Most of the time when you see people walking in the desert, they are trying please their dog. And those are the people I start to talk to. When that happened a couple days ago, it turned into a nice conversation. Why doesn't that happen more often when winter camping?
Anyway, he told me about an interesting canyon and what mile marker it was at, out on the paved highway. I didn't drive to it. Could I find it on the mountain bike? I headed off in that direction to see what would happen.
When I hit a long steep hill that forced me into pushing the bike into the sun. I started to suspect this route was going to be interesting.
Something about trudging up the hill while pushing my bike, the harshness of the rocks, and the sun in my face conjured up the idea of Noble Suffering, like a pilgrimage -- say, El Camino de Santiago -- that a penitent peasant would have pushed through in the Middle Ages.
When I popped over the top of the hill and saw the canyon for the first time, it felt like Dorothy stepping out into the Land of Oz. My photos were disappointing, but perhaps that is just as well. Fantastic photos would lure the reader into thinking about How Big? How Vertical? How Red? Mere quantities like that miss the whole point.
What makes an outing enjoyable and memorable? It isn't about How Far? or How Fast? Or what Strava says your average speed was. Or whether your bike has carbon spokes.
It is using your trail to stimulate your imagination. I thought about some music by Brahms that I pine for as an antidote to too-rough trails. And yet this trail was smooth. Or the trail could make you think of a particular scene in a book or movie.
People probably think I bring a dog along in order to make the dog happy. That is only partly true. It makes me happy! Being sensitive to your dog's pleasure makes you think of yourself as a 10-year-old boy on summer vacation, who spends hours knocking around on his bike. Will he discover a shortcut through a hole in the fence? Which routes connect with what he already knows? Will he find the right spot to cross the creek, so that he can stay somewhat un-muddy and not get yelled at by his mother?
It is about spontaneity and the right amount of uncertainty and whimsical childlike play. Perhaps I will run into the hiker who told me about this canyon and I can thank him.
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| an old rest stop in the Lake Mead area. |
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| a Lake Mead sunset, a couple months ago. |
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| my friend says, "No, I am NOT riding across this vertical mine shaft." |
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