Today: 81.2 Miles AVG Speed: 10.1MPH – Top Speed 32.5MPH
Total: 4,348.2
The wounds have not yet healed, but after five days of ingesting super-strength painkillers, 3.2% PBR and sugar based snacks it was my mind that was teetering on the brink of permanent injury. After weighing up the risks I came to the conclusion that I was better off strapping up the hands and going for it. I just couldn’t face another day of listless inertia. The goal was an 80-mile ride to the jewel in the crown of America’s National Parks – The Grand Canyon.
I began by saying goodbye to Steve, who ran the Sun ‘N Sands Motel. He’d been the exemplar of kindness and hospitality over the course of my stay, and his sincerity of tone and words was such that I found myself disappointed to bid him farewell, but the lure of bloody-well getting on with it soon put pay to any lingering doubts I may have had. The first hour or so was spent trying to find a position of comfort on the handlebars. The aim being to maintain control over Betty without the use of grip and as a result, I felt like a pig trying to operate a lawnmower. After some experimentation I discovered a sweet spot in between my thumb and forefinger that caused the least discomfort and when possible, managed to pretty much stay wedged in that position. Unfortunately, one irritant that couldn’t be assuaged was the creeping numbness on my arse. My cycling shorts had been ripped to shreds during the crash, and as a result I was wearing regular, non-padded leg-wear. Although my buttocks have built up considerable resistance to the continuous saddle massage, it is still a bum, and when beaten about with total disregard for its well-being it reacted the only way it knew how, by informing it’s owner through the medium of pain. Little I could do about that, though, so I spent the rest of the day awkwardly alternating between a squat and gentle placement. To conclude, a lot of thought went into this days riding positions.
After the 2,000 feet climb to Jacob Lake I was, despite the discomfort, feeling OK. My energy levels felt fine and I fancied going the whole hog to The Grand Canyon. It must also be said that the lure of getting to such an iconic destination was, in itself, motivation enough. It was a slow day, but after eight hours of riding (excluding lunch) I arrived at the North Rim. This spot in the Grand Canyon receives just 10% of the South Rim’s visitors, which makes it an attractive destination for those who like things a little less hectic. It’s also an attractive option for those who don’t fancy cycling a further 210 miles off route.
Now, somewhat sacrilegiously, I decided to eschew a sight of the Canyon itself in the evening, I was a little sleepy after the days riding and didn’t want my enjoyment of the place to be inhibited by tiredness. I also had to get the tent-up sharpish as the night was drawing in. I was lucky enough to be offered a camping space by Ruud*, Simone and their delightful children. They were also kind enough to invite me to dinner around the campfire and it was here where I spent the rest of the evening eating a delicious pasta prepared by my hosts and discussing our respective trips.
24 hours later...
Today was the day I would see the Canyon for myself, and, as if I need to cement what millions already know it was breath-taking. The sheer size of the bloody thing is enough to turn the most lucid of hikers into a mumbling twerp for a few seconds. You only need to stare at the landscape with a blank mind for a multitude of thoughts to begin forming. “How?” being the main one.
After some inarticulate inner-chat I made my way to the beginning of the Uncle Jim trailhead. A five-mile hike to a secluded vantage point seemed like a good starting point for a man sporting Diadora astro-turf trainers that had seen better days and a ridiculous USA cycling hat, but alas, a short-while later, things were about to take a turn for the worse. It was about an hour into the walk when the thunder began it’s familiar beat, and twenty minutes after that when the rain came down. It’s still going now, six hours later, and the forecast says it won’t relent for 48 hours. This is Monsoon season at the Grand Canyon, something which I hadn’t anticipated. With a heavy heart I have decided to forgo another day in this magnificent place. A hike into the canyon itself was on the cards, but it is unadvisable in wet conditions and so I have decided to make my way back to Zion National Park. It’s 110 miles the other way, and the taste I had of it has left me hungry for more. It is a shame to leave here without getting the full experience that I had hoped for, but plans change and it is fair to say that no disappointment will ever detract from my first viewing of this extraordinary natural wonder.
* I don't feel the need to tell you that Ruud and his family were Dutch, but if you were in any doubt then it's mystery solved.
Total: 4,348.2
The wounds have not yet healed, but after five days of ingesting super-strength painkillers, 3.2% PBR and sugar based snacks it was my mind that was teetering on the brink of permanent injury. After weighing up the risks I came to the conclusion that I was better off strapping up the hands and going for it. I just couldn’t face another day of listless inertia. The goal was an 80-mile ride to the jewel in the crown of America’s National Parks – The Grand Canyon.
I began by saying goodbye to Steve, who ran the Sun ‘N Sands Motel. He’d been the exemplar of kindness and hospitality over the course of my stay, and his sincerity of tone and words was such that I found myself disappointed to bid him farewell, but the lure of bloody-well getting on with it soon put pay to any lingering doubts I may have had. The first hour or so was spent trying to find a position of comfort on the handlebars. The aim being to maintain control over Betty without the use of grip and as a result, I felt like a pig trying to operate a lawnmower. After some experimentation I discovered a sweet spot in between my thumb and forefinger that caused the least discomfort and when possible, managed to pretty much stay wedged in that position. Unfortunately, one irritant that couldn’t be assuaged was the creeping numbness on my arse. My cycling shorts had been ripped to shreds during the crash, and as a result I was wearing regular, non-padded leg-wear. Although my buttocks have built up considerable resistance to the continuous saddle massage, it is still a bum, and when beaten about with total disregard for its well-being it reacted the only way it knew how, by informing it’s owner through the medium of pain. Little I could do about that, though, so I spent the rest of the day awkwardly alternating between a squat and gentle placement. To conclude, a lot of thought went into this days riding positions.
After the 2,000 feet climb to Jacob Lake I was, despite the discomfort, feeling OK. My energy levels felt fine and I fancied going the whole hog to The Grand Canyon. It must also be said that the lure of getting to such an iconic destination was, in itself, motivation enough. It was a slow day, but after eight hours of riding (excluding lunch) I arrived at the North Rim. This spot in the Grand Canyon receives just 10% of the South Rim’s visitors, which makes it an attractive destination for those who like things a little less hectic. It’s also an attractive option for those who don’t fancy cycling a further 210 miles off route.
Now, somewhat sacrilegiously, I decided to eschew a sight of the Canyon itself in the evening, I was a little sleepy after the days riding and didn’t want my enjoyment of the place to be inhibited by tiredness. I also had to get the tent-up sharpish as the night was drawing in. I was lucky enough to be offered a camping space by Ruud*, Simone and their delightful children. They were also kind enough to invite me to dinner around the campfire and it was here where I spent the rest of the evening eating a delicious pasta prepared by my hosts and discussing our respective trips.
24 hours later...
Today was the day I would see the Canyon for myself, and, as if I need to cement what millions already know it was breath-taking. The sheer size of the bloody thing is enough to turn the most lucid of hikers into a mumbling twerp for a few seconds. You only need to stare at the landscape with a blank mind for a multitude of thoughts to begin forming. “How?” being the main one.
After some inarticulate inner-chat I made my way to the beginning of the Uncle Jim trailhead. A five-mile hike to a secluded vantage point seemed like a good starting point for a man sporting Diadora astro-turf trainers that had seen better days and a ridiculous USA cycling hat, but alas, a short-while later, things were about to take a turn for the worse. It was about an hour into the walk when the thunder began it’s familiar beat, and twenty minutes after that when the rain came down. It’s still going now, six hours later, and the forecast says it won’t relent for 48 hours. This is Monsoon season at the Grand Canyon, something which I hadn’t anticipated. With a heavy heart I have decided to forgo another day in this magnificent place. A hike into the canyon itself was on the cards, but it is unadvisable in wet conditions and so I have decided to make my way back to Zion National Park. It’s 110 miles the other way, and the taste I had of it has left me hungry for more. It is a shame to leave here without getting the full experience that I had hoped for, but plans change and it is fair to say that no disappointment will ever detract from my first viewing of this extraordinary natural wonder.
* I don't feel the need to tell you that Ruud and his family were Dutch, but if you were in any doubt then it's mystery solved.
Steve opts for the old bunny ears. Classic.
Bonus state.
Why so scared?
Simone ate one of them.
10 miles to go.
There's no such thing as mistakes, just happy accidents.
I love that hat.
It's Grand alright.
There's a storm brewing...
Dinner went a bit Spinal Tap.
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