A Variety of Transportation

  Cairn was here. Stacking rocks as they went along. We followed several and avoided a few. The trails were narrow and the cliffs were high. Too exposed for some. It was dry and it was hot. The canyon was deep and the cliffs were steep. And there they were, little bread crumbs leading the way.

Deeper down we go.

 We arrived at dark to empty cars in the parking lot. Lit by the moonlight we opened the back of the car. The bullfrogs calling down by the river were drowned out by paddles falling out of the back of the seat. We sit on what I believe are rocks. The night sky reflecting off the flat water below us. You can smell the river.  The smell of willows and salt cedar. The air is still warm from the hot summer day hours ago. Warm, but with a hint of humidity.

We are finally out of the car.

After some time I contemplate a second beer.

 Now in my sleeping bag with a full moon directly above me, I consider putting the rainfly on to get some sleep. The portable industrial strength prison bathrooms near by kick the solar fans on several times an hour. I think I hear a generator or a dump truck off in the distance but I can't be sure. I'm awoken again later by coyotes.

Still want the rainfly on.

Morning comes. Light paints the tops of the cliffs as I fire my stove up and get my coffee going. The sunrise is bitchin. I must be about to start an awesome adventure. I stare at my bike thinking of how I can pack it better. I think I found a use for that extra strap.

A drybag can go there.

  The ones who sleep in the penthouse are up now. I enjoy my 2 bags of quaker oats overlooking the river. It's moving. My assumptions on the lake level were right. It's actually a river here. This is good news.

  The highway hasn't seen a car in twelve hours. Good. I don't want to fight morning traffic. My coffee is gone now. I roll everything up. In bags they go. I'm bringing this and leaving that. Camp is broken down, the car is locked and we are rolling onto pavement by 7 am.

 We reach the bridge and look down at the silty river below. It's slow and flat but it's moving. She's a dirty devil. I enjoy the handful of chances to coast while they last. This all seems uphill because it all is.

  We eventually reach the end of the road. Bikes are stashed, packs unloaded, stuff moved around and reloaded. We start walking. The sun is high in the sky now as we start the downhill. Doubletrack fades to singletrack and eventually fades into several small social trails. Cairn shows up and leads us along. We reach the cliff edge and look at the boulder field below. Using our hands we lower ourselves down ledges and rocks. The narrow sliver of green lines the canyon bottom below offering a chance at shelter and water.

I arrive to unexpected breasts....We're not alone down here. The breasts thought they were.

  After walking through a few camps of people that see us coming, we find our rock ledge to call home for the night. Packs are dropped, water is filtered and stoves are lit. My attempt at finding instant chicken noodle soup at the store the day before is a disappointing venture. The stream is warm but welcoming to cool off in. We find shade and enjoy starring at the canyon walls for the evening. An older couple walks passed camp and warns us of herd elephants ahead. I ponder what this could mean. Sure enough they came stomping up through the river. Well that's why it was so murky when we arrived.

  We spend the rest of the evening in solitude. It was quiet. Not many words were spoken. The breeze blowing throughout the canyon made the cottonwoods rustle and that was enough background music to set the mood for night. Not long after attempting to drift off to sleep, the frogs began their mating noises. This was full bore for half the night. The dial was turned up all the way and it wasn't turned off till 1 or 2 AM.

  Morning comes and the rituals of coffee and cleaning up camp commence. We break camp early in an attempt to tackle what mystery lay ahead. We are traveling in unfamiliar territory here. Around every corner the canyon changes dramatically. The small creek pierces though the limestone layer and quickly erodes the soft sandstone below. Creating constant waterfalls lined with chockstones. While following the water seems doable this would require some technical gear and several swims. We are forced to stick to the limestone layers that line the steep canyon walls and quickly begin traversing a canyon that is dropping fast. Within half a mile from camp, the canyon floor is already 100 feet below us.

   All I can think is this place is rad. Well, unless you don't like exposure, then this place is miserable. You are most certainly guaranteed to have a rough time. Avoid it.


  Higher and higher we go as we travel almost perfectly horizontal as the canyon floor descends mere feet off the trail. Cairn leads us along further down the canyon. Into its depths. In the back of my head I wonder if this will eventually lead us down to the bottom or if we will eventually cliff out and be forced to down climb a most certain sketchy cliff.

At last we reach a break in the cliff band provided by a small side canyon that allows us to descend to the bottom. Travel here is pleasant. Pools form and chock the small creek and allow for some great swimming holes. Did I mention how rad this place is? If you survived the exposure, the canyon rewards you.

   Almost as quick as the scenery was becoming more and more spectacular and ever changing it slowly began to loose its life. Man's been here. Old driftwood logs and branches line the canyon floor, skeletons of invasive salt cedars line the small beaches. and then there is sand, lots and lots of sand. The creek disappears and the sun has finally peaked over the canyon walls and shines hard on us. The temperature rises and we are now at the Lake Powell high water line.

   A mile and a few bends later I can see another canyon coming into view. We have arrived at the Colorado. Packrafts are out and its now time switch travel methods once again. With our gear zipped up safe in our rafts we push off from the beach and instantly are greeted by two commercial rafting boats motoring down the river. They pass quickly and we slowly carry on drifting down river.

  The winds are now here, And they can't make up their mind. We fight to keep our travel in a forward direction down river only to be forced from one side of the river banks to the other. Eventually we catch a break and allow the wind to carry us down stream. This doesn't last long but it is quite enjoyable.

  Off in the distance I hear the familiar sound of a beer can opening. I look to find Kb looking around to see if others are watching while her hands are buried below our site down in here raft. We caught here. I ask if she is willing to share. She agrees. Warm beer is passed around and enjoyed.

  Even fighting with a headwind we make good time. A lot better time than I planned for. We will actually make it to the car tonight I think. The promise of cold beer and a real cooked meal tonight keeps us motoring down river.

  We eventually see the bridge come into view. A bridge we pedaled over only yesterday and here we are floating underneath it already. With the bridge in view the car was less than two miles away.

We completed the triathlon in less than 36 hours. We weren't even trying to accomplish this feet at that pace.

Now time to fetch the car and  pick up the bikes.

Good time, would do again.