Grand Canyon

23.4-17.5.2024

Location: Rocky Mountains – Route 66 – Flagstaff.

After the deserts of Arizona, here at 2000 meters from the sealevel the weather was pleasantly summery. It wasn’t no longer scorching hot.

I set off from the outskirts of Flagstaff to continue up the dirt road. I had a few days' worth of food packed in my bike bags.

This road to and over the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks is part of the popular Arizona Trail mountain bike route. The route designed for hikers instead follows trails on the other side of the mountains.

The pine forest soon ended and the road was surrounded by a bare mountain that had been shaved bald by a forest fire a few years ago. There was almost nothing left of the great destruction. Only ash. This mountain is an ancient volcano and large crater- shaped hills could be seen around it.

I drove to 2550 meters for the night, which was as high as I dared to go for fear of altitude sickness. I spread my tent canvas on the ash and placed my sleeping pad directly on it. Then I retreated to my sleeping bag for dinner to watch the spectacular sunset.

My heart was beating fast due to the thin air, but sleep came quickly.

A day like this is simply beautiful. Climbing one hill, beautiful scenery and a spectacular sunset.

The next day I faced the snow line suddenly. Luckily I was practically at the top of the route at 2900 meters. I was surrounded by forest again, and there were almost no views. The mountain peaks were still almost one kilometer higher.

Luckily the snow was hard and it was easy to push the bike forward. The road was no longer uphill, but the snow and ice made the road sloping and I had to be careful not to slip off the mountain.

The route turned downhill and now the journey progressed at a fast pace, sliding. I braked with the soles of my shoes and followed the old tracks left by the freeskier.

Finally I got back to the unfrozen ground. I hadn't seen anyone on the entire mountain for 1.5 days. April was just too early for the mountains, even though the deserts were already scorching hot.

Lower down in the pine forests, I saw several hikers on the trail. The gently winding needle path was fun and a reasonably fast downhill ride. I had to shout to hikers going in the same direction well in advance so they wouldn't get scared when I passed. One guy was wearing headphones and didn't hear me in advance. He then got really scared when I passed by.

I drove nearby of the Grand Canyon National Park in the afternoon to camp for the night. Although I didn't know anything about the canyon itself yet. The terrain was sparsely forested desert, and it didn't give any indication of the giant gorge lurking nearby. Ominous-looking clouds started to gather quickly while I was setting up the tent. In the end, I didn't quite make it to the tent before heavy rain and hailstorms.

The day had become very long, almost a hundred kilometers long. The next stage would be long again, so I ended up staying here for a whole rest day. The timing for the rest day was perfect, as rain and hail had been pounding the tent canvas all day. On this chilly day, it was nice to curl up in a sleeping bag, enjoying music and hot tea.

The only concern was the ever-decreasing supply of drinking water. Then I came up with the idea of collecting rainwater, which constantly dripped from the corners of the tent onto the ground. The pot and mug quickly filled several times with heavy rain. The solution was perfect — drinking water would never run out in the tent due to rain. As always, I filter or boil the water. Then there is no need to worry about stomach problems.

In the evening, after dark, familiar sounds from nature programs began to be heard. A mountain lion roared probably 100 meters away. A moment later, another mountain lion responded from the other side of the tent from the same distance. I stayed in the tent, but there was no need to worry. I believed that a paper-thin tent would protect against wild animals just as effectively as a blanket protected against boogeymen as a child.

For such moments, I have designed a "pee hatch" for my self-made tent. Just unzip the back wall of the tent and it is convenient to take care of small needs, even directly from the sleeping bag in the middle of the night.

The morning after the rest day dawned bright. After an hour of cycling, I had already arrived at the edge of the Grand Canyon through a small back gate. The place was much more impressive than I had expected.

It was hard to grasp the dimensions of the canyon, it's so big. Here are some readings: It is 1.6 kilometers deep. The width from edge to edge averages 16 kilometers. The length is 446 kilometers. There were several viewpoints and they were easy to get around by bike. There was no rush hour.

After a long day, I rode out of the main gates of the tourist area. The terrain was easy, so I didn't have to look for a place to camp at all. I just rode my bike off the road and into the shade of the trees. The long tourist day had taken its taxes. I was able to set off in midday only after a lunch. However, the Grand Canyon was by no means over yet. I was now cycling to the Navajo Indian reservation, which owns a large part of the canyon. The designer of my cycling route, Western Wildland, had negotiated a special permit for cycling and camping here in Indian land. Therefore, I was able to ride on off-road trails that ran right along the edge of the canyon.

In the Indian village, there were no smoke- belching teepee tents, but normal residential buildings, although mainly rugged-looking residential barracks. I stopped for dinner at Burger King. The day was already so long that I would no longer have time to reach the first permitted tent site in daylight. It would be at least 1.5 hours away, and I no longer felt like riding after dark.

It would have been very difficult to get to the hideout to camp, as the terrain was very flat. Not a single stick grew on the prairie. I also wanted to follow the rules, as the Native American community was quite conservative and they have sometimes even completely closed off access to outsiders for longer periods of time.

I asked about a hotel-like accommodation, how I could get a shower, since it had been over a week since my last stay. A hotel room with a shower would have cost $140, so it was out of the question. I had to pay $27 for a tent spot in the campsite. It was still less than average in the United States. However, it did not include a shower, and there was not even a toilet. The campsites here are designed for huge RV campers, not tents.

The merciless wind blew right into the campsite, which was right next to a busy road. The ground was also rock hard and very difficult for tent pegs. I found a small grassy area from the side, where I got shelter from the wind from large RV:s. They seemed to be the permanent residences of the locals. Cars drove by every now and then within 40 centimeters of the tent. It was the passing traffic of the local barracks.

In the morning, one of the regular caravan dwellers released them dog for morning pee accidentally the edge of my tent, and didn't bother to mention it. I only heard a loud scream that this was an unsuitable place for a dog. While packing up, I managed to get myself into it. The pungent, juicy smell lingered in the tent for the following nights, as I had no washing water available in the dry desert.

Fortunately, my thoughts soon returned to meaningful things. I wondered how the Indians had been able to survive here for thousands of years. The prairie was so utterly dry and simple.

However, there were some strange and large clay mounds around the road. They were old, covered uranium mines from World War. This location had once been a source of uranium for the army. The Indians were paid a small salary for mining the uranium, which was still an important source of income for them. The harmful effects of radioactive radiation were not paid attention to at the time, so even today people here suffer from significant adverse effects.

I turned off the straight highway onto a small road. After a few hours of driving, the first car came up. An Indian cattle herder and his family stopped to say hello. I told them I was on my way to Canada. They said they had relatives there. They had also come from there themselves, long ago in prehistoric times.

I arrived at the permitted tent site on early. These sites are not visible on site at all, but are only locations indicated by coordinates.

This place was on the edge of the canyon and offered magnificent views. I pitched my tent as close to the edge as I dared — three meters. The drop to the Colorado River flowing below was about a kilometer at this point. I ate my lunch while dangling my feet over the edge of the deserted canyon.

The next day, I noticed the only signs of other tourists: small colorful dots on the river below. They were the large rubber boats of the rafters. I drove away from the Indian reservation the next evening. I crossed the river on the old Navajo bridge. Built in 1928, the steel arch of the bridge was 188 meters long. It had been the only river crossing in about a thousand kilometers.

Exhausted from the heat, I reached the first gas station. I got a large ice-cold fountain drink, 1.8 liters. I filled up with water and now had a total of 10 liters with me, for the second time. Water sources were very few here.

I got talking to a local serviceman who was amazed by my bike ride. He handed me an ice-cold sports drink from his cooler. He also insisted that I make a sandwich from his lunch supplies. This was a rare gift in the middle of the hot desert. The fresh food at the gas station had been so expensive that they were not bought.

After a couple of days I got to Fredonia on the Utah border. I had a burger at a restaurant in the village that had the longest bar counter in the state.

According to the map, there was a great swimming spot on the Utah side called Jackson Flat reservoir, where I finally decided to take a bath.

On a beautiful sandy beach, despite the heat, the water was absolutely freezing cold. Now I just had to force myself into the cold water, after all, it had been two weeks since the last time and the smell was horrible.

There was also a free music event being built on the beach. Before the event started, the band did a sound check, jamming for hours and hours on the stage. For this music series event “Canyons Calling “ they had a guest star from the West Coast.

The music sounded so good that I decided to stay here for the rest of the evening and sleep nearby in the bushes. The truly talented lead musician was a retired looking old black man who, in addition to singing, played electric guitar and electric piano. The gig was as surprising and whimsical as a small jazz concert. The artist ripped old-time blues accompanied by an overdriven harmonica. Those in the audience who wanted to, could try lead singing and this little event was really fun. Here, it was just traditional music but for me it was the first time I had seen a real American vibe live.

I drove a short distance to Kanab in the morning. I wasn't feeling very well and I was probably a little sore. I ended up resting in a tent for 4 days, waiting for my condition to improve. The local laundromat was good to hang out at during the day, as it had air conditioning, wifi and a toilet for free use that allowed a sink shower.

I started to feel energetic again and a couple of days later I was able to go to Bryce Canyon. The famously magnificent scenery was still quite dull after the Grand Canyon, so I soon continued my journey.

The Rocky Mountains in this area were already becoming a habitat for black bears. In the evening I practiced hanging food on a tree branch, as no food is allowed in the tent. Hanging it so that the bear cannot reach the food bag from the ground, branch or tree trunk is one of the nationally accepted methods.

The next stage was pedaling over the mountains. As I approached the mountains, I saw multiple families with huge RV:s on the slopes spending their vacation. They were driving all kinds of ATVs, buggies, and dirt bikes on the road.

I rode the dirt road higher and higher in the mountains and the tire tracks were no longer visible in the surface of the road. The ground gradually began to be covered with snow and at 3000 meters the southern mountain slope was completely under the snow. The snow was almost hard pack, but still not quite possible to ride a bike there with 2,6” tires.

I continued the journey by pushing. In the thin air the road was so steep and difficult to progress that I could only push the bike 50 meters at a time. Eventually, I reached the highest point of the mountain road at 3200 meters. Then the road was flat on top of the mountain, but still deep under the snow.

The day was already getting long. Altitude sickness was weighing on my head a bit and walking on soft snow gradually rubbed the soles of my feet. I studied the map and came to the conclusion that there was still at least 30 kilometers of snow to go. I finally turned back at the last moment and after a couple of hours of pushing I was able to descend below 3000 meters for the night.

I melted the snow into drinking water and slept deeply, really exhausted from the hard day. The exciting mountain ride of over 250 kilometers now had to be replaced by boring asphalt. In mid-May, the season was still far too early for the Rocky Mountains. If I had postponed my arrival here until later, I would not have made it back to South America before the rainy season.

Now the wide mtb tires rolled slowly on the smooth asphalt. Despite fatigue and a slight headwind, the journey was nevertheless quick. I covered 114 kilometers during the day. On the side of the road, I found a large and quiet resting place by the lake.

I slept for 12 hours and woke up around 9am when the sun started to warm the tent. I was still thinking about my recent mountain adventure. My thoughts were divided: I experienced unforgettable moments, because 3200 meters was the highest place I had ever been. However, the trip turned out to be at least a Type-2 fun. Not fun during the trip, but fun after.

Now that I was tired, I wanted to have a really slow morning and recover from the adventure. I chose a suitable playlist of music and stayed on the sleeping pad to think and enjoy the recent mountain adventure.

Then something surprising happened—my mind, depressed and tired from exhaustion, took a complete surprise. The music resonated with the neurotransmitters in my brain so that I flew straight to cloud nine. It made the trip feel rewarding. Time flew by like in a jacuzzi, and I couldn't move even a fingertip for two hours.

Finally, after lunch, I packed my gear and was ready to continue my journey.

Now the route ran along a quiet main road through small towns. They offered fresh food several times a day.

I took the biggest milkshake from the last restaurant. With the power of this ultimately huge shake, I pedaled myself back up to the mountains in a few hours. Here, the "Skyline Drive" that runs along the mountain ridge, was still completely covered in snow. I was still able to continue on an interesting detour straight over the mountain on an asphalt road that was completely melted and dry.

Despite the national forest, there was a huge coal mine here in the Manti La Sal National Forest. In the small mining village of Scofield, there was a memorial to the 1900 mining disaster, which is still one of the world's largest mining disasters to this day. There had also been a lot of Finns.

Besides the truck and coal train traffic, I didn't see a single person here on Sunday evening, so I didn't get to ask if here were still habitants from Finland today.

I found a convenient shortcut back to the Western Wildlands-route on the maps. Or at least I thought I had. After an hour of riding, I came across a huge gate with a sign that said that only residents are allowed to enter this private, sparsely populated area. Apparently, some kind of commune had decided to close the entire road. I couldn't bear to pedal back for an hour, so I pushed my bike up a bushy hill past the gate. On the road, a few oncoming drivers greeted me cheerfully.

It was a bit of a hassle to get out of the other closed end of the road, as it was fenced and the gate was locked. After a while, I also came across a gate on the new road. The barbed wire fence was open next to it, so it was convenient to get through. This was a completely deserted dirt road. After a few kilometers, there was another gate. I swung myself over with my bike and noticed that on the other side of the gate there were big prohibition signs. The area was some kind of private hunting area for rent. The sign promised a huge reward to anyone who could report any vandalism in the area.

It was not nice to think about the possible consequences. It was a shame that the maps I used, including Google Maps, were not able to tell me about such obstacles at all.

I was soon back on the Western Wildlands route. The shortcut saved me a considerable amount of time driving on busy highways in heavy traffic.

I found a nice tent spot in a mountain meadow on the side of a small road. I had dinner in the tent and watched the sun set between the mountains.