The winds the previous evening were very loud and lasted until the morning, the sound of things hitting the roof so much during the night I fully expected the bikes to blown over based on the noise alone. Indeed the parking area was littered with small branches and pine needles but nature's bark was worse than the bite, thankfully, and there was nothing damaged from falling limbs or such.
Getting a quick breakfast burrito took a while in the coffee shop as the park had sent the majority of staff home for the year and closing was imminent. The burritos were worth the wait and homemade, a good start for the day.
We geared up and headed back north, swinging out to Cape Royal and the overlooks there. There were a couple of other bikes in the lot as we parked, wandering down the trail to a lookout point on the side. It was nice to sit and watch the air blow by with the canyons as a background.
Eventually we wandered on out to the point, where we saw a couple of riders in their gear shooting pics. I struck up a conversation with Darrell and Jay, both from the Houston area and doing a loop out to Vegas and back for a convention or something (IIRC). We had a good time and wished each other safe travels and such before Kim and I retreated for the bikes.
Upon the return to the lot, there were a couple of Katooms parked nearby and both riders came up as we milled around the bikes. One of them, a big, suspicious looking guy came over and introduced himself - what was cool was it was “dave6253” from Advrider. He’d posted a great rider report a couple years back about the border roads in South Arizona and inspired me to go ride them. Was very cool to meet finally and one of those odd coincidences. Dave told me there’d been a raven sitting on my bike when they pulled in and he got a shot of it before it flew away. As cool as that was I hoped it wasn’t a portent…
Thanks Dave ;D
Dave and his buddy (whose name I can’t remember) were doing a loop through the dirt roads in the Grand Canyon and took off in earnest.
Kim and I mosey'd out to the road again and despite the sunshine froze our tushes off in short order. It was just damb cold and especially when the cloud cover came in. A stop for gas at the North Rim Country Store gave us a chance to get the electric liners out and on, the clerk telling us it was in the low 30’s not including wind chill. We were lucky cause the store closed the next day for the winter and we’d timed it just right.
From there we rode on to Jacob Lake, heads pulled down into our collars like a turtle to keep the cold wind out. As we got back to lower elevations the sun returned as did some warmth and by Fredonia, we decided to get a motel so I could get caught up on the report a bit as well as wash some clothes and gear.
The Grand Canyon Motel looked promising with its rustic cabins and $40 a night sign. It took a while in the cat urine laced lobby for someone to show, and by the time the owner walked me out to see a cabin I was blue from holding my breath. Man it was stanky and disgusting. The owner was a cool old guy who’d had a stroke but took care of the place as best he could. The cabin was very old and run down, definitely one of the funkiest we’d stayed in and I mean that in the worst way - it was a place where you just wanted to stay in all your motorcycle gear, including helmet and boots, while you slept. Anyway, after holding my breath and going back into the lobby, getting the owner’s wife to eventually reset the modem before I died of asphyxiation, internet was back in our lives. The owner’s wife had had a stroke as well and wasn’t functioning at 100% either. I felt sorry for both of them, as I’m sure the motel was overwhelming to handle but there appeared signs of progress on the exterior so hopefully they get some help updating the place.
The next morning Kim got medieval with the car wash for her bike and the laundromat for our riding gear while I frantically wrote and edited pics, staying past the checkout time by a couple hours while the room cleaning dude sat outside under a tree. I finally hit “send” and got on the bike, heading for the laundromat for the Butterfly and clothes folding. I dreaded putting the knee armor back into our BMW pants, which can take longer than the entire wash process.
Free from Fredonia, we motored back towards Hurricane and La Verkin, our goal for the day to finally hit Zion National Park. The park was slammed with people getting last minute vacationing done, but we found a decent place to park and caught the bus for the interior.
I left the cameras on the bike, just wanting to enjoy the park without feeling a need to document it. A place as grand as Zion can't really be captured, much less from a tour bus late in the day, so I just punted...
The day was getting late so we went straight for The Narrows, a wise choice as there were fewer folks there. Wading into the frigid water was fun, having to use the discarded limbs left by others as walking sticks in the rock filled river beds under the water. Blue lips were smiling as we went back as far as we felt we could before losing the light. The nice thing is that your feet go numb quickly and the walk back on the path is the only miserable experience as the feeling returns.
We caught the last bus ride back to the parking area and ate a couple of granola bars for supper. By the time we finished and got going the lot was empty and it was almost dark. With some trepidation (trepedaciousness? trepidaciosity? trepidancing? trepidarting? trepidating?) we rode east through the park and tunnels towards Mt. Carmel Junction.
Even in the low light the landscape was fantastic and bizarre, and as Kim said, it would have been nice to be a passenger with a swiveling head to take it all in. But instead we concentrated in the fading light, trying to get as far east as possible before pitch darkness.
Riding after dark is a cardinal sin in my book and especially with the level of deer in the region, but we had no choice. The usual routine is to ride slow until a car passes then stay on their tail to let them take out any deer that race across. It’s a pathetic plan that sounds good in theory but it’s all I gotz. In this case, it worked well as a passenger van got in front of us, slamming on its brakes multiple times for deer.
It was a long ride, as tense as we were, but we finally made Mt Carmel and found a motel with a room. Kim’s nerves were shot and the solution seemed to be a good glass or three of wine. The hotel manager suggested the gas station across the street for a bottle or a 30 mile ride to Fredonia. Not. The station had just closed when I got there, but the attendant was walking to his truck and laughed when I asked where we could get a bottle of wine. “Dude, this is Utah man! There's no alcohol around here. You can go to Fredonia about 30 miles away.”
Not.