Gold to Grand Loop - Day 2 - "Warning - Travel at Your Own Risk" Across the Parashant
Date: November 9, 2024
50.4 Miles
4,210 Feet of Gain
Gold Butte Townsite to the base of Red Pockets Mountain
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.
Russell swung up with us, and we three started for Paradise Gap under golden morning light that made the Mojave incredible looking. We turned a corner and started an exhilarating downhill through a smattering of Joshua trees while the prominent profile of Tramp Ridge rose up next to us. The vegetation sailing by was crisp yellow and brown - a product combined of autumn and extreme aridity. I kept stopping to whip out my phone and take pictures of it all as Josh and Russell whizzed by. I sped ahead of the two and cranked out my descent to the split with Horse Springs Wash. I sat at the intersection, which is easy to pass, and caught Russell on the downhill. Josh flew by us unawares as we called out to him. He soon realized he was off-route and turned around to edge his way back up the climb to where we were. We laughed as we started to shed layers from the warming day.
Then, it was doubletrack through thick groves of Joshua Trees down to the water tank at Horse Springs. The tank was clear, copious, and flowing as predicted. We laid our bikes in the sandy wash and hiked up to the coral to refill our supplies. We needed pretty much all the water we could carry from this point until Aravada Springs this evening. While Josh and Russell filtered, I hiked over to the historic corral and rock walls adjacent to the wash to explore. The three of us soon had the water we needed and began the short slog through sand back to the main road. The sun shown bright and the temps were warm. I pushed off ahead and started the descent down the broad road to the St. Thomas Gap amid the Greasewood Basin. I turned a corner and the vast Josha tree-dotted valley just opened up with the folded stone of molten mountain amid the background. Both Josh and Russell also stopped to take photos as I shot down the pass to the wide lands below. I quickly turned a corner and turned on my brakes to jump off the bike and snap photos as both of them went by. Then, I jumped back on and just coasted downhill through a glorious melt of rock and land all smoldered red with oxidation.
I caught Josh and Russell at the turn east and downwards into the Parashant. We all ate a quick snack, drank some water, shed more layers, applied sunscreen, and then pushed off with our necks craned to the left to take in the views of Greasewood Basin. Here, sandstone deposition formed a rusted plain all bursting forth with J-trees. The juxtaposition of yucca arms and red earth was striking, causing each of us to stop to take many photos. The road plummeted downwards, carrying us to the Arizona-Nevada stateline. The dirt transitioned from ember to tope as creosote branched up from the dust. And then we crossed the minuscule boundary between states as a prominent signed welcomed us into the Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument. We took photos as Russell waxed excitement about finally getting to this place. Josh walked down the road and began laughing at the three signs standing in succession essentially warning travelers of imminent danger, remoteness, and to turn back.
"Three signs to tell everyone to turn around or you will die," Josh laughed out loud. So we took photos of our bikes in front of them. And then we went ahead.
The signs are legit and their warnings sure. The Parashant is vast, little visited, VERY remote, and devoid of much infrastructure. It is the wildness of the Arizona Strip all distilled into adventure. And one should not fuck around here unless one truly comes prepared. To be clear, we were, with food and water to carry us on. The signs just lit that blood pumping harder and beat forth a breath a little deeper. We were in it - the Parashant.
We lit down towards a wash. I noted how absolutely great the road conditions were; earlier this spring, there was copious sand and washboard. Now, it was all great hardpack. We sped along to the low point of the day's ride with a hairpin intersection that started us up and into Pakoon Basin. Miles rolled fast and easy on the steady climbs as the sentinel Grand Wash Cliffs stood in the distance. All about, chunks of dark volcanic rocks studded the basin landscape. Amid that inclined expanse came a pounding of heat that made noontime swelter on our climb. Everyone dug in and focused on getting to the shade and beauty of Pakoon Springs. I pulled into Pakoon Springs just after noon and led the three of us down the doubletrack past the pit toilets and information kiosk to the cattle gate protecting the iconic riparian area.
For an early November day, Pakoon Springs was lushly green. A thick carpet of verdant ground shrubbery grew across the marshy soil. I quickly got to work doing a water check. Despite hiking around the main trails and off to where I found water seeping out before, I now could find no suitable surface water for scooping; the living vegetation and the decaying detritus were just too dense. I made a note for future riders on the route: don't count on this spring.
Now, the day was hot. We all took shelter amid the thick canopy of trees to eat snacks and cool off in the shade. The respite was so inviting that Russell and I wagged on getting back on our bikes while Josh wanted to push ahead to Aravada Springs Resort for water and food. I suddenly got hit with a bowel movement and raced over to use the pit toilet. The bathroom was absolutely pristine and exactly what I wanted. When finished, I checked the time and saw it was nearly 2 pm. November days are short and I realized I needed to get moving if I wanted to reach Aravada Springs before dark. I pushed out on my bike while Russell decided to lounge a bit longer. Immediately, the road paralleled Pakoon Wash and crossed over it frequently. It was soft and sandy - the sort of slow pull on an uphill that makes you lower your head and bear it.
I slowly climbed out of Pakoon Basin over the next couple of hours. The landscape transitioned back from creosote into Joshua trees. The Grand Wash Cliffs stood sentinel again in the distance. I caught Josh at the hairpin climb out of Pakoon Wash where the Virgin Mountains appear ahead with Aravada Springs at their base. I warned him that despite the apparent closeness of the resort, that the worst of the climbing was actually still ahead. We talked and waited at that little start point for Russell to catch up. We soon heard his laborious yells echo up the hairpin climb and laughed as he came around the corner just toasted from the push. But with Aravada Springs on the horizon, everyone dug deep for the last climb. The road firmed up, Joshua trees abundantly lined it, and day's light got gorgeous. It was all things that motivate me in physical challenge as I pedaled up the steep grade to Aravada Springs.
I pulled into the resort just as the sun sank at 4 pm behind the curtains of the Virgin Mountains and shadows cast strong and cold everywhere. The receptionist came out to talk with us, pointed us to where I could park my bike, and walked me over to the kitchen to refill my water. Josh arrived shortly thereafter and did the same. She even let us get some snacks from the small-stocked resort store for free - Josh grabbed some soup and cookies. While we waited for Russell to catch up, I walked around with the receptionist to talk details about ensuring water and camping access for future bikepackers. Russell pulled in about 15 minutes later announcing that he was going to split from our last day of riding to head back to meet up with his partner. He wanted to come back out and do the whole route with her in the future and was hoping to meet up with her again tomorrow. Josh and I bid Russell adieu as he took the optional bail-out point over Whitney Pass towards Whitney Pocket. With the sun absolutely intent on setting and the day's light fading fast (plus the immediate set-in of cold), Josh and I dressed in warm layers. We turned on our lights and headed out for about 10 more miles of riding ahead to the intended campsite below Red Pockets Mountain.
The setting sun display just lit up the Grand Wash Cliffs in the distance as the two of us pedaled out of Aravada Springs along a contour line high up on the Virgin Mountains foothills. The race was now on to cover as many miles as possible under the auspices of dying daylight. We sped around curves and washes and then descended down sandy-soft road to Hungry Valley below. A dense forest of Joshua trees rose up amid the red sand-road as the last light left the sky and night swallowed us. The cold was immediately and sharp - I had on almost every layer I owned. We pedaled for the next hour or so across the roads of the Parashant. Finally, after some time, we reached the intersection turn for Lime Kiln Pass. Here, there was a suitable dispersed campsite for setting up. We pulled over, laid our bikes down, and got to work prepping camp. One minute Josh was eating his soup, the next I turned after setting up my X-mid to find him asleep cowboy camping under the stars. I tread away from camp to not disturb him and ate my dinner under a howling canopy of starlight undimmed by city glow. It was stunning, gorgeous, and shot cold. A single truck rolled past our campsite in the dark to make the climb over Lime Kiln Pass; that blew my mind for the technical nature they would need to navigate in darkness. No matter, we were aiming for it in the morning. I packed up my dinner scraps and scuttled into my quilt, nuzzled deep in insulation, warmth, and contentness on a silent night on the Arizona Strip.
