two roads diverged in a yellowish desert."  My apologies to Robert Frost.  Our new friends had been this way before.  "Just follow the main route," they said.  "You can't miss it," they said.

Whenever someone says, "You can't miss it," that should be a red flag warning.  What they probably mean is "I missed it, but I don't want to admit it; because after I lost hours going the wrong way and finally made it back, it was then really obvious what I had done wrong."

But we weren't completely unprepared for this scenario.  I had no less than three maps of the area, each at a different scale, and showing differing details.  I always bring a compass as well, which has helped me on more than one occasion in the past.  On this trip, however, we had yet another tool to consult - Jonathan's GPS.

I know, "But Troy, you don't believe in using GPS on your bike.  You're 'old school.'  You'd rather figure it out with pen and paper, or perhaps a willow divining rod."

But it wasn't my GPS, and it wasn't on my bike.  OK yes, technically the KLR was my bike, but that's not the point.  The truth is that even with satellite assistance, the correct path was not 100 percent apparent.  We knew where we were, and we knew where we wanted to go, but the best route to get from A to B was still unclear.  We finally made what seemed to be a reasonable decision, utilizing all available resources.  I walked back to the KTM and snapped this photo, before we took off, down our chosen route.

I didn't notice it at the time - until I uploaded my photos to the big screen at home.  But can you see it?  It's dangling from the center of my right pannier box.  It might help to compare it with the box on the left.  Now you see it.

Not good.