After traveling from Bita'Hochee trading post, where my great-grandfather Jeff and his brother Alf left their father, they headed northwest. To cross the Colorado River -- think Grand Canyon -- they had to go to Lee's Ferry. In 1890 there was no Glen Dam, so the river was quite treacherous. But before they could even get to the ferry, they had to get down to the river. The final stretch to the water was called Lee's backbone. A dangerous slope which angles at 25 degrees at some points. Some called it the worst trail in the west. Pioneers would move their wagon 12 - 24 inches at a time before setting a rock under the wheel, readying the horses and preparing to tack across the slope, so as not to descend directly and loose control.
I went out in the morning to follow Jeff's path. I would joking tell people that Jeff had two horses and I had 95. I thought, I could take the BMW across a significant stretch of the terrain and then finish the trek on foot. I'm humbled to admit I accomplished neither of these.
The BMW was more than powerful, but I was not as nimble on it and found myself picking the bike up multiple times off the dirt. The worst part was that I would make mistakes on the trickiest terrain. The bike would fall over and I was on a slope. So even when I could pick it up (yeah, its heavy), I was often in the middle of a 10-15 degree up hill slope on slippery rocks or sandy terrain. Getting it upright again was only half the battle, getting it going again, uphill, took a ton of effort, praying and took all of my pride-- meaning, I spent every ounce of it and I don't have any more.
The other part that I realized, that after studying Google Earth for months, trying to find the best possible route to Lee's Backbone, I didn't take terrain into account. Even though I made it a couple of miles on the bike, when I got on my feet, I realized that that only possible path up to the mesa which led to Lee's Backbone was a hundred foot climb. Alas, even if I could make it, I knew I had not found the trail, because you don't climb up a mountain with a horse and wagon. They must have come another direction, far today's highway.
Lessons learned?
1) Go with your inspiration. When I was researching the route (or what I thought was the route), I would have this nagging feeling in the back of my head that this part of the trip was not to be. I kept pushing past that feeling because I wanted it to be part of the story. I realize that in the last month, when I've forced things, I've broken them (tents, cars, motorcycles). I want to be gentler and see a better path than the one I want.
2) Burning bridges can motivate. I had the luxury of turning around when my foot path disappeared into a cliff (ie., I had gone the wrong way). It was hard, but I turned around, hiked and biked back -- calling Suzy for solace. There's a great story in the bible of Elisha the farmer. He is called to be a prophet, so he takes his ox and plow and makes a bonfire and roast the cattle for his friends and family. Once he does that there's no going back to plowing fields any more. (http://biblehub.com/1_kings/19-21.htm). I think when Jeff left his dad at gun point, he was effectively closing off the possibility of return. The only way out was forward and they had to find a path and cross the river.
- Troy
I drove another half hour down the road and found a camping site. It was a quarter mile from an RV park, so I figured I was good to go. Set up my tent and fell asleep wondering if the noise I was hearing was an elk in the distance.
Around midnight I wake to repeated Elk noises followed by some high pitched howls. Lots of them. It sounded like 40 or 50 dog-like animals were howling. It was oddly high pitched. Almost hyena like. It went on for a minute and the elk noise stopped.
I lay in my tent really quite nervous. A few minutes later, I begin to hear very soft foot steps (the didn't sound like a human). I loudly turned on my light, get dressed, make noise and get to the motorcycle and turn it on. Rev it up, look around. Nothing. I decide I'd had enough adventure (that's what i asked for right?) for the night. I packed up up and headed out.
Here's the crazy thing: My great grandfather was 7 when he and a Navajo friend would go out, for weeks at a time, tending sheep in the desert.
I read the history of some of the pioneers from the 1880s and found this:
"One morning, way out on the desert, the boys were greasing the rear wagon, we girls, at the other washing dishes, found ourselves completely surrounded by large prairie wolves. We lost no time climbing into our wagon and the boys killed wolves as long as their ammunition lasted. It was a thrilling sight to see about fifty large wolves lined up like soldiers. At the sound of the gun they would jump back a few paces still facing us, then they would step forward again. The howling of the wounded, and the firing of guns finally frightened them away."
This is an amazing wilderness. I'm grateful to see it and get an early reminder to play it safe.
Troy "from Motel 6" Stein
