Grand Canyon Snow Day

they say it never snows in Arizona....  April, 2010

Dave and I were paired up to drive the 5 or 6 hours to Mesquite, NV where we would meet the rest of the good folks from the SDAR motorcycle group.  Our final destination was the Bar10 Ranch by dual sport motorcycle, roughly 10 miles north of the north rim of the Grand Canyon - easy route, great weather and great conditions in the forecast.  Since Dave's quad was not street legal, I had to shuttle it a few miles with the trailer before we could hammer dirt.  We further anticipated a somewhat slower pace than the rest of the pack given the quad, so Dave and I headed out first on the day.  We made good time despite the requisite photo-op stops and over-shoulder glances for the rabble sure to be gaining on our flank.  By 100 miles on my digital odometer and roughly 2:30 in the afternoon, we could make out the gated entrance to the ranch, and surprise, were also the first to arrive (no, it's not a race!  but yeah, we got there first).

2,000 feet above the Colorado River

Along with Paul, Ron and Jon we took the obligatory run down the final 10 miles to the rim of the Grand Canyon.  But, not before stopping to change the tube in Jon's flat front tire.  We were finally rewarded with stunning views perched 2000 ft above the Colorado River.  More photo-ops done, I headed solo back to the ranch to clean up in anticipation of a real cowboy dinner.  Sneeker had the where-with-all to bring a mickey of whiskey and the good sense to share (mental note for next year).

Dave and I were the only duo returning to Mesquite from Bar10 the following day, while the rest of the group did a day ride up to Toroweap overlook, at 3,000 feet above the Colorado. Given the gloriously perfect weather and conditions the previous day, the return ride was promising to be a fun but easy 100 miles to end the trip. It would be anything but.

9am and all's well

A fast dirt road segment brought us to the landmark Trumbull schoolhouse in very short order, enjoying moderate temperatures under clear blue skies.  A scattering of distant grey to the west did not yet portend much change on the day.  Our north-westerly route would take us a different way than we had come, skirting barbed cattle fences, ditches and rutted jeep trails.  It appeared that we were making great progress and would soon be loading up the trailer again.

Not long after, a growing darkness and dropping digits signaled the turning point.  But it was not until the first few flakes and associated chill did we stop and re-assess our selection of gear.  Adding every layer we had and doubling up on gloves eased our apprehension at whatever might still find us over the next ridge.  It was well under 20 minutes from the first flake to a serious snow squall and reduced visibility - jackets and gloves soaked in the melting flakes - we were soon quite wet and shivering cold.  We continued to gain elevation and hit high winds and driving sleet at 6500ft.  Temperatures continued to drop, winds went to '11' and higher elevations led to a virtual white-out at times.  As if the intense cold, wet, stinging snow drops and poor visibility weren't enough, we had one more truly daunting concern - losing our way.  The rocky and sparsely vegetated ridge we now traversed displayed few signs of an actual trail under optimal circumstances; rapidly accumulating snow on the ridge completely obscured the already thin path.  Frozen snow driven by the strong westerly winds stung our faces and periodically filled our goggles as we navigated along a ghostly route.  Barely capable of seeing let alone coordinating a motorcycle in these conditions, all that stood between us and a freezing night in the mountains was faith in a squiggly purple-ish line on a tiny GPS screen.

Dave and his quad on our trail to nowhere

This squiggly line continued to lead us to higher elevations, broken by the occasional merciful descent and momentary shelter from the wind.  Teased by each brief respite and already past the point of no return, we felt little choice but to press on, hoping each new bend, tree or turn would reveal better conditions.  Additionally unsure of exactly how far we had remaining to ride, we willed ourselves into believing that it could not be much longer.  And then we ran into our biggest obstacle yet.  Snow drifts two and three feet deep guarded the final path to our exit from this bizarre snowglobe of a world.  Dave's four wheels took the lead to help compress a lane for my two.  I also found that the right combination of speed and hydroplaning (snowplaning?) could sail my KTM over onto the next firm section of the trail sometimes, before we encountered continuous accumulations up to 2 feet that would bury my single-track wheels to the axles.   Near-frozen hands added to the difficulty of maintaining forward progress, as well as growing apprehensions about making it to Mesquite before dark.  Wind-blown drifts gave way to full ground cover that necessitated a push/pull/drag/carry technique and which would have stranded a solo rider.

two-wheeled snowmobile

At one particularly cold rest stop, between arm windmills to centrifugally re-charge my hands with blood, I panned the cursor on my GPS screen north about 8-10 miles.  The 15 freeway was visible, where dozens of vehicles at that very moment were no doubt buzzing along in 75 degree temperatures, oblivious to the conditions so close and 7,000 feet up.

20 miles or more of mixed snow, dirt and wind gave way to another 5-10 miles of heavy wet clay and deep ruts before the trail started to dry out. This was a blessing compared to what we had just traversed, and foot by foot, mile by mile we finally made it to our final test of the day.  The sign warned "Road not maintained; Use at your own risk".  I don't know who's idea of a road this was, but we'd take it!  This last section was a steep, loose rock, stair-step of a descent over 5000 vertical feet in roughly 4-5 miles, and down to the into the warm and inviting desert outside of Mesquite.  The difference in temperature here alone was incredible, added to clear skies and dry trails.  At least I was finally back in my element and beginning to feel my fingers again.  Only then were we finally able to give thanks, rest assured that we would be spending that night in a cheap hotel rather than a hastily dug snow cave.

Sean and Dave, April 2010

Back home the following afternoon, serious bike cleaning was required - I think it must have taken 2 hours to cut through all the hardened clay.  With hindsight, it is easy to label this an epic trip, made all the better for a good story to tell.  It's rarely about the destination, rather the journey.  Godfather of adventure racing, Gerard Fusil said 'It's not an adventure until something goes wrong'.  Awesome views, great riding and a fantastic group out this ride. We would later hear all the adventures of the others, some of whom encountered similar conditions on their day-loop before turning back to the ranch - Dave and I made several calls to the 800# for Bar10 (only sat-phone out there) to try to send a message back and ensure the group did not return the following day the way we had come. Thankfully we heard back the next morning that the message was successfully relayed and that they all took the 'low road' home.....