Lost in the Desert or, thank goodness for that bar!

Sitting down to post about my most recent cycling adventure, I realized that it’s been nearly three weeks since my last post. Shame on me. Shame, shame.

Back in south-west Texas for the winter, I can assure you there have been many happy miles these past few weeks.  A few road rides, a few mountain bike rides, even a day spent hiking the South Rim of the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park. Enjoyable though they were, none of them compares to the two-day bike-packing adventure I survived this past Monday-Tuesday.

Setting out around 9am Monday morning, my plan was a simple one. Day one I would head north out of the Terlingua Ghost Town, following several seldom-used dirt roads until I hit the Lefthand Shutup. That canyon would take me west into the Solitario where I planned to camp at the Solitario Bar. Day two had me riding west out of the Solitario then south along the Old Government Rd and Contrabondo Trails. Checking in at the Big Bend Ranch State Park‘s Barton Warnock Visitor Center, it would be a two hour single-track ride back to home. A giant counter-clockwise loop netting me about 70-80miles, riding about six hours a day. That was the plan. Yeah, and we all know how plans go….

About fifteen minutes into day one, my good friend Mike met me on Sawmill Mountain. He turned around and we summited that first rocky climb. From there we breezed over the Steps of Pain, turned left onto Salt Grass Draw and stopped at the Solitario Hunt Camp to take in the view. Shortly afterwards, we came to a T junction. Mike decided to head south and check out Lowes Valley while my route went north. I figured I had about five-to-six miles of dirt roads before I hit the Lefthand Shutup. I’d never seen it before, but that large creek-bed pouring out of the canyon would be too obvious to miss. We wished each other well and we rolled.

Six easy miles later I came to a very wide creek-bed. “This is it.” I said to myself. While I knew I would have to walk some sections of the Shutup, I was told there would not be any pour-offs requiring ropes. Soon enough the canyon walls rose above me and the terrain turned from gravel to rocks to boulders.  My tires rolled over rock formations all colours of the rainbow with textures ranging from smooth like glass to rough like a cheese-grater.  The canyon got narrower and narrower, the boulders bigger and bigger. I was no longer riding my bike. Rather, I would walk next to Isabelle until the next section compelled me to lift, heave and drag my fully-laiden bicycle. It was really, really tough going. But I was having such a good time, exploring a place I’d never seen, wondering what animal high above had knocked those rocks down into the canyon. It was remarkable, so worth the struggle.

Shortly after lunch I noticed a constant rushing noise coming from the canyon wall. Getting up close I found a hole behind a bunch of vegetation. It sounded like air being forced out of the wall/ground by the movement of water far below. Turns out I was right; I had found a blow-hole, a very rare feature indeed.

By 2pm the Shutup had dwindled to nearly nothing, not the grand creek-bed it should have been. Though the start of this route had me convinced I was in the right place, the geography no longer supported that assumption. I put my bike down, hiked up a ridge in hopes of spotting where I might have gone wrong. No such luck. So, I decided to back-track a ways in case I had somehow missed a fork in the creek-bed. After thirty minutes, I came across another drainage. “Maybe that’s my route?” I wondered aloud. After another hour of smashing myself against rocks, boulders and cacti, I knew I had somehow made a big mistake. I was not where I should have been. Being 3pm, I knew I had only 3.5hours of sunlight remaining. I also knew that if I tried to retrace my steps all the way back to the road, I would run out of water hours before I could make it home. I had no choice; I had to continue west knowing I would eventually hit the main Solitario Road with water not far from there.

Dragging my bike overland, I crested a saddle in those hills, sure I would see the road below me. Instead, just another ravine and ridge lay before me…and another beyond it. “ARGGGHH!” I yelled, sitting on my haunches, head in hands. “Now what?” I cursed. I had a satellite phone with me and considered calling for help. But what could anyone do for me? My only option was to continue west, up and over. So, Isabelle and I continued to march overland through the very dense cacti. I didn’t care that my legs were getting chopped to bits, bleeding all over the desert; I needed to get off these ridges, to the road and to water.

Finally, at about 5pm, I found the road I’d been looking for. A quarter mile later, I was refilling my bottle and water-bladder, filtering to be safe. Back on the bike for one last mile, I finally reached my long anticipated destination; The Solitario Bar.

The Solitario is the remains of an eroded laccolith that basically looks like a huge impact crater. This remarkable geological feature is located in the north-east part of the Big Bend Ranch State Park. However, there are also a few pieces of privately land in and around the Solitario. One of the parcels is owned by a guy named Chris who I don’t believe I’ve ever met but who is friends with my Desert Sports posse. I’d been told about this place but until Monday, had never visited. With signs welcoming visitors, there is a metal bunk-house[locked], a whole bunch of fire wood and a video-camera connected to a satellite dish on a pole which purports to supply a direct feed of the area to www.solitariobar.com[not an active site]. And yes, there is even a bar. It’s a bit weather beaten and there was no bartender mixing cocktails. There was, however, about six cans of Coors Light in a cooler alongside bottles of Jack Daniels, Crown Royal and a few others. Once changed, my bivy unrolled and a fire lit, I grabbed that bottle of JD and poured myself a shot in the upturned cap of my water bottle. Let me tell you, after such a hugely demanding and stressful day, Tennessee Whiskey ain’t never tasted so sweet!

Despite being so completely exhausted from the day’s adventure, I finally felt right with the world. As I lay there, looking up at the stars, the wind started to blow. Then it began to howl and rage…and did so nearly all night long, waking me constantly.

Up at 7am and still tired from the day before, I ate breakfast, got dressed, packed my kit and was about to say farewell to this little oasis when I put just a little bit of body-weight on my handle-bars. My fork instantly compressed all the way to the bottom. “Shit.” Without a shock-pump to check the air pressure, nor any of the tools required to work on a Cannondale Lefty suspension fork, all I could do was swear again, get on my bike and ride. So that’s what I did, directly into a cold headwind for the next hour and a quarter.

Heading south towards the Warnock Center, I had to ride gingerly for fear of causing damage to my high-dollar fork. I was leaning way back on every descent while very, very slowly negotiating the really technical bits, dismounting for many of them. When all I wanted to do was end this adventure, to get out of the Park and get back home, my ride’s progress was hampered first by the wind, then my fork, all the while tired from the day before.

Checking in at the Barton Warnock Center as I promised Amber I would, I came inside looking pretty forlorn. Explaining how my trip had gone thus far Tim quickly offered to give me a ride home. I did not need more than about a tenth of a second to consider and accept his offer. I had no desire to flail myself against the two plus hours of climbing single-track. Nope, I was taking the drive and felt just fine about it.

Home, washed and wounds licked, I took a nap but still felt pretty beat-down. The little adventure I had planned had turned to one I would never forget. There was much to celebrate, much to bemoan. But, I survived, I laughed, and at one point, I nearly cried. Now, several days later, I am looking forward to one day soon, returning to do the ride I had intended. For now, however, I have a fork to repair and a GPS device to invest in. Yup, mountain-biking in the desert. Love it!