May 20, 2015
Day 3: Cameron to Desert View: The Climb is Calling
Note: Stone probably should never have gone down this third-person road for his telling of the journey from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, but at this point it looks like everyone is stuck with his questionable decision-making, as usual, so the tale continues thusly.
Tuesday night the temperature stayed considerably warmer than Monday night, but it didn't matter much to the boys, because instead of being in tents they were safely ensconced in a ritzy suite at the Cameron Trading Post. They hopped up early and consumed a quick breakfast—peanut butter and honey on cinnamon raisin bagel for Stone, and, significantly, half a Clif bar for Whitworth—as they packed. By 7:00 they were out the door and rolling across the parking lot to Highway 89 in anticipation of a long, hot, thirsty climb to the south rim.
The road around Cameron was a bombed-out disaster area, ripped up and completely missing a southbound shoulder. A nicely paved but incomplete multi-use path was under construction on the east side of the highway, so the boys crossed over and pedaled up the fresh cement. Multiple gaps required dismounting, lifting, and rolling the LHT's, but the path avoided the highway death trap. Eventually, however, the path ended abruptly, and the only alternative was to cross back to the west side of the road and walk the bikes carefully in the narrow space between concrete barriers and the unpaved edge of 89. This involved some Olympic-level contortions in order to slip between obstacles and duck under blockading signs. Soon the gap narrowed to nothingness, and after manly exertions the bikes popped out at the edge of a new traffic circle, which the riders had no choice but to traverse on foot. From the traffic circle the boys turned right on Highway 64, mounted up, and began the long climb toward the national park. ADOT assures one and all this ugly construction madness will soon be at an end.
Depending on the maps and calculations consulted, the total climbing measurement from Cameron to Desert View in the Grand Canyon amounts to anywhere from 4000 feet to 4500 feet of upward pedaling. Stone, who didn't really have a clue, assured Whit the climb would definitely be on the low side of those numbers.
Whatever the actual numbers for the climb, the road certainly led up, and would do so for most of the day.
The boys formulated a plan for dealing with the long climb. They wouldn't take rest breaks. Nope. No resting. Instead, they would take advantage of photo opportunities. Whenever a rider felt the urge, he would call out "Photo op!" This signal required both riders to pull over, stretch legs, drink water, eat snacks, and snap photographs. In this manner, the boys would ascend to Desert View without ever stopping to rest.
The clever plan worked to perfection. No one ever rested. The LHT's plodded up the smooth, wide shoulder of Highway 64 in cool weather for hours, only pausing for photos. Every time they stopped for photos, Whitworth ate half his Clif bar. Apparently this was a supernatural Clif bar, because it never vanished entirely. Stone always asked, "Did you eat anything?" Whit always answered, "Yeah, half my Clif bar." Perhaps the magical Clif bar spontaneously regenerated in his handlebar bag between photo opportunities. Or perhaps the Clif bar simply became smaller and smaller as Whitworth ate smaller and smaller halves. Nearing the top of the climb, at each photo op he might only have been getting a few molecules when he chewed fifty percent of the remaining morsel of nourishment.
Riders do what they must do to survive when they don't have pork chops.
Nutritional mysteries aside, the climb wasn't as difficult as the boys had expected. The shoulder was good. The weather cooperated with cool temps and a light breeze. The views were spectacular. The incline was modest, so it never became necessary to dismount and cross-train. Perhaps, as the jeep-borne Texan had intimated, the boys really were tough hombres.
When the national park sign finally came into view, both riders still had plenty left in the tank. As good citizens, however, not only did they pause to photograph themselves and their LHT's celebrating at the NPS marker, they also remained in place for about half an hour in order to volunteer their services to take pictures when the occupants of automobile after automobile emerged for pictorial souvenirs in front of the big sign. A major photo op indeed!
Beyond the sign marking the boundary of the park, the generous shoulder completely disappeared as the road continued to tilt upward. This necessitated careful pedaling and careful attention to the sudden appearance of overtaking vehicles, although most of them proved to be very courteous toward two old men grinding uphill on heavily laden bikes.
At the Grand Canyon entrance station, the ranger—and this guy with his broad-shoulders, bushy beard, and wide-brimmed hat looked exactly like a ranger should, sort of like Madison Bumgarner meets Smokey the Bear—seemed genuinely pleased to see a couple of geezers with senior lifetime park passes arriving on bicycles.
"Hey," Stone inquired, "How much farther to the Desert View campground?"
"Well," the bearded ranger replied, "The turn off to Desert View is only about a quarter mile away, but the campground is already full for tonight, and there's no hiker-biker site there."
No room at the campground? This was worse news than yesterday's thunderbolt about no beer in Cameron.
On the other hand, Stone—on the ball for once in his life—already knew about the lack of a hiker-biker site and the possibility of a full campground at Desert View, and he was already prepared with Plan B and Plan C. Plan C involved sneaking into the pine forest with the LHT's for stealth camping, but it wouldn't quite come to that.
The boys cruised into Desert View and kept going past the "Campground is full, turn around here" signs. As they rolled into the campground, they saw another sign: "Site 50: Emergency overflow site. Contact campground host or ranger." The emergency site was clearly empty. The riders quickly located the campground host, who was talking to a pair of motorcyclists.
As the bicycles pulled up behind the motorcycles, the host looked at Stone and emphatically shook his head. "No room tonight. We're full up."
"But," Stone asked, "what about the emergency overflow site?"
"You're too late." The host shrugged and turned to walk away. "These folks just beat you to it, and there's nothing else."
Now Plan B had to be put into action quickly.
"Hey," Stone called out to the motorcyclists. "We only have a couple of very small tents. If you'll share the emergency site with us, we'll pay for it."
With little hesitation, the motorcyclists nodded. "Sure," one said.
The host shrugged again. "Well then, I'll let you folks work that out."
The motorcyclists—they turned out to be a very friendly French-Canadian couple touring the US, and she was actually riding a Can-Am three-wheeler—tried to wave off the cash as unnecessary, but the boys insisted, and they handed over $12 to secure a shared site for the night. The bicyclists ended up dragging their LHT's through the woods and setting up tents completely out of sight of the real camping spots, including the emergency site, so they were essentially stealth camping beyond the edge of the Desert View campground amid scattered brown bomblets of elk dung.
Before the evening was out, the boys pedaled over to the impressive watchtower a couple of times in order to view the brilliant and ever-changing canyon colors. On their first visit, they met young Alex from Georgia who was a few days into a bicycle tour expected to last at least a year, and the three riders chatted amicably and snapped photos of each other and the tower and the canyon and the Colorado River far below. Alex, having started in Tuba City in the morning and come up the same climb from Cameron on Highway 64, soon continued along the rim to reach the hiker-biker site at Mather Point near Grand Canyon Village. Young guys seem perfectly okay with plenty of extra miles and extra climbing, something the white beards dimly remembered from their ancient pasts.
As for Stone and Whitworth, when the sun began to set they retired to their semi-stealth site and slipped into sleeping bags. Whit finished the last half of his magical Clif bar. Old dudes they might be—or perhaps tough hombres—but they had successfully mastered the climb from Cameron to Desert View without dismounting and pushing, and without a single rest stop, only photo ops.
Conditions
Distance: Approximately 35 miles, 7:00 - 2:30
Up: Approximately 4100 feet
Down: Approximately 900 feet
Weather: Mostly cool with light breeze.
Home for the night: Desert View campground
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Morning departure from the Cameron Trading Post.
Downtown Cameron, Arizona.
Although another piece of the uncompleted sidewalk reappeared on the other side of the road, our only choice was to try to squeeze through this narrowing passageway in the construction zone.
RJ, up ahead, walks the edge of the new traffic circle where Highway 64 intersects with Highway 89.
We made it safely around the traffic circle and pointed ourselves in the right direction on Highway 64.
RJ is the yellow dot on the shoulder in the distance.
Perhaps because we made such an early start, very few of the roadside retail establishments were open for business.
Not many customers at the mall this morning.
(Photo by RJW)
Getting on up the road with scenery of shifting shapes and colors.
Looking back down toward Cameron and lower elevations.
Bill rolls back up to the road after a photo op.
(Photo by RJW)
RJ consumes half of his Clif bar.
The Surly looks down on the Little Colorado River gorge.
Whitworth at the Little Colorado River gorge.
Stone at the Little Colorado River gorge.
Sporting white sun sleeves that have grown rather dingy over the years.
(Photo by RJW)
RJ checks his portable communications device for an elusive cell signal.
Not much of anything in any direction this morning.
There's a half of a Clif bar in there somewhere.
The boys have climbed up into the red layers of the landscape.
More red layers along Highway 64 as the climb continues.
Looking back down Highway 64.
As we climb up, the Little Colorado River gorge in the background becomes deeper and cuts its way closer to the Colorado and the Grand Canyon.
Roadside adjustments during a photo op.
That half of a Clif bar has got to be around here somewhere.
Climbing, climbing, climbing to another photo op.
At this elevation the layers have turned yellow.
Much more climbing, and the boys might be turning colors.
We eventually found a flat spot where we could sit in the dirt, eat lunch, and stare at the LHTs.
The Surly watches over the desiccated remains of an elk along the road.
A little flatter here, and a little warmer as the freshly oiled surface of the road radiated heat.
The welcoming Grand Canyon sign finally appeared after hours of pedaling uphill.
Jubilant riders at the edge of the national park.
Still a few miles to go.
(Photo by helpful passing motorist)
The black Surly Long Haul Truckers wait by the side of the road.
RJ spots the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks which have reappeared in the distance.
We made it to Desert View.
Soon after arriving at Desert View, we ran into Alex from Georgia.
He started his ride in Las Vegas and hopes to ride around the US for a year. He collects stories from people he meets along the way for his blog, Nostrum Fabula: http://www.nostrumfabula.com
Alex and the three touring bikes at the Desert View overlook.
RJ and the three touring bikes at the Desert View overlook.
The Desert View overlook.
Looking down into the Grand Canyon from the Desert View overlook.
(Photo by RJW)
In order to get a good photo at the crowded Desert View overlook, it pays to be a little taller and a little stinkier than everyone else.
(Photo by RJW)
Plenty of good eats here, but no pork chops.
Perhaps an elk burger for dinner?
This big guy was boss of the Desert View campground, and he left his calling cards—minefields of small, round, brown pellets—everywhere.
I met some elk cousins a few weeks later in California.
(Photo by RJW)
Thanks to the success of Plan B, we were able to share the emergency overflow site with the French-Canadian couple even though the campground had already filled by 2:30.
In the woods beyond the edge of the Desert View campground, we might as well have been stealth camping.
(Photo by RJW)
A comfy site for the night among the clusters of marble-size elk dung.
After setting up camp and dining on grub from the general store, we pedaled to the Desert View watchtower again.
RJ poses high above the Colorado River.
The boys in the late evening at Desert View.
(Photo by helpful passer-by)
Old Grumble-Face in the evening at Desert View.
(Photo by RJW)
The bikes and slanting rays of late evening sunshine at the Desert View overlook.
The very impressive Desert View watchtower.
Today's ride: 35 miles (56 km)
Total: 121 miles (195 km)
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