I woke up to the frost of my breath's condensation coating my quilt and X-mid inner-walls in the middle of the night.  Each time I awoke to roll over and snuggle deep into my quilt, I could feel the ache of cold pushing through my layers.  As first light smacked the bulging head of Red Pockets Mountain, I climbed out to greet a thoroughly layered Josh.  The colors catching the rocks were so striking that I hastily left the X-mid and started taking some photos.  Josh ate breakfast wrapped in his cowboy camping setup.  Then, he quickly got dressed, packed up, and told me he was pushing off to get into the Sun.  I laughed and commiserated with him about the cold while telling him I would catch up after eating my oatmeal.  I hurriedly ate, threw my frost-bitten gear in my bike, and played catch-up. 

I slept hard from the combination of a long school week and a first day's bikepacking.  The temperatures dropped low and true as I buried myself into my quilt.  It was the rest I needed.  November nights stretch their length with the waning winter sun and I laid until the graying of the morning sky made me rustle.  Everyone had their puffies on because our camp sat in the shadow of Gold Butte with the waxing sun hidden behind the craggy peak.  Breakfast was cold and quick, eaten with the urgency to pack up and ride into the sun.  Russell headed out first eager for warmth.  Josh and I rode over to Granite Spring for me to catch a look at it with full daylight.  I confirmed it was indeed dry - it even looked like someone had dug up and cut the main spring line piping (I returned a few months later and found Granite Spring full in late March - the exposed piping was unrelated to the current water line).  The Sun finally peeked over the jumbled ridgeline of Gold Butte and lit us up with warmth.

I planned, mapped, collaborated, and then scout-rode the Gold to Grand Loop in February 2024 with Janna.  Whenever I assemble a route, that first ride is always a mix of excitement and trepidation.  Especially in desert areas with low water or remote areas with little beta on backcountry conditions.  This initial ride was both.  What I found floored me though: sprawling Joshua tree forests, massive views, solidly-spaced water, and gorgeous Colorado plateau geology smashing up through the ground.  The roads turned out be mostly well-kept, and I started some relationship building with Aravada Springs for bikepackers at a crucial water and camping point.  Janna and I finished that trip, and all I could think of was getting back out there.  I had a few goals in mind to improve the route.  (1) I wanted to first ride it again in autumn after a dry summer and see what the water conditions looked like for future riders, (2) I wanted to see what the road conditions were after an arid fall, (3) I wanted to get more of the route off pavement for the climb to Whitney Pocket (plus add a possible water source at Government Spring that I wanted to confirm), and (4) I wanted to get some other riders on the route to get their impressions. 

​When we went to bed last night, both arrival at camp and laying down for sleep occurred well into the dark.  I had a hard time visualizing where we were or what the area would look like.  Waking up after such nights is always a moment of curiosity for me.  I popped outside and looked around.  We were camped on a little basin between an adjoining peak and the stunning snow-capped Virgin Mountains.  A spill of juniper trees intermixed with Joshua trees.  Janna and I sat in the sun eating breakfast while letting the sun crest over the landscape bringing its warmth.  We knew the climb ahead was the crux, so we got going quickly.  

​The night was calm, dark, and we slept hard.  We awoke to one of those worlds where the desert sun angles its shine between muffles of cloud.  Because we had arrived and biked after dark, I was curious to see what Gold Butte and its townsite looked like in the day.  In the distance, far reaches of mountains many miles away stood incrusted in sheens of snow and ice over valleys of desert.  We set up breakfast, feeling happy to be out here, followed by packing up our bikes.  Then the two of us walked over to the actual Gold Butte Townsite.  The area was littered with old mining equipment from a heyday of when a post office, lodging, saloon, brothel, and a city 2000 people living out of tents were found here in the 1800s during the height of a gold boom at Gold Butte.  I found an old fenced mine shaft amid metal machinery.  There was an old, but well-kept, cemetery for two men who had lived and died here in the middle of the 20th century.  

In early November, Kate and Dan let us know that they were going to be down in Arizona for Late-December/Early-January.  They wanted to head out on a bikepacking trip with us over MLK, Jr. Day Weekend.  Kate suggested Gold Butte National Monument based on its desert-enviros plus her experience rock climbing the Lime Kiln Canyon area there.  Her impressions were super-positive of the place and she wanted to go back and see more.  I had followed the events of Gold Butte National Monument for about a decade, ever since the Bundys had an armed standoff with BLM employees over illegal grazing in the area.  That, and my friend Lara from college now worked in the place with her husband for the BLM, and I had impressions from them that corroborated Kate's thoughts.  I started digging into research on bikepacking routes in Gold Butte.  Beyond a few day gravel rides, it seemed no established route was in the area.  I reached out to cyclists who had spent some time in Gold Butte, and they reported the lack of water as a driving reason for the lack of a serious overnight option.