Bikepacking the Grand Staircase

For spring break this year my plan was to head to Grand Staircase in Utah with the goal of cycling a four day, 150 mile loop through the monument. In mid-March the weather over that way could be great or it could mean I’d have to scuttle plans at the last minute. I knew it would be cold at night regardless, but rain and snow during or prior to the trip would mean part of this loop would turn into mud the consistency of wet cement and make it impassible. As I planned and got gear ready, I kept a careful eye on the forecast and it looked like I would have a good weather window if I left on Tuesday.

I would not go hungry on the drive.

So, after a last day of administrative schoolwork on Monday I got the truck set up for camping, packed everything I’d need and made a bunch of PB&J’s for the road. Tuesday morning I got going while it was still dark in Denver, hoping to skirt past a snowstorm in the mountains. The drive that day was pleasantly uneventful, and I made it over to Escalante in the middle of the afternoon just in time for a lovely lunch at Escalante Outfitters. Outside, the wind was gusting to 65 mph but was forecast to die down later that evening. I kept my fingers crossed.

On the road to Escalante

After lunch I met a woman outside the Outfitters who had been bikepacking that day in the crazy wind. I truly couldn’t believe she could keep her bike upright in those conditions. She seemed unfazed by it though and was nice enough to sell me one of her spare inner tubes as I had forgotten to pack mine. We chatted for a while and then I got back in the truck and drove out into the desert.

Camp the first night was a spot I found about 9 miles south of town at the intersection of Smoky Mountain Road and Death Ridge, 70 miles north of Big Water, the small town which sat at the the south end of my loop. This first night would be the coldest night of the trip, with temperatures getting down to 20 degrees or so. Even with the heated mattress pad and my down bag I was a little chilly, but managed to get good sleep before my big first day on the bike.

Death Ridge would not be the death of me. Not quite.

Bedroom and breakfast nook in the 4Runner

Packed and ready for day one

It was cold the next morning as I made coffee and packed up everything on the bike, but I knew I’d warm up quickly when I started riding and the sun got higher in the sky. I brought a bunch of activated charcoal foot warmers along on this trip which I put in my bike shoes every morning and also in my down booties at night. Warm feet just make for happy times.

Usually, before a trip like this, I practice packing everything at home and then weigh the bike, fully loaded, just to have an idea what I’ll be dealing with. This time though, with five and a half liters (12 pounds)of water on top of everything else I’d need for a solo trip in the desert, I decided it was best not to know. My best guess is the whole rig weighed close to 80 pounds. Yikes.

Future tumbleweed

Finally, fully packed and just before 10 a.m., hot coffee and a fig bar in my belly, I started south into the desert. Having looked over my maps the night before, I decided I was going to try to do the loop in three days, not four, mainly due to the scarcity of water on the route. This would mean 50 mile days with a heavy bike and 12,000 feet of climbing along the way. If I got too gassed at some point, I could camp an additional night, but I was feeling good that first morning and started out with determination and confidence.

Last Chance Creek

That first day I was able to ride south about 47 miles through rugged terrain. Little punchy climbs and descents were the norm as the road varied from packed dirt to gravel to 4-wheel drive conditions. Scrubby juniper trees were common in that part of the monument along with small cacti and creosote bushes. Nothing grew tall. This plant life was tough and there to endure. About 30 miles in I passed Last Chance Creek and topped up my water. It never got above 50 degrees that first day on the bike and as the sun got lower in the sky the temperature started dropping fast. My campsite that night was on top of a high bluff overlooking Lake Powell in the distance. It was dead quiet. I’d seen a total of two vehicles all day.

Actively trying to be abducted by aliens

Keeping the cleats free of mud

Day two started early. It typically takes me an hour and a half to get ready in the morning, which may seem like a long time, but here’s what needs to happen: Coffee first, obviously. Boiling water on the Jetboil only takes a few minutes. I love that thing. It’s small and light and has never failed me. This time I brought along some bougie instant coffee I found while waiting in line at REI. (In the spot where they display all the overpriced impulse purchase items.) What a pleasant surprise though. It was delicious and it came in single serving packets so I didn’t even need to measure. I drank it black and it was perfect with blueberry fig bars for breakfast. (Hashtag fig bar life.)

Camp kitchen

Next: packing. Bikepacking sometimes seems like it’s mostly about packing. Almost everything gets packed and unpacked every day. For this trip, with cold night temperatures, down sleeping bag, down pants, down booties, down jacket were essential, and they all go in their separate compression packs. Camping pad gets deflated, pillow deflated, tent torn down and put in handlebar bag, food packed away, hydration pack filled, teeth brushed, bathroom break, clean and lube chain (once a day religiously), foot warmers in (heck yeah), helmet on, gps started…ok…hello day two.

The ride down into the Lake Powell basin is breathtaking. It’s 10 miles of downhill on hard-packed clay, some of the easiest miles on this trip. I kept stopping to take pictures as the view changed around each corner. The rocky cliffs varied in color from yellow to red to gray with sedimentary layers stacked one on top of the other. As I flew down the road I thought about the eons that went into forming this ancient landscape and the little blip that is my lifetime. The desert is humbling. It cares not.

A bunch of pictures below from this section…

I got to Big Water at lunchtime. The ranger station there had a sign on the door “back at 12:30” so I topped off water in the restroom (and left some water behind as well). I met a guy from Alaska who was very curious about my bike setup. He was on vacation from his job as a bus driver in Denali National Park. A nice couple from Maine also stopped to talk to me for a few minutes and knew the small town I grew up in.

Eventually the ranger got back and I asked her about road conditions on the way back north. She had no clue, but made a couple calls for me and I was eventually told I might encounter some mud on Death Ridge because it had snowed a bit on Tuesday night and it may not have all dried out yet. At this point there was one way back though, so I headed out, hoping by the next afternoon that things would be dry. The rest of the ride on day two was uneventful except for five miles of intermittent sand dunes. Ever wonder what it would be like to push an 80 pound bike up a steep sand dune and then push it up another one and then another one for a couple hours? It sucks just as bad as you think it would. I was feeling pretty gritty and pretty spent afterwards, but still only at mile 80.

The toughest cottonwood tree on the block

Fortunately, the rest of the road that day was hard-packed clay and I found a nice little camping spot by a babbling brook in Cottonwood Canyon right around mile 100, just where I wanted to end up before my final big day.

Campsite on Cottonwood Creek

Two days in and I was tired, but there was a tough day of climbing ahead of me so I planned on getting up an hour earlier the next morning to ensure I could get back to the truck by nightfall. I’d ridden 7 hours the first day, 8 the second and with all the climbing (and tired legs) I knew the final push might take even longer. Plus, in the back of my mind I was worried about the road conditions. If I encountered mud it could make life complicated.

Day two ended with not one but two freeze dried dinners which served the dual purpose of supplying calories for the final day and making my burden a little lighter besides. Before I went to sleep that night I stood outside and looked up into the crystal-clear sky with the Milky Way blazing bright overhead. I’m glad we understand things about the distant universe, but sometimes I wish I didn’t know that the stars are what they are. Sometimes I wish they were just a mystery painted on the night sky.

An auspicious start to day three

Day three started early, as planned. I was on the road at 8:30 or so with more beautiful scenery and excellent dry clay roads for the first 20 miles or so. I passed Grosvenor Arch and stopped for a picture and a snack. This is the biggest arch feature in Staircase. It also sits right in the middle of the monument so it’s not exactly easy to get to. No one was there. There are parts of Bryce and Zion where you have to wait in line to take a picture. This was not that.

Grosvenor Arch

After the arch, the road started getting rougher. I passed a couple cowboys on horses driving a herd of cattle and they looked perplexed and amused to see someone on a bike. They asked me where I was heading and if I had enough water, the perennial question in that landscape.

Rougher and rougher. Finally, I made it to Death Ridge Road, the last 25-mile stretch. Here, the climbs got steeper and the rocks on the road got bigger, going from the size of an egg to the size of a baby’s head, but no mud to speak of thank goodness. I got to a point where I had to hike the bike up most of the inclines and even down some of the descents, but eventually made it to the high point and took a moment to savor my victorious ascent – a bit too soon.

It had been slow going and was late in the day. There were still 10 miles to go but it was mostly downhill, so I felt I was in good shape to finish strong. However, as I got back on the bike and rode around a bend, I realized this last 10 miles might be trickier than I had planned. There was four inches of snow in spots; unrideable on my 47mm tires. And then I came upon it: where snow had recently melted, mud. Thick, deep, cement-like mud which instantly caked my tires and my shoes and made each step five pounds heavier. The mud got so thick on my tires that it lodged in my bike frame. My tires would literally not roll. 10 miles to go and I could barely move. Above me, the sun dropped below the high canyon wall and the cold started to creep into my wet feet as I fought to clear mud from tires and frame over and over again.

Miles of this.

But, as always, after an endless slog, the conditions improved. The road finally dried out and I got to enjoy a last long downhill coast, getting back to the truck with just a little daylight to spare, 11 hours after I had started out that morning.

And there was even a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich waiting for me.

The end.