Last night I took out my calendar, sat with my road atlas, map and guide books, and planned out, roughly, the rest of my trip. With the atlas spread on my lap, I saw that Grand Canyon was onto a few finger lengths away from where I was. I decided that I couldn’t be this close to the Grand Canyon’s North Rim and not go. Besides which, being this close, I could treat myself to a night in Vegas – I don’t even have to flip pages in the road atlas.
So, off to the North Rim.
The rangers at Kodachrome suggest I take the road back up to Willis Creek and keep going – it’s a super short cut to the Rim.
“Does the road get worse?” I made it to Willis Creek along BLM 500, so I’m feeling pretty confident.
“No. The first sections of the road are always the worst because people try them and then turn around. The road gets better and eventually becomes paved.” Sold.
No one else is on the road yet, and there are sections where I’m going 40mph – I’ve been here yesterday, and feel like a pro. The road is good. I am happy and scoff at the sign that warns this is a 4WD road.
I don’t scoff for long. About 15 miles in, I hit a steep, sandy incline, and a blind corner. I get the Civic to a speed I think I need and power on up but the sand fills the tread of my tires. The Civic stops. Then, it starts to slide backwards. The road curves, the brakes don’t work: I pull on handbrake to slow my descent. Then, I slowly release as I try to control the slide, stop and get to a place where I can try to drive up again.
I do. Again the car slows. Again, the breaks don’t work; they slip. The handbrake helps, and a slow release allows me to roll safely down the hill.
Third time’s the charm, I think. Ha.
By now my heart is pumping fast. My knees are jello. I’m out here, all alone, I haven’t see a single car drive by, and I’m at the halfway point in the road that’ll take me to the North Rim…and on a blind corner, attempting to drive uphill on a sand pit. I can see where the sand pit ends: I have to get the car to go a few more meters.
So, shaky with panic, I try a third time. I maneuver the car further down the hill so I can get the car to a good speed, the ranger’s voice in my head saying, “Just keep the tires rolling.” I do get just a little further, and then, start sliding down. Again. Because I got farther, I’m also on more of an incline, and slide down is faster and scarier. Or it just feels faster, because I’m now sweaty with panic. I slide right into the road’s sandy sand bank that separates the road from the forest…I thank the universe it’s not a ditch or a cliff drop off.
The Civic isn’t moving in any direction now. I’m so nervous, that I stall the engine – that hasn’t happened in a long time.
I get out, shake off my nervousness and see that the back wheels are completely lodged in the sand. So, my fingers turn into pitchforks, my feet into shovels, and I begin to dig into the sand, creating a path for the wheels to be able to roll back down onto the road and down the hill. It is a messy job, but the energy needed to dig uses up some of the adrenaline pumping through my body. The earth is dry and I quickly create a dust cloud. I hope no one drives by just now and sees me smashing into the sand with my feet and hands.
I get back in the car, rev the engine and force the wheels to barge through the remaining sand as I reverse all the way downhill, and to a spot where I can safety turn around without getting stuck again.
There goes my short cut. I’ve lost an hour and a half on my misadventure.
In Kanab I stop for an espresso – it’s been an exciting morning, but back on the paved road, my body slumps. The cafe has wifi so on a whim, I book a room at the Mirage, and purchase a seat for a Cirque du Soleil show – it’s funny what adrenaline and excitement does to a brain. It’s a bit of a splurge, but I have been very thrifty, and just at this moment, a hot shower and a bed seem very pleasing. Also, I am quite looking forward to putting on a dress: this is a desire I rarely get, so when it’s here, I satisfy it. I do have a pretty summer dress squished into the bottom of my clothes bag. After the North Rim, I’ll head for Nevada.
When I get to the North Rim I’m surprised by how many people are there. The campground is full.
“Is it really full?” I ask the ranger that’s by the registration kiosk.
“Have you got a reservation?”
“No.”
“How many nights are you looking for? How many people?”
“However many nights. Just me.”
“The ranger who takes care of the registration is not here, but I think we can find you something. Someone just cancelled. I’m 85% sure you’ll have a site. Come back in an hour.” I give him my name and go for a walk along the rim.
When I get back to the kiosk, he’s not there, but the kiosk is open, and another ranger is talking loudly on the phone while I and two men patiently wait. They say hello.
“Do you have a reservation?” the enquire.
“No. I put my name on a list. Someone may have cancelled.”
“Well, if you don’t get a site, you’re welcome to pitch your tent on our site. Just find the site with all the Harelys on it.” He’s here with his son, and 4 other hardened bikers, all on their Harley Davidsons. After he’s checked in, he wishes me luck; as he and his riders ride by the kiosk, I wave and nod to each rider.
There is a site, not far from the rim. Luck has my back again.
I discover that the North Rim is quite a fancy place, with a beautiful lodge, cabins, buses full of tourists with really big suitcases – there are even golf-carts that lorry the suitcases from the buses to the lodge. I’m stunned. Clearly, I did not prepare for this, nor am I clean enough for this.
Due to a forest fire, some of the roads and hikes are closed, and the canyon is filled with smoke: the views hazy. It’s mystical. It’s different than the views from the south side I saw some 8 years ago, so aim fulfilled…saw something different.
In the early evening, my tech is plugged into the sockets outside showers, and I’ve got my road atlas out. Another biker from the gang I met earlier in the day, walks by. He knows who I am, that I’m a teacher and travelling on my own: the other man must have done some sharing.
“If you want some beer and good conversation, come by our site. We’re harmless. There’s a chiropractor, a guy who builds homes. Come by. Don’t wait too long or the beer will be gone.” He smiles and meanders off.
Amazing offer. How can I decline?
I head back to my site to make a quick noodle dinner, wash my feet (I need new hiking boots…these have seen too much sweat, sand, mud, rain and earth and make my feet smell…normally I don’t have smelly feet!) I stop by the park’s grocery store to grab two cans of beer for myself (I’m worried that they’ll have Coors or some equivalent which I do not enjoy) and some packs of chips (shouldn’t go to someone’s house without a treat), grab my flashlight and go. To be honest, I’m kind of giddy. I’m about to spend an evening with some biker dudes. Proper Harley touring biker dudes.
When I arrive at their site, two of them are seated at a picnic table, beers in hand.
“I’d written you off,” one said.
“Well, I like to surprise people.” I’m introduced to Alan, and Bobby; the others have gone to see the sunset.
We chat, starting, of course, with my trip, where I’ve been and where I’m going. Eventually, Mike and his son Michael, and another man whose name I don’t remember, join us. We drink beer, eat strawberry cream jello and chips, and share stories. They are reluctant to give away any details of the 8 times they’ve been up to Sturgis for the motorcycle rally, but from the winks and laughs, it’s easy to guess that might have happened; I’ve been to the tail-end of a Sturgis motorcycle rally a few years ago.
This morning I was digging my car out of sand, and now I’m at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, hanging out with bikers, whose, I suspect, father instincts kicked in when they saw a solo-female traveller – it turns out, some of the bikers do have daughters my age.
By the time I head back to my tent, it is pitch black and the other campers have long gone to bed.
Before the sun is up, I pack up, eat breakfast and begin the Kaibab Trail, aiming to walk the suggested 16km day hike. Yesterday the ranger looked me up and down and seemed sceptical about my ability. “Be prepared for 6 to 9 hours,” she lectured. I’m not the first one on trail: the car park is nearly full and it is just past 6 am. At the start I still have my sweater on, and my hands are cold enough that I keep them in my pockets. The trail is in the shade, and the cool night air lingers. I walk down and down. And down and down. Switchback after switchback. And all I can think of is, I’m going to have to walk this up and up and up and up in just a few hours.
The descent is worse, anyways. Walking down is when I get a little dizzy and my knees start to turn to jello, even if my heart isn’t working very hard. I get past the Supai Tunnel, I get to a bridge, and by that time I’ve seen enough people to turn me off the rest of the hike. At points the trail is narrow, so you have to stop and let people pass, and I don’t want to have to do this going up, in the sun.
So, I quit. I rarely quit halfway through a hike, but today I do not have the stamina, and I’m happy with what I’ve seen. I’m faster going back up, though my heart is fully awake, and working; I have to put my headband on to stop the sweat from pooling around my eyes: it quickly soaks through. It is more satisfying going up. I feel the burn in my muscles, that is more satisfying than the jelly feeling in my knees. In the end, I do a 10 km round trip. For today, it is enough.