AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

The Grand Canyon is pretty spectacular. No idea why they made it a side trip except maybe because there is no single place to experience most or all of it. Do you go West, South or North? What about Toroweap?

 

The route approaches the Grand Canyon from the south, and only traverses the rim for a few (20 maybe, I don't recall exactly) miles before returning south again towards Cameron. So, no Toroweap (or anything else on the North Rim). Not that we'd have made it to Toroweap anyway - as we continued along the BDR, we could see that the entire North Rim was still covered in snow, and the paved road to the visitor center was still closed.

 

I've only ever been to the Toroweap/North Rim in the fall and then, nice days and freezing nights.

 

Cameron to Utah - The Best for Last | AZBDR Stage 6
Part of the Arizona Backcountry Discovery Route (Apr 2024) trip.

A quick recap...

We knew even before starting the AZBDR that we'd need a permit to cross the Navajo Nation, and we knew we could conveniently pick up the permit just outside of Cameron, AZ just prior to entering Navajo land. What we didn't know for sure were the hours of the permit office.

Knowing that we didn't know, we'd tried calling the permit office earlier in the day - just before visiting Waputki National Monument - thinking that we could pick up our permit well before the office closed for the day. However, when no one answered the phone, we called the Monument Valley office to inquire about hours and were told that the Cameron office was only open between 9:00am and 5:00pm, Monday through Friday. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem - we'd planned to be through this area on Tuesday. However, an astute reader will recall that we were way ahead of schedule, and that made for a problem: it was Sunday!

Not wanting to sit around town overnight just waiting for the permit office to open the following morning, I suggested to my copilot that one option would be to leave a note with our contact info and itinerary at the office, alerting them to the fact that we were crossing Navajo Nation and would call as soon as they were open (and we had cell service) to pay the fees. This seemed like a reasonable plan, and before long we found ourselves pulling into the parking lot of the Navajo Nation office on our way through Cameron.

On to Stage 6...

We arrived at 5:04pm.​

As we parked just outside the front door, things seemed a little strange. There were two cars in the lot. The interior lights were illuminated. Hopping out of the Tacoma, I peered in through the security gate and sure enough - there were two women inside!

Catching their attention, one of them came to the door. After acknowledging that they were obviously closed, and apologizing taking up their personal time, I explained the situation of our trip, and asked them if they'd actually been open earlier in the day?

Sure enough, we'd gotten bum info from the Monument Valley folks; if we'd arrived just five minutes earlier, the Cameron office would have been open! Not to worry though, the wonderfully hospitable women assured us, they'd be happy to get us a permit - as long as we had cash, since they'd already closed the credit card machine for the day - so we could legally continue on our way.

Cash. Well, hmm. That might be a problem. We've converted almost entirely to electronic payments these days, and while I always have a few bucks in my wallet, we were surprised that a single night on Navajo Land would set us back $60, of which I only had $38.

Now, it turns out that we probably should have been charged $30 - $15/person/night rather than $15/person/day, but in the end it didn't matter. These wonderful ladies were more than happy to take my credit card info to run in the morning, and spent half an hour of their personal time that evening to get us squared away, so we were happy to contribute a little more to the Navajo Nation than might have been required.

We were provided three copies of our permit - one for the truck, and one that each of us were to keep on our person at all times.​

Permit in hand, it was a 45-minute drive from the permit office to the place we planned to spend the night - an overlook of the Little Colorado River. Driving west into the sun, our visors were down and our eyes squinted as we sped across the largest Native American reservation retained by an indigenous tribe in the United States.

Badlands, their copper color accentuated by the evening sun, played games with the light.​

A once grand mesa, or perhaps canyon rim, slowly deteriorating over time.​

We arrived only a few minutes after the sun dropped below the horizon to a sight as dramatic - perhaps even more-so since it was ours alone - as those we'd seen at the Grand Canyon. Plummeting more than 2,000 feet through red, orange, and white rock, we couldn't help but marvel at the fact that from only a few hundred feet back from the edge, you couldn't even tell there was anything there!

Finding a spot to camp that was level meant that we were way too close to the edge - perhaps no more than 8-10 feet - for @mrs.turbodb. Luckily, I reminded her, the ladder would be on the opposite side of the truck, so there'd be no risk of accidentally wandering "into the canyon" if there was the need to get up and use the bathroom.

She didn't think that was funny.

Sunset over the Little Colorado River Canyon.​

We could just make out the distant roar of the river as it rushed by below.​

The tent set up, we were eating our dinner - another serving of antipasti salad for me, and Spanish tortilla for the lady - in the truck when we noticed a small field mouse hopping from rock to rock along the edge of the canyon. Knowing that they can sometimes favor the warmth of the engine bay, I popped and propped open the hood so that ours would cool off as rapidly as possible, eliminating any desirable aspects for those looking for new digs.

Dinner was delicious, and after wolfing everything down, we settled in for a few hours of reading, photo processing, and a bit of solitaire - all of which went perfectly normally until we heard a sound that I can only describe as the most terrifying sound ever: the sound of a mouse running around in the Tacoma.

Now, it wasn't technically running around in the cabin - at least, not in a way we could catch it. Rather, we could hear it in the place that I most hoped a mouse would never reach: the air conditioning ducts. It was awful. Little feet scurrying along. The knowledge that if we didn't get that little bastard out of there, that the aftermath of a dead mouse would render the entire cab uninhabitable.

It was all hands on deck to get that little bastard out of there.

Working in the dark with headlight and flashlight and only a few feet from certain death, I assessed the situation. My plan - to expose as much as the ductwork as possible - meant that I had as much of the dash apart as I could muster, and I also removed the cabin intake cowl between the hood and windshield.

This was not how either of us planned to spend the evening.​

Raising the hood again after cowl removal, we saw it. That little critter made its way back into the engine bay and was sitting right there - taunting us - on the engine's air intake. I tried to grab it. @mrs.turbodb tried to take a photo. Neither of us was successful. The mouse scurried further down into the engine bay.

That meant I was suddenly removing more parts in the engine bay, but at least that little shit wasn't inside the air conditioning and cab any longer! And, after removing the air intake - luckily a reasonably easy bit to remove - we discovered the mouse was gone; only the smallest of mouse terds left as a reminder.

After replacing the cowl and engine air intake - to reduce the likelihood of any more mice getting in through the night - we left everything else as it was; it was time for bed.

The following morning...

It is a good morning when we can lay under the covers and enjoy a view like this.​

I had two reasons to get up early on the edge of the Little Colorado. The first - and ultimately more important - was the good deal of work necessary to get the truck back in running order. Besides that, though, I also wanted to capture a few photos of our camp and the canyon before the fiery ball of flame rose up into the sky, casting contrasty shadows into the depths of the gorge.

And so, in reverse priority order, I climbed down the ladder a few minutes before sunrise and wandered about camp, amazed at every turn.

A river runs through it.​

Out on the edge.​

Watch your step.​

Capturing a place like this is nearly impossible. Differences in scale are so large that people - and trucks - are completely lost in the resolution of it all. Still, I did my best to try to capture how tiny we actually were. A blip, nothing more.

Standing on the edge, millions of years, stacked vertically below.​

A precarious perch.​

My new favorite camp site.​

High clouds - especially in the east - allowed me more time to play with the camera than I'd expected, so it wasn't until more than an hour after sunrise that I finally pulled the viewfinder from my face and buckled down to work on the truck.

With much of the dash apart, I had three goals in my reassembly. The first - naturally - was getting everything put back together correctly; I didn't want to have any left-over screws. The second and third were to perform - as much as I could - a reasonably thorough de-dusting of the A/C system, and some serious de-rattling of the various wires and cables that have accumulated behind the dash over the course of my modifications.

I don't often have the A/C blower out, so I took the opportunity to give it a good cleaning. That rock was perfectly clean before a few good taps of the blower.​

Ultimately, reassembly took just under two hours, and as I buttoned up the final few screws, I noticed the intelligent camper descending the ladder, a couple extra hours more rested than she might have otherwise been!

With everything back together and after using the last of our milk for a quick breakfast, I was excited to show @mrs.turbodb around some of the cooler places I'd discovered along the rim. Plus, having not seen much the previous evening, and having enjoyed the view from the tent, she was more than ready to look around herself!

Below the rim.​

Nearing the water.​

Towering walls.​

For the second morning in a row, we pulled out of camp well after our usual time of departure. Today, it was 10:30am when we finally got underway, retracing a bit of our path from the night before, then turning north along a series of roads that would deliver us to the edge of the Navajo Nation at Antelope Pass, Lee's Crossing of the Colorado River, and the Navajo Bridge.

Across the high plains.​

Now and then, mesas broke the monotony.​

In time, we found ourselves approaching the Echo Cliffs...​

...before racing along their base toward US-89A and Antelope Pass.​

While not part of the official BDR route, having visited some other spectacular road cuts - such as the one at Comb Ridge - Antelope Pass was a place that my copilot had been anticipating, so we climbed to the summit before turning around to admire the buckets of work that went into the construction of this amazing highway.

What's around the corner?​

Around the corner you say? The Vermillion Cliffs are just around the corner.​

Her curiosity satiated, we followed pavement for the next 45 miles as we traced our way towards and then along the southern face of the Vermillion Cliffs towards the Navajo Bridge.

Construction of the original Navajo Bridge began in 1927, and the bridge opened to traffic in 1929. Paid for by the Arizona State Highway Commission in cooperation with the United States Department of the Interior's Bureau of Indian Affairs (the eastern landing is on the Navajo Nation), the steel spandrel bridge was designed and constructed by the Kansas City Structural Steel Company for $390,000.

Spanning 834 feet, and suspending a maximum 467 feet above the canyon floor, the 18-foot wide roadway had a load capacity of 22.5 tons. Upon opening on January 12, 1929, the Flagstaff paper proclaimed it "the biggest news in Southwest history."

​

Twin structures, it's hard to tell the new from the old, and that's exactly the point.
​

Spanning the Colorado River, and situated under the Vermillion Cliffs, the dual spans of the Navajo Bridge are a jewel of the land.​

By 1984, Arizona Department of Transportation officials decided that the traffic flow was too great for the original bridge and after considering several options, replacement was determined to be the only viable alternative. A new bridge - with a considerably similar visual appearance, and that conformed to modern highway codes - would be built immediately next to the original to carry vehicular traffic, and the original bridge would be maintained for non-motorized travel.

The new steel arch bridge - 44 feet wide and containing nearly double the steel of the original - was completed in May 1995, at a cost of $14.7 million.

wikipedia​

After walking the bridge and soaking in the glimmering green of the Colorado River, it was time for our final push to the border between Arizona and Utah; the end of the Backcountry Discovery Route.

That meant another stint along the base of the Vermillion Cliffs. Like so much of the red rock found throughout the western United States, these cliffs are mesmerizing. With a seemingly infinite variety of colors, textures, and shapes, I find it nearly impossible to travel more than a few miles without feeling as though this view, the one I'm looking at right now, is the best, only to feel the same way again, five minutes later.

With white, puffy clouds, this is definitely - at this moment in time - the best view.​

Twenty miles shy of the border, the BDR turned north - onto well-graded dirt - following the western edge of the Vermillion Cliffs toward Utah. Just before 3:00pm, it wasn't going to be but a few minutes if we simply pressed the skinny pedal and focused on the finish line.

But that's not our style.

Unnecessary aired down as we ticked off the final few miles.​

Instead, we made a few stops along the way. First, at the Condor Viewing Site, where several dedicated birders - eyes glued to their scopes - were chatting excitedly into their radios with phrases like, "Twenty-three just entered the crack," and "Sixty-seven and forty-four are still stationary." Obviously, they'd all gone crazy, because we couldn't see anything with our $89 binoculars, and these birds are supposed to be big.

How can something so big be so hard to see? If only we weren't so darn old!​

Too self-conscious to ask if we could sneak a peak through the obviously more powerful optics of those who'd brought chairs, blankets, and enough food to last days, we realized that there wasn't really any point in sticking around, so we headed a little further north - to the West Bench Pueblo site, hoping to find something along the lines of what we'd seen at Waputki National Monument.

We really should have known better. Any major site - like Waputki - that is as accessible as the West Bench site will always be closely monitored and maintained; otherwise, it will quickly fall into disrepair as there are enough people who just don't know how to respect places like these. The West Bench Pueblo was an obvious case of "too little, too late," as there were no structures remaining as we read the BLM sign describing the site. There was, however, a seemingly infinite supply of pottery shards.

Despite the BLM sign clearly requesting that all artifacts be left exactly where they might be found, one of the first rocks along the narrow path was covered in pottery.​

Following instructions is hard, it seems. ​

Seriously people? ​

We spent even less time at the West Bench Pueblo site than we'd spent looking for the ever-elusive condor, and soon we were kicking up dust on the way to our final stop before the border - the Maze Petroglyph site.

As we sped toward Coyote Buttes, I didn't have high hopes for this panel. After all, it was reasonably well-known and required only a mile-long hike to view. Surely we would find it in similar condition to the West Bench site, or perhaps even worse.

With the wind picking up, light was dancing across the landscape, and the Coyote Buttes were blazing bright in the distance.​

The closer we got, the more the clouds cooperated.​

Soon we were on foot.​

Located near The Wave - a permit-by-lottery hike that I hope to win one day - the hike to the Maze Petroglyph site must be just long enough, or just far enough away, or a hair too close to The Wave, to be a popular site in its own right. As such - though we did see two other pairs of hikers - we had the panel to ourselves as we admired the work of those who came before us, and it turned out to be way cooler than either of us expected!

The glyph for which the panel is named.​

The maze is cool, but check out that two-headed snake!​

Several spirals adorned the various sub-panels of The Notch.​

A smattering of spirals and animate objects made for a wonderful scene.​

Thrilled that we'd taken the time - even after two less-than-impressive sites - to visit The Maze Petroglyph site, we slowly made our way back to the Tacoma while we tried to hammer out our plan for both the remainder of the day, as well as the remainder of our trip. We had, it turns out, completed the entire six-stage, 750-mile Arizona BDR in just under five days. As such, we had a full day-and-a-half to fill before our flight home from Las Vegas, a situation I'd neglected to consider as I'd planned our run through Arizona.

Having started near the Mexican border on a Thursday morning at sunrise, we crossed over the Utah border at 4:37pm on a Monday afternoon - by far, our fastest BDR to date!​

Unlike most BDRs, the final stages of this one had been the best. Still, as we lounged around camp and prepped the final dinner we'd cook on the tailgate, we couldn't help but feel that this one hadn't been our favorite. The initial stages, the plentiful pavement, and a sense that we were never, really, that far from a mailbox, made the AZBDR feel just a little too civilized for our taste. It was a good "starter" BDR, but not one that we'd recommend running - at least in its entirety - to those who've experienced some of the more remote routes.

For our full evaluation of the route, check out the AZBDR Epilogue.

 

wonderful as always.
Some very familiar sights from childhood and recent travels. San Juan County will always be considered home to me

 

Did you guys stop and see the dinosaur tracks not far from the Vermillion cliffs?

 

Thanks, glad you enjoyed! San Juan county would be an amazing place to call home. I was just thinking the other day that it, and Inyo County in CA, are two places that I could spend a lot of time and never get bored. Amazing how many trips I've filled in those two places and how I've only scratched the surface.

We didn't stop this time, and I've seen a lot of tracks, but don't know if I've seen those tracks or not; if I have, I don't remember them.

 

Before | Before and After #1
Part of the Before and After (Apr 2024) trip.

Our Spirit Airlines flight touched down in Las Vegas at 11:32pm on Tuesday night. We'd chosen to take a late flight so we'd be able to drive the 10 hours from Las Vegas to the beginning of the Arizona Backcountry Discovery Route (AZBDR) at the Mexico border over the course of the following day, but that was when we assumed that we'd be picking up the Tacoma just before midnight.

"Welcome to Las Vegas folks, this is your captain speaking. Looks like they don't have a gate ready for us, so until they can push back another plane, we're going to be parked here on the tarmack. Shouldn't be more than 35 or 40 minutes. I'm going to turn off the seatbelt sign, and you're welcome to use the bathrooms if you need to."

Apparently, sometimes, you get what you pay for.

​

Picking up the Tacoma a little later than we planned, @mrs.turbodb "napped" - if it's even called a nap at 1:00am in the morning - as we ticked off a two-hour drive to a spot just south of Needles that I'd discovered while running the East Mojave Heritage Trail. Just far enough from the highway to mask the noise of passing traffic, we deployed the tent and called it a night.

Where we woke up.​

After a slightly longer nap - since I don't think four hours qualifies as a real sleep - we awoke to a warm sunny morning and dragged ourselves down the ladder as we muttered about late night flights into Vegas. Turns out we don't appreciate them any more than driving all day - and got under way.

Our first destination - an hour further south - was outside the town of Blythe. There, we hoped to find some of the largest rock art we've ever visited: the Blythe Intaglios.

As we pulled into the parking area, the surroundings were nothing to scoff at.​

The Blythe Intaglios (geoglyphs) are comprised of six distinct figures - two humans, two animals, and a spiral. The largest human figure measures 171 feet from head to toe. Between 450 and 2,000 years old, the Mohave and Quechans - natives to the lower Colorado River area - propose that the human figures represent Mastamho, the Creator of all life. The animal figures represent Hatakulya, one of two mountain lions/persons who helped in the Creation. In ancient times, sacred ceremonial dances were held in the area to honor the creation.

Bureau of Land Management (BLM)​

The first three figures were reasonably close to the road despite nearly nodding off several times due to lack of sleep, were reasonably easy to find by looking for the fencing that surrounds each one. I suppose this fencing is good in order to keep rowdy UTV drivers off of the art, but talk about drawing attention to something that might otherwise be quite difficult to discover!

Difficult to see from the ground, this was the perfect opportunity for me to launch my flying camera and demonstrate my "skilled" aerial acrobatics as I struggled to find a position that would properly frame these ancient works of art.

Oh look, there's a fire burning across the river in Arizona!​

Hatakulya, the mountain lion, and a spiral.​

Some idiot peeled out on Mastamho before they erected the fence. And look, there we are for scale.​

After photographing the first set of geoglyphs, I realized that the drone could do all the "walking" for us in finding the second and third sites, and so - clumsily - I flew it in what I hoped was the right direction, the camera pointed down so I could spot the massive figures.

The second site was reasonably easy to find, but only because it wasn't very far away and I could see the fence from where we'd parked.​

While Geoglyphs are found throughout the world, the Colorado Desert contains the only known desert intaglios in North America. And, despite their size, it wasn't until 1932, when George Palmer - a pilot flying between Las Vegas, Nevada and Blythe, California - "discovered" the intaglios as he was preparing to land.

While construction methods differ depending on location - ranging from earthen mounds, piles of stone, or the removal of surface plants or soil - those near Blythe were created by scraping away layers of darker rocks and pebbles in order to reveal the lighter-valued soil underneath. The displaced rocks outlined the figures and the exposed soil was stamped down which makes it more difficult for plants to grow in the lines.

wikipedia​

For years, @mrs.turbodb and I have joked that the Tacoma is our American Hiking Machine, allowing us to sit back - even if it's sometimes a bit bumpy - while 99% of the work of getting somewhere is taken care of by the skinny pedal. I can safely say that the drone is an even more efficient vessel, enabling us to enjoy our 92oz. sugary sodas and 6lbs. "small" fries that accompany Triple-Double-Animal-Style burgers with even less work. No longer do we need to engage in American Hiking - because seriously, American's don't hike anymore - rather, we can just soak in the sights using the screen on the remote control!

I digress.

The last site required a combination of reasonably skilled flying - and by skilled, I mean "flying in the correct direction," so I was hopeless. Twice, I completely lost track of where I was relative to the other Intaglios and even our parking area, and had to bring the drone back so I could reorient myself.

Oh, what I would give to be in the generation that understands how to work a gimbal and the aircraft to which it is mounted at the same time. Frankly, it's amazing that I can both hike along a trail and move my head to view my surroundings without falling.

I finally found the last Mastamho after way too many minutes.​

Nearby, it looked as though the fences really were necessary. Why are people so stupid?​

From the Blythe Intaglios, it was time to turn east. It was here - rather than at the start of the AZBDR, since there's no "Welcome to Arizona" sign at the location where we'd reach the border with Mexico - where we crossed into Arizona. And then we were headed to an interesting point I'd found - of all places - on Google: a fossilized Indian Footprint!

I'm not sure that traffic loved my maneuver here, but it seemed safe enough to me.​

Looks like we're in the right place - our first Saguaro!​

The Indian footprint was a little strange. Just off a power line road, and at the bottom of a wash that led to private land and an old mine, a little footpath left the two-track, and we followed it for fifty feet or so. Sure enough, there in what looked like marble, a clear impression of a foot. Super cool!

How does this even happen?​

Nearby, the current resident - a California whiptail (Aspidoscelis tigris ssp. mundus) - lazily watched us from his semi-sunny perch.

Leathery scales.​

Hey guys, whatcha doin?​

With nothing else to see, we spent more time trying to grab a photo of the lizard - which I clearly failed at, since I never got the head and body in focus at the same time - than we did the footprint, and it was only a few minutes after 11:00am when we climbed back into the air conditioned cab of the Tacoma and headed back toward the highway, though we weren't getting back on it quite yet.

Crossing the highway and continuing for another few miles, we soon found ourselves a few miles from Quartzite and at our final stop before our big push south - the Quartzite Arrow. Unlike the Intaglios, which were created by clearing rocks and creating a negative space on the desert floor, the Quartzite arrow was created by arranging rocks to create a labeled arrow pointing north, and a 100-foot long "QUARTZITE" label, with an arrow pointing southwest.

Crisp edges.​

From above.​

I should have stood in the large circle to give a sense of scale. This entire glyph is about 100-feet long.​

While no longer used, this "rock art" was originally created for early airmail and airline pilots, pointing to an airfield that was named after and located in Quartzsite, just SE of the current I-10 and US-95 intersection. Listed in the 1931 Commerce Department publication "Descriptions of Airports and Landing Fields" as "Quartzsite Field, Auxiliary," it had two landing strips - one 2100-feet long and the other 1600-feet long - in a T shape. By 1938 the airfield was no longer displayed on maps, and only Conner Field (SW of same intersection and later renamed to Quartzite Field in 1947) is shown sectionals.

Not far from the arrow, a final Intaglio - or at least, the final one we knew about - which apparently depicted a fisherman, was hidden just off the road. Once again utilizing our why-hike-when-you-can-watch device, I popped over for a quick look.

I'm not sure this is actually a fisherman, but people have created fish around it on the desert, which is, I presume, how it's gotten its name.​

And with that, we still had a lot of ground to cover, and it was time to get on the road in search of lunch!





.

 

Those aerial guides are interesting. Sometimes, you run across something and it makes you wonder "why here". Smithsonian's article offers a bit of an explanation.

 

If you've seen one you've seen um all

I remember throwing those big 4ft Styrofoam airplanes off the top of Comb Ridge towards the Vermillion cliffs with my Grandpa many years ago. It usually just crashed against the wall slightly below us but one toss in particular floated above the wash for what felt like hours.

We had some great times out there in my dad's fj40

 

After | Before and After #2
Part of the Before and After (Apr 2024) trip.

We'd wrapped up the Arizona Backcountry Discovery Route (AZBDR) in record time, a full day faster than even our most ambitious estimates. On the one hand, it was nice to relax a bit, knowing that we had plenty of time to make it from the Arizona-Utah border near Kanab to our flight out of Las Vegas. On the other, now we were faced with figuring out what to do with our spare time; I hadn't researched any backup plans should a situation like this occur!

After a bit of "we could do this," and "we could go see that," we decided that we'd both enjoy a return trip to the Muddy Mountain Wilderness where - several years ago - we hiked into an amazing hidden valley to find a secret tinaja. In addition to being a beautiful spot, camping there for the night would put us only a couple hours outside Las Vegas, allowing us to take it easy on our final morning as we headed in to wash the truck and hop on our flight home.

After packing up the tent and heading west, we decided to make another quick stop - to check out some of the most unusual petroglyphs I've ever seen - before passing through St. George for lunch.

Into the mesas in search of rock art.​

The last time I'd visited Canaan Gap, I was alone and doing my best to salvage a Nevada-based rock art adventure (Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For) that was turning out to be a bust on a rather important front: rock art. Even this location had required quite a bit of poking around on my part, but in the end, it was worth it - the glyphs here are so deep, unlike any we've found before or since.

You can tell something is different even from a distance, but it's hard to identify until you get up close.​

While these glyphs may have started out like any others, over time, the soft sandstone has worn significantly faster than the varnished surface, creating a haunting effect to the figures.​

Man and coyote.​

Conjoined sheep.​

Snakes, feet, and an atlatl?​

Wandering below the panels, it was fun to watch my companion discover many of the same elements that I'd been wowed by on my first visit, knowing that a few minutes later she'd discover the next detail, just as energetically as I had before!

We arrived just as the sun was peaking over the panel.​

While we had no idea what this depicted, we both appreciated that the artist had used the crack in the rock as part of the work.​

We, as a culture, can - and must - do better. Ignoring the pockmarks, it was interesting to see that the figures here were of a similar design to those at The Maze Panel we'd recently observed.​

I hadn't noticed the last time I was here, but even the layers of sediment that supported the sandstone above were fascinating.​

Knowing where to look allowed us to get in and out of Canaan Gap reasonably quickly, and soon we were headed back to the Tacoma and onto the road.​

It was just after noon, and as we headed towards St. George, we were both hungry for lunch. @mrs.turbodb honed in on a multi-generational Mexican place, and as she cleaned up in the ladies' room, I placed an order for two carne asada burritos that turned out to be toasted and quite delicious.

Munching away, we were perfectly happy humans until we saw an order of nachos that got delivered to a table next to us. Dang, those looked even better, and will be on our short list the next time we're passing through St. George!

Downing our last bites, and after a quick stop at Jimmy Johns to pick up dinner - a 16" Turkey Tom (#4) and chips - we pounded out the last few miles of pavement before turning off for the Muddy Mountains and the Bittersprings Backcountry Byway.

These rugged looking mountains hold secrets that few ever find.​

As we aired down, spring was in the air around us. And boy, the air was a lot warmer here than it had been in Arizona!​

To get to Hidden Valley, one must drive the Bittersprings Backcountry Byway through Buffington Pockets. This area - were there no other reason to visit - is an amazingly worthwhile trip, the colorful rock pockets like candy sprinkled across the dark landscape.

Ka-pow!​

Inclined layers against the dark backdrop of the Muddy Mountains.​

A playground of orange.​

Working our way from one outcropping to the next.​

Even knowing that we had a five-mile hike to complete by the time the sun fell below the horizon, we couldn't help but stop several times as we made our way to the trailhead that would also serve as our camp site. Eventually though, we reached the end of our spur at the edge of the wilderness. Normally this would have been a happy arrival, but as we looked toward the trail, we noticed that the wilderness boundary sign and - more importantly - the barricades that previously blocked the old mining road, were gone.

They were not meant to be gone, but some idiot with a sawzall apparently felt that driving their UTV (based on the track width) into the wilderness was "their right," a sense of entitlement that has become more pervasive over the last several years and completely misses the point of why these sorts of places exist.

The old posts that once blocked the road, chopped off at the ground.​

Making a mental note to send an email to the BLM upon our return, we spent just under an hour “re-closing” the road, using what I like to term NPS-closure-techniques, as I’ve most often seen the technique used in Death Valley (though I’m sure BLM does it as well, ha!). It was tough work, but after much grunting and dust, we were able to move a couple dozen of the largest rocks we could carry into the road in an attempt to prevent further intrusion by vehicular traffic.

Better than nothing.​

Shouldn't be necessary.​

With that, it was finally time for us to enjoy the hike we'd worked so hard for. And so, we set off - up the trail we'd already poured a bit of sweat into - up the hillside, towards hidden valley.

Along the entirety of the old road, the UTV tracks would continue to irk us.​

After a steep ascent through unremarkable terrain, we crested the ridge. Having witnessed this transition before, our anticipation was high as we looked down into the valley. There, the same candy colors of Buffington Pockets appeared magically sprinkled throughout the sage. Grins spread across our faces as we picked up our pace for the descent into the valley.

Valley view.​

We couldn't help but to climb up some of the sandstone.​

Tafoni cave.​

Stripes.​

On top of a wave.​

After meandering our way between various pockets, we headed over to the tinaja. There, we found two trail cameras setup to capture anything that might wander this direction to check out the striated sandstone. Or - perhaps more likely - to avail themselves to a bit of water.

Easily distracted, I opened up the camera to discover that had been installed in November 2021, and had been turned off - by someone before us - in January 2024. Curious what it captured during that time, I pulled the memory card, shoved it into my camera, and started scrolling through the photos. Boy, was this ever a popular place!

Coyote.​

Sheep.​

Even a cat!​

Our curiosity satisfied, it was finally time to capture the main attraction itself - the tinaja. It's always hard to do a place like this justice - especially when it's a place that's we've previously visited - but after a bit of balancing and positioning of my camera "just so," I finally got a few angles that I was happy with.

Colorful reflection.​

Circular wave.​

And with that, it was time to head back. Back through the canyon and up to the saddle through which we'd come, we said so-long, again, to the wonders of Hidden Valley.

Below, the Tacoma - and our Jimmy Johns - waiting in camp.​

It'd been a great way to spend the extra day we'd had on the end of the BDR, and a valuable reminder that - even though we don't do it often - it can be nice to revisit some of the most special places we find on our adventures, a second time. In the case of the Muddy Mountains, perhaps only one of many.










.

 

A fascinating read

$14 Tracing Time: Seasons of Rock Art on the Colorado Plateau

about rock art by Greg Childs.

 

Rig Review - Spring 2024
April 30, 2024

The first third of the year is in the books, and it's time to take stock of what's been working well, what's gotten a bit of attention, and what still needs to be addressed with my setup.

This will cover things that have happened over the course of the following trips:

​

So, let's get into it!

Torsion to Linear Clutch Spring Replacement
TL;DR - The linear clutch pedal spring I installed is working great. Everyone with a torsion spring on their clutch pedal should do this proactively.

Out with the old, in with the new.​

As easy as the conversion from the stock torsion clutch pedal spring to the linear spring (90507-14030) variant ended up being, it took me quite a while to get around to doing the swap, for two reasons:

1. I had a bit of a tough time learning exactly where the linear spring attaches.
2. Every opportunity I had to replace the spring, I was out on the trail and I didn't want to end up in a situation where something went wrong and left me in a situation where I had no clutch spring at all.

Ultimately, when I finally got up the gumption to pull out the torsion spring, everything went very easily. Now, the clutch pedal always returns fully, and I chuckle every time the muscle memory of my foot reaches around the pedal to pull it completely out ...only to find that it's already in the right position!

Time will tell if it's as good as it seems, and my money is on years of trouble-free operation.

For anyone looking to do this upgrade themselves, I've got a short, simple guide to the work:
Fixing the Clutch Pedal Spring
(Torsion to Linear, Eliminate Squeaks)​

CBI Tire Carrier #Fail
TL;DR - The welds on the CBI tire carrier failed on the trail. Once I realized that my welds on it hadn't failed, but those from CBI had, I laughed at the entire situation.

That's not right. And it's also not good!​

I was driving along the bumpy roads of the Whipple Mountains when I noticed that the Trasharoo was hanging at an odd angle off of my spare tire. This isn't unusual - all the jostling tends to move it around a bit - so after snapping a quick photo of some fantastic landscape, I set the camera down to adjust it.

The entire tire moved with the Trasharoo.

Assuming it was that the lug nuts holding the tire to the tire carrier had come loose, I removed the Trasharoo and discovered that the lug nuts were tight, but that the welds on the tire carrier itself had sheared.

I'd done some welding on the tire carrier when I shed weight from the Tacoma, so initially I figured that it was my crappy welding that'd failed. After a bit more inspection however, I realized that it was CBI's welds that had failed. In fact, it seemed to me - a completely uneducated welder - like they'd probably gotten the whole thing too hot, as the sheering - along more than 15 inches of weld - followed a scalloped pattern, right along the edge of the weld itself.

With no way to permanently fix the issue on the trail, I considered my options:

• Stand the tire up along in the back of the bed - I didn't like this option because it would roll back and forth - smashing into the bed sides - as I turned left and right.
• Rearrange all my boxes in the bed in order to lay the tire down - this just seemed like a lot of work.
• Whip out the ratchet straps, which seem to be able to fix just about anything.

Ratchet straps for the win!​

Looks like there's some welding in my future!

Update: A few days later in January 2024

After ferrying the tire carrier home in my backpack via airplane, I was able to get it cut apart, cleaned up, and re-welded back together. It's been in service since and is doing great for the time being.

​

First Impressions of Electric Socks

Yep, they are socks.​

I learned the hard way - as I tagged along on my first big adventure - that staying warm on a cold night is a whole lot more pleasant than trying to recover from a freezing evening by hunkering down in even the warmest of comforters when I finally went to bed.

At least, that's when I should have learned. In reality, it took me a good couple of years, camping with guys who don't mind - or even relish - the cold, to realize this simple fact. It wasn't all their fault though. No matter the temperature, if we're having a wood fire, I always stand upwind of the warmth, preferring that my clothing, bedding, and the interior of the Tacoma not smell like campfire in perpetuity.

It didn't take long for me to bring along warmer clothing, and soon I was able to keep most of my body warm. Even in boots however, my feet - always on the cold ground - remained a problem.

Hoping to solve the problem once and for all, I picked up a case of Little Hotties and started putting one in each sock, in the hopes that the exothermic reaction would keep my toes toasty. Alas, it seems that there's not enough circulating air for the reaction to occur when they're tucked away like that, and they wouldn't warm up until I was shoeless and in bed.

Since then, I've had no solution. Until recently.

I happened to be browsing Amazon for a nice Christmas present for @mrs.turbodb, and thinking back to my motorcycle days - when I had heated gloves that plugged into the main motorcycle battery - I thought that perhaps the proliferation of LiIon batteries might mean that a more portable solution might now be available.

Turns out, there are dozens - hundreds even - of brands of heated socks. Predictably, the photos and descriptions are strikingly similar - only the brand name differentiating the offerings - and they all appear to come from the same factory on the other side of the world.

I decided it was a fitting present to come from Santa in the cold north, and if he was going to bring her a pair, he should probably drop one off for me as well.

What I Got and Why
I picked up these electric socks, but as I mentioned, there are many that appear to be the same. The boxes that these checked were the following:

• USB-C charging. I've recently decided that it's time to (as much as I can) get away from micro-USB - where the connectors wear out quickly, and USB-A - where you have a 50-50 chance of orienting the connector correctly, yet somehow get it wrong 75% of the time. USB-C solves both of these, and I recently found a charger that I really love.
• A pocket to hold the battery, with a button closure. Some of the socks seem to come from a factory door with pockets but no buttons. I wanted to make sure the battery wouldn't fall out if I got horizontal and wore the socks to bed.
• Heating elements on the top and bottom of the foot. Because who wants to have only one side of their foot be warm?
• Several heat levels. I don't think this narrowed down the choices at all; they've all realized that sometimes it's cold out, and sometimes it's really cold out.

First Impressions
After using the socks on two trips, I feel like I've got a reasonably good sense of how they work in medium-cold conditions. That is to say, I've used them when it was cold out (down to about 29°F), but only when sitting in the unheated cab of the Tacoma, and not yet standing around the campfire.

So, with that caveat, here are my first impressions:

Pros

• The socks do a great job of keeping warm feet warm. With four heat settings, I find that if I start with warm feet, I can use the lowest two settings to keep my feet very toasty warm.
• The batteries last a long time. At the lowest two settings they last for many hours (nearly through the night when sleeping). At the highest setting, they last for at least three hours, which I suspect would be enough time for me if I were standing around a cold campfire.
• The USB-A-to-dual-USB-C charging cable splits and charges both sock batteries at the same time. This is nice, as we only have to keep track of one charging cable rather than two.

Cons

• The socks don't do a great job - at least, in shoes - at warming up my feet if they are extremely cold. That is, if I can't feel my toes anymore, it takes a reasonably long time - an hour or so - at the highest setting to warm my feet up.
• The batteries take a long time to charge. These are not large batteries - perhaps the size of a cell phone battery - but they take something on the order of 4+ hours to fully charge, even with a high-watt, fast charger. Surely for a couple dollars, faster charging could have been included and they could have charged in an hour or less. Still, even at 4+ hours, we can charge both pair over the course of the day, we just need to keep an eye on the progress and remember to change the batteries half way through the day.
• They can get too hot (is this a con?) if you leave them on high and go to bed. I've woken up twice with my feet feeling as though they were going to catch on fire because I left the socks on the highest setting when I climbed into bed.

Neither Pro nor Con (for me)

• I wouldn't wear these socks if I were active (hiking, skiing, etc.) They say that they can be used in those situations, but I wouldn't want to risk breaking whatever the resistive heating material is during those activities. I just wear them when I'm "lazying" around camp though, so this isn't an issue for me at all.

So far, I'm very happy with these socks. They are way better than the Little Hotties (which didn't work at all for me). I'll report back once I've had a chance to wear them around a cold campfire as well!


Blackstone Labs Oil Test (2024) - Still Happy
TL;DR - I had my second oil analysis done. With 260K miles on the Tacoma, everything still seems happy.

The full report, minus my deets.​

Since my first oil analysis, I've been curious to see how the engine is doing. That test came back way better than I'd expected, and I hoped it wasn't a fluke. I'd planned to do an oil analysis annually, but I completely forgot to toss the little collection canister under the truck when I changed the oil in the winter of 2023. Since I don't have the Tacoma home that much anymore, I had to wait for my next oil change, which happened three months "late" in March 2024.

DAN: The V-6 powering your Tacoma looks good in this side-by-side comparison to the sample you sent in November/December 2022. Iron, from steel parts like the crankshaft, cylinders, and valvetrain, increased a bit but is still within healthy ranges compared to your last sample as well as averages. That reading tends to fluctuate the most with miles on the oil and how the vehicle is used. We expect metals like aluminum (pistons) and copper (bronze bushings) to stay steady no matter the miles, and they are. Very nice report here from this sample taken in March this year.

Blackstone-labs.com​

I'm Removing the LutzAuto Speedo Correction Device
TL;DR - After installing my second LutzAuto Speedometer Correction Device, I've started having trouble - the speedometer jumps randomly from 0 - 130mph - with it again. As such, I'm removing it and I'll just do math to correct my odometer readings for MPG averages.

This device has such promise.​

For a summary of the issues I was having, check out this earlier post: LutzAuto Speedo Correction Device Issues.

In general, here's my impression of this device and LutzAuto (the company, which I think is one guy like me).

Pros

Bryan - the owner - is a really good guy with great support. He was happy to work with me - both via email and phone - in order to debug what was going on with the first unit and send me a second unit in an attempt to fix the issues I was having.

Conceptually, the device is really great. I'd say that it's theoretically best way to correct the odometer (and/or speedometer) in a Toyota Tacoma / 4Runner / 3-wire Toyota speed sensor vehicle. It's the best because it's easy to install and easy to adjust.Other "not as good" options in my opinion are:

• Replacing the speedo gear - this is more work, and only allows for a few preset changes, but is a less expensive option.
• Using a Dakota Digital correction device. This is conceptually like the LutzAuto device but is harder to install and harder to configure. And - at least as of my research - more expensive.

Cons

The device itself has some design clunkiness:

• The connectors that fit inline between the speed sensor on the transfer case and the wiring harness to the ECU are not a perfect match for the OEM Toyota connectors. This is what caused the intermittent connection issues, and the jumpy speedometer for me. I don't know that there's much that can be done about this, but figuring out a way to make the connection more secure would essentially fix the problems with flaky connectivity.
• The gland that allows the wires to pass from the inside to the outside of the device is at an awkward 90° angle. This makes it hard to route the wires efficiently and seems prone to failure over time due to the continuous stress on the wires.
• The small rectangular clamshell container is secured closed with two small screws on opposite corners, which means that there is uneven clamping pressure around the edge of the clamshell. The combat water intrusion, the installation instructions say to use a bead of silicone around the perimeter to seal it up once calibration has been completed. This construction is likely due to ease of manufacturing (3D printing?) but could be nicer by snapping together and using a rubber o-ring to prevent water intrusion. An o-ring would also allow for easy re-adjustment in the future should tire size, gearing, etc. change.

So, with all that in mind, I still think that a LutzAuto device is the best calibration device out there. While I won't be running it for the time being, I'm not throwing it away, and I may eventually reinstall it if I change tire size and my odometer (always correct the odometer, not the speedometer) is way off.


Chevy 63 Leaf Springs - First Impressions
TL;DR - the ride on the Chevy 63s is great, but I have a little too much lift, so I'll be removing a single leaf.

Not even fully flexed out, it's nice to see the tire easily drop down to - essentially - the bottom of the wheel well.​

After running the Chevy 63 leaf springs for 10 days on the trail and a little more than 5,000 miles, I have a few impressions:

The Good

• The ride is fantastic. With the longer arch and more flexible individual leafs, the springs really soak up a lot of the imperfections - be they on pavement or trails - very nicely. I always described the ride of my most recent set of Alcan's as "too harsh" (understandable, since I think they were way over-speced from a weight perspective), and I definitely don't feel that way with the Chevy 63s.
• Flex is amazing. I'm now getting full use of my 10" rear shocks, which I was never able to achieve with either of my Alcan leaf packs.
• They have no problem holding up the weight of a loaded Tacoma. This shouldn't be a surprise, given that they came off a much heavier truck, but it's nice to confirm.

The Bad

• Not so much bad as expected, I'm going to need to revalve my shocks to take into account the more flexible (softer) springs. I'll need to slow my rebound a bit (so I get a hair less "bounce"), but otherwise, things seem good.
• The lift is still a bit high for me. I'd like to lower it by about an inch, so the truck is nearly level when fully loaded. I hope to do this by removing a leaf from the pack.

The Unknown (So Far)

• I'm a little concerned about the front hanger where it is frenched into the frame. We frenched it an inch into the frame, which left about an inch sticking down past the bottom of the frame. I don't generally drag my frame along rocks, but I wonder what will happen if I get into a situation where the frame is sliding along a rock and then the rock hits the front perch. It might be nice to build a small ramp there, in order to facilitate easier "sliding."

Seemingly solved from previous Rig Reviews

1. The Rear Diff is Weeping - I didn't fix the weeping in particular, but with the new rear axle housing, the third member got a new FIPG seal and everything is good to go!
2. The Clutch Spring is Worn Out - solved as noted above

Unchanged / Still an issue from previous Rig Reviews
There are some things that have been featured in Rig Reviews that are - as yet - unchanged from when I originally reviewed them. Rather than highlight those things again, I'll simply link to them here.

1. The Transmission is Leaking
2. My Suspension Squeaks
3. Skid plate attachment could be better

 

Man, all of these reports are incredible & the photos are stunning. I especially love the photos of the tinaja. You did a great job capturing that!

 

Swing-and-a-Miss | Other Side #1
Part of the The Other Side (May 2024) trip.

As temperatures have started to rise across the west, areas that were covered in snow or otherwise too cold to wander during the winter are once again opening up. And, while I have an endless list of desert destinations to explore, it's always an exciting time to venture beyond the confines of the Mojave and Sonoran deserts that we've recently called home.

And so, we're headed to Utah. There, San Rafael Swell and Cedar Mesa will be our destinations. Like the desert, an infinite number of days could be consumed savoring the sandstone formations, deep canyons, and Native American Indian history that covers this part of the country. This time, we're headed back - in a sense - to places we've seen before. This time, however, we'll be approaching them in the opposite direction; seeing them from a new perspective, by exploring them from the other side.

Or at least, that was the plan until reality set in.


Parowan Gap
After arriving in Las Vegas just before midnight, we retrieved the Tacoma and within 45 minutes we found ourselves climbing into the tent along the edge of the Muddy Mountain Wilderness for a few hours of sleep. It was warm and not too windy.

Parowan Gap wasn't really part of my "other side" plan, but it was - almost - on the way from Las Vegas to the western edge of the San Rafael Swell. Having visited on another trip - where I was having trouble finding what I was looking for - I knew that @mrs.turbodb would enjoy the prolific rock art, so we made a small detour to check out this ancient passageway.

I missed the turn I'd planned to take to Parowan Gap, so we ended up approaching it from the "other side" by accident!​

There are many amazing rock art sites, but the Parowan Gap - for good reason - is one of Utah’s best-known. Located in a 600-foot-deep notch through the Red Hills - on the eastern edge of the Escalante Desert - it is overflowing with bright petroglyphs in some of the most amazing patterns.

Of them, it was the Zipper Glyph that I most wanted to show @mrs.turbodb.
<blockquote class="two-column-layout">
<div id="photoContainer2" class="full-width-container">
<figure id="figure2">

​

<figcaption>A migration story.</figcaption></figure>
</div>
The petroglyph before you tells the story of the migration from old world to new. It depicts a long trail on which many experienced famine, drought, water crossings, cold, ice, and hot sun. The panel also talks of a great Leader. When the people arrived in this new land, conflict arose and the Leader was killed. The arrow inside his head, which touches the top of his head, indicates he knew he would die. The full petroglyph depicts the Leader. He is shown only as a head and body (no arms) and upside down to indicate that he died.

The Paiute Indian Tribe of Utah.​

[/I][/COLOR][/INDENT][/INDENT]

The Zipper Glyph.​

From the Zipper, we followed a familiar path, first walking the north side of the gap, then back on the south. It was fun to experience it a second time, but even more fun to watch my companion as she searched for the various panels and designs that I'd found on my previous visit. Unlike some petroglyph sites, the images here remain so vivid, that they are extremely enjoyable to discover.

Eastern panel.​

Mouse Man.​

Snake panel. (left) | A water story. (right)​

Parowan Gap boulder.​

South-side petroglyphs.​

It was as we were walking back along the southern side of the gap that @mrs.turbodb noticed a glyph high above the rest. It was some letter, she thought, as she reached for her binoculars to get a better look. But I recognized the symbol immediately. This was no letter. This was proof of a conspiracy.

Steve Jobs may have convinced many that he pioneered the personal computer, but the Command Button (⌘) existed long before Apple. ​

With many miles yet to cover before the main event of the day - and, having skipped breakfast, both of us starting to feel a bit peckish - we only spent 30 minutes gazing up at the walls. Then - a few minutes before 11:30am - we were once again settled into the Tacoma and racing our way north towards lunch.


Hondu Arch

Hondu Arch.​

I forget who it was exactly, but after our first visit to the San Rafael Swell when we'd visited Tomsich Butte, someone asked me if I knew that it was possible to hike onto the top of the Hondu Arch from the west. I hadn't known that at the time, but immediately on hearing it, I knew it was something I'd be working into a future trip.

Finally, three years later, today was going to be the day. Having first mapped out the route using satellite imagery, I'd recently discovered that it was also highlighted in - Hiking & Exploring Utah's San Rafael Swell - a book I'd recently acquired at the suggestion of Randy, who always seems to find the most amazing locations to lose himself on the Colorado Plateau.

It was 2:15pm as we exited I-70 and headed south through Mussentuchit Wash. With a full belly, it was prime post-lunch - or pre-dinner - napping time for my partner as the landscape morphed into the sandstone and mesas of this iconic land. Recently graded - or at least, lightly-travelled-since-the-last-grading - roads make the going quick as we raced towards the trailhead.

The perfect day for something that would turn out to be stupid.​

It was "as though God sprinkled boulders, like salt, across the landscape," @mrs.turbodb would later say.​

Approaching East Cedar Mountain.​

Even maintaining near-highway speeds, the jumping off point for our hike required nearly an hour of driving, so it wasn't until 3:15pm when we arrived at the John's Hole Overlook. Knowing that this was going to be a dramatic moment, I made sure to wake my partner in crime as the road veered toward the canyon rim.

A worthy view.​

For the last two miles, we wound our way along the edge - perhaps a little too close for some who were not behind the steering wheel - to a narrow finger that jutted out into the abyss. This - the spot where the road ended and a fire ring perched precariously - would be both our trailhead and camp site for what I envisioned being the highlight of the day - if not the trip!

End of the road.​

My top-5 list of camp sites is quickly filling with similar views.​

From here, the hike to Hondu Arch - as I'd mapped it - was just over 3.5 miles, one way. Mostly following the canyon rim, there were a few drainages we'd have to cross, along with several divides (saddles). Still, while I didn't remember exactly - or at all, it turns out - my feeling was that we weren't going to have too difficult a time with elevation gain or route finding. That was a good thing, by the time all of my, "I'm stopping for a photo," shenanigans are done, we tend to hike at an average of 1- to 1.5-miles per hour, meaning that we were getting back after the 8:22pm sunset, for sure.

Luckily, I knew this was likely to be the case, and I laid the whole thing out to @mrs.turbodb as we readied ourselves to go. Not one to generally enjoy hiking in the dark - a situation made more common given my propensity to squeeze in "one last thing" - she appreciated the heads up, as well as my reassurance that we'd definitely make it to the arch, and that it'd just be a "familiar" return trip when we'd be using our headlamps.

The rim looked simple enough from this vantage point.​

Ready to go, Tomsich Butte in the distance.​

Besides getting a late start - it was only a few minutes before 4:00pm when we finally got underway - the afternoon had turned windy as we'd made our way towards John's Hole. Now, as we followed an old, closed, ATV trail through the Muddy Creek Wilderness and along the edge of the canyon, 45 mph gusts threatened to blow our hats - and us - into the abyss.

The western edge of the San Rafael Swell anticline.​

Muddy Creek has been hard at work.​

"I'm stopping again." --me​

The first mile or so went reasonably quickly, with my description of the hike proving to be accurate. Then, we reached the first divide. It was awesome!

A narrow bridge of rock between two mesas, @mrs.turbodb was not delighted. She's not terribly scared of heights, but with the uneven surface, gusty winds, and knowledge that we'd be doing this again in the dark, she was less-than-thrilled with the situation.

"I'm not loving this." --[USER=190980]@mrs.turbodb[/USER]​

Of course, she made it across like a champ, and as I once again began leading the way, it was soon me who turned around to her and suggested, "this might be the end of the trail for us!"

What I'd recalled as a reasonably flat hike seemed to end with us along a canyon finger. 15-feet wide and punctuated on three sides by a sheer 50-foot drop, if we couldn't find a way down, we were in no danger of getting back to camp under cover of darkness.

After a few minutes of searching, I found a route down. @mrs.turbodb followed.​

After a short downclimb, we were off the top of the finger and back onto a faint trail.​

Trying to stay positive, I wasn't sure that my route down was going to get us very much farther. This was getting a little narrow, even for me.​

Heading out the narrow path of the finger, I wasn't surprised when I heard @mrs.turbodb suggest that I continue on without her. Luckily, just as she said that, I reached a point where a gap opened up in the tall vertical wall, allowing us to avoid the narrowest part of the trail that hugged the base of the sandstone.

We couldn't see this gap at all from the sunny side. Unfortunately, finding it didn't suddenly solve all our problems.​

Making our way through the gap, the situation didn't look fabulous on the other side. Extremely steep, the only way down seemed to be a sheep trail. Somehow, I convinced my companion to continue on, assuring her that we would turn around if things started to get too sketchy, and that once we got to the bottom of this steep section, we'd probably have to turn around anyway, since neither of us could see where the trail went from there.

Pretty flat trail. Just need to get down, then back up to the saddle on the right side of that butte. "No problem."
​

Ultimately, we were able to make our way down the steep section of trail, and then traverse - following the tracks of a bighorn sheep - nearly a half-mile through seemingly impossible terrain, to the saddle. From there, it was a "simple" matter of dropping down into the adjacent wash and following it back along the opposite side of the ridge to the rim of the canyon, and the next divide.

We certainly couldn't complain about the views.​

Back on the rim of the canyon, we could see the finger on which we'd begun, and the glint of the Tacoma's windshield!​

It was at this point - now 6:30pm - and only halfway to Hondu Arch - that I knew there was no way we were going to make it to our destination. Not just because of the time, but because it was clear that the remainder of the trail was only going to get more difficult. Not only had the route I'd mapped on satellite been incorrect - leaving us without a GPS track to follow - but the actual route climbed up and over the next finger, rather than skirting around it. Aptly named Slaughter Point, there was no way that the more intelligent of the two hikers was going to follow me up that slope.

We could see a faint sheep trail, but I was reminded that we are not sheep.​

And so, somewhat reluctantly, we found a spot that was sheltered from the wind - now gusting beyond 50 mph - and dug into the turkey sandwich we'd brought along just in case we were hungry when we arrived at Hondu Arch. Even in defeat, it tasted fantastic, and the view couldn't be beat.

The perfect place to enjoy a Turkey Tom from Jimmy Johns.​

While not easier, at least we knew the route, making our return to the Tacoma a reasonably straight-forward - and quicker - affair as compared to the outbound leg of our misadventure. Along the way, we once again admired the views as we clutched our hats to our heads and fought against the wind we hoped would subside before we had to setup the tent on the rim of the canyon.

Gap sunstar.​

Golden glow.​

We arrived back at camp well before sunset, melting into the still, warm air of the Tacoma's cab, relieved to finally get out of the wind. Somehow, here in the middle of nowhere, we had cell service, and after a quick check of the weather we discovered that the wind would subside a couple hours after sunset - and right about the time we'd normally climb into bed.

So, after eating the remaining sandwich (and cookie) we'd picked up for dinner, we whiled away the time with a bit of photo processing, reading, and solitaire as gusts buffeted the truck along the edge of the canyon.

As the winds died down around 10:00pm, I ventured back outside to try to replicate a technique I'd seen Mike @mk5 execute much more successfully than I was able to achieve here. I assure you, it is not because he has a better flashlight.​

And with that, we headed to bed, the first of two goals for the trip, unrealized. As we nodded off under a moonless sky, we could only hope we'd have better luck the following morning. We'd be hunting for a little-known ruin on the opposite side of the state. A search that - as I'd mentioned to @mrs.turbodb - I thought had a 10% chance of success, as compared to the 90% odds I'd given the Hondu Arch.

And we'd seen how successful those odds had been!

 

One of these days I'll be lucky enough to catch you guys out here.

 

Now, the clutch pedal always returns fully, and I chuckle every time the muscle memory of my foot reaches around the pedal to pull it completely out ...only to find that it's already in the right position!

Time will tell if it's as good as it seems, and my money is on years of trouble-free operation.

For anyone looking to do this upgrade themselves, I've got a short, simple guide to the work:
Fixing the Clutch Pedal Spring
(Torsion to Linear, Eliminate Squeaks)​

[/QUOTE]
Just a thought -
When my clutch pedal did not return fully, I addressed the issue by bleeding the slave cylinder - out popped a bubble. Clutch pedal return was normal for about a season, then it happened again, and I blead it again - out popped another bubble and clutch pedal return was normal. When it happened the third time, I rebuilt the slave cylinder, and it has not happened since. I have read most of your writings, but I don't recall you ever rebuilding the slave cylinder yet.

I enjoy reading about your travels. The photos are amazing.

 

That would be cool for sure. I do wish it were easier to find each other. It's always so hard to remember where everyone lives and then also to coordinate times for meeting up/passing through. It's one of the reasons I love stumbling on people when out on the trail - takes all the hard logistics out of the encounter!

Thanks! As always, it's nice to hear when stories and photos are enjoyed.

For the slave cylinder - I've not rebuilt it myself, and I think I bled it a few years ago, but I forget and I should check it again regardless. I did have it replaced back in 2013, but that was a little different because the pedal felt like it was being sucked to the floor when that happened (and I had absolutely zero idea about how any of the mechanicals of the truck worked at that point).

 

Another Swing-and-a-Miss | Other Side #2
Part of the The Other Side (May 2024) trip.

I wouldn't say the wind was calm as we went to sleep overlooking John's Hole in the San Rafael Swell, but it was definitely tapering off. By midnight, only a gentle breeze blew past our camp before cascading down into the canyon.

Until 3:00am. That's when we were sent scurrying for our earplugs. It's amazing how much difference a good set of these can make, and soon we were sleeping like babies, the flapping of the roof top tent muffled as our cliff-edge-cradle was rocked by the wind until just after sunrise.

Wanting to catch the canyon before too many shadows stretched across the floor, I'd set my alarm for way-too-early - especially given the hour we'd lost in crossing time zones - and set about trying to capture the scene before climbing back into bed to warm up for another hour.

Even before sunrise, there was plenty of reflected light to illuminate the sandstone.​

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Looking back along the "trail" we'd attempted the previous evening, as night turned into day.​

John's Hole.​

Layers of landscape.​

We didn't have quite as far to drive on this leg of our trip, so it wasn't until just before 9:00am that we rolled out of camp and headed back towards I-70, where we'd turn east and make our way through the heart of the Swell before turning south for a jaunt along UT-191 through the zoo known as Moab.

For now though, we decided to make our route through the western edge of the Swell into a loop, experiencing the area around Cedar Mountain and East Cedar Mountain a bit more leisurely than we had on our way out to John's Hole.

Still a bit of snow on the peaks.​

East Cedar Mountain was looking striking in the morning sun.​

Into the folds as we neared Cedar Mountain.​

A family of wild horses galloped off after they spotted us approaching. The little guy kept up pretty well!​

South of Cedar Mountain, the road entered a series badland-esqe washes, pools of water - and the resulting soft, sticky mud - still present in many of the bends. Doing our best to avoid making a mess of the truck, we avoided what we could and took it slow through sections that spanned the entire road. Remember - even in most situations like this - it's important to stay the trail, otherwise we end up with a braid of trails. And that's what gets trails closed.

In one bend of the wash, the softer sandstone was laced with some crystalline intrusions.​

Sandstone veins.​

Eventually, we emerged from the washes as we rejoined Upper Last Chance Road and headed north towards Mussentuchit Flat. The views here, too, were dramatic, as wind and water have whittled away softer material to reveal dramatic ridges, narrow fins, and tall pillars.

The ridge protruding from the right side of this photo has the perfect profile, but when viewed from the position of the Tacoma was extremely narrow.​

A narrow fin of volcanic origin, perhaps the result of intrusion through a fault line?​

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At Red Point, the sentinel formations reminded me of my time at Cathedral Gorge.​

Racing along, we both spotted these brilliant claret cups - our first of the season - along the side of the road, and had to back up to check them out.​

By the time we reached pavement, it was nearly noon and the low fuel light was hesitantly illuminating as the last couple gallons of fuel sloshed their way too-and-fro in the tank. We weren't going to make it 69 miles to Green River, but rather than siphoning gas from the jerry cans immediately, we decided to hold off until we could admire the view at the same time.

When you're in the San Rafael Swell, it's never a long time before you have a nice view.

Yep, that'll do for a view as we refuel the Tacoma with enough gas to get us to Blanding!
(Spotted Wolf Canyon and the distant La Sal Mountains)​

Now, while the focus of these trips always tends to be what we'll see along the way, something that's always on our minds - and especially @mrs.turbodb's mind, as she absolutely loves to cook - is what we'll be eating for various meals. Over the years we've adapted our style. Originally, we approached meals much as we do at home - grilling chicken, steak, fish, or burgers, assembling salads from ingredients packed away in the fridge. It wasn't the time that it took to accomplish - though it did take a while - but rather, the resulting cleanup that pushed us to the taco-rittoes that became our mainstay for a few years. Simple yet tasty, we could pre-prepare everything but the guacamole, and even then, we'd have only a single pot to wash once dinner was done. That still works well for trips where the Tacoma starts out at home - so we can bring avocadoes that are perfectly ripe at the correct time for us to eat - but when it's in Las Vegas, chicken tender wraps have become our new go-to dinner.

But not this trip. On this trip we ate out every single meal. And there was no more anticipated meal than the one we were going to have in Moab. We'd stopped at Tey's Homemade Mexican Food when we'd passed through on the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route, and @mrs.turbodb had fallen in love with the breakfast tacos. So, when I mentioned that we ought to stop there again, she was 100% on board.

We both enjoyed the breakfast tacos this time.
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As we headed out of town, the La Sals were still draped in their winter whites.​

Searching for Juniper Tree Ruin

I do love Comb Ridge, as it undulates along a 20+ mile stretch of the earth.​

From Moab, we were headed to Bluff, and from Bluff to Comb Ridge. There, somewhere, is a ruin that I've been searching for over the course of several years. While not unknown, this ruin - with walls supported by a Juniper Tree trunk - is infrequently visited and photographed, and the location is kept well under wraps by those who have been lucky enough to visit.

And I'm fine with that. I appreciate it and understand why. Still, I'll keep searching until I find it.

Looking through the - relatively little - material I have been able to collect on the ruin, a note I'd either missed or not been able to follow up on in my previous research gave me a new idea, so it was with high hopes that we hit the dirt towards a spot I'd marked on the map.

Perhaps, finally, we'd find it!

Even if we didn't find it, we were in for a visual feast.​

Blooming yucca!​

As we neared the spot I'd marked, a short spur road appeared to take us almost all the way to the ruin. It was hard to believe it would be this easy, and both @mrs.turbodb and I took it as a good sign when we came to a carsonite BLM marker at the head of the spur that read NO VEHICLES.

Donning our hiking getup and heading up the road on foot, we started taking bets on whether we'd finally found it. I forget what the odds we each gave were, but it didn't matter. In a few short minutes we'd find out that the ruin at this site was not the one we'd been searching for!

Looks promising as we follow the old road.​

@mrs.turbodb spotted this small granary first, and it was most definitely not what we were hoping to find. ​

It was still only 5:00pm at this point, so we decided that we'd spend the rest of the day - and perhaps a bit of the next - exploring the area. I didn't have any more "specific locations" in mind, but I did have some hints that would at least send is in the correct direction - or at least, hopefully, keep us from heading 180 degrees off course. And so, after following another spur road, we once again found ourselves on foot, exploring our way into a canyon and along the base of the cliffs, our eyes peeled and our heads on a swivel.

Let the search begin.​

Eventually, we reached the head of several drainages, each one narrowing to a colorful slot canyon before petering out.​

The light was fantastic as we headed back out the way we'd come.​

After exploring a few miles of cliff, we settled in for the evening.​

As the last of the light spilled across the mesa, we enjoyed some burritos we'd picked up Tey's when we'd enjoyed breakfast-for-lunch.​

Settling into our nightly routine, we watched the light fade from the sky over Comb Ridge, a timeless view that's been enjoyed for centuries by those before us. Eventually, it was time to get ready for bed, and as we washed our faces and brushed our teeth, I wandered away from the Tacoma - down the spur road we'd parked at the end of - to go to the bathroom.

That's when I heard it. At first, I thought it was just a grass in the wind, but I still jumped just a little bit and moved to the other lane of the two-track road. Spitting out my toothpaste, I headed back to the truck and grabbed my flashlight.

There, hunkered down under a sage, was a foot-long baby rattlesnake, and I don't think he was all that happy to see me. Of course, now the race was on: could I get the camera and figure out what dials to turn and buttons to press in order to make it snap a photo at night? Probably not.

OMG, it worked! And it is in focus!​

@mrs.turbodb did not approve. And that tells you all you need to know about which one of us is the smart one in our relationship.

The following morning...

Our night along Comb Ridge was the most pleasant of the entire trip. Temperatures were in the mid-50s °F. There was only the slightest of breeze to move air through the tent. It was still early enough in the season that the no-see-ums were nowhere to be seen. And so, when the sun came up the following morning - again, an hour too early if our internal Pacific Time clocks had anything to say about it - we were well rested and ready for our last day in Utah. And Arizona. And the Navajo Nation.

From atop the mesa, our little camp site had a great view of Comb Ridge.​

It really does look like the Backbone of the Earth.​

Our only plan for the day was to make our way west - towards Las Vegas - where we had a departing flight the following morning. Along the way, we'd stop for two short-ish hikes - just outside of Kanab and St. George - but otherwise it was just going to be another day of driving. So, after a quick consult, we decided that we might as well spend a few more hours along Comb Ridge, continuing our search for the Juniper Tree Ruin!

When we - or at least I - think of Comb Ridge, I think of the road system as being relatively straight forward. On the west side, Comb Wash road follows the base of the cliffs, and Butler Wash traces a similar pattern on the east side of the formation. Turns out that on both sides of the ridge, there are maze-like road systems, and we explored several - both in the Tacoma and on foot - as we continued our search.

Didn't expect us to be driving on slickrock this trip!​

As we explored one road after the next, we found several that climbed up to camp sites with panoramic views of Comb Ridge.​

Ultimately, we covered another 10 (or so) miles of sandstone wall that could have contained - but did not, as far as we could tell with our still-very-good eyesight - the ruin for which we were searching. In the process, we encountered a few segments of reasonably technical road, and while I hadn't aired down all trip, I decided for one short, narrow section, that it would be a good idea to engage the rear locker.

Pressing the button, it engaged as it always has, and after driving through the obstacle, I pressed the button again to release the locker and didn't give it a second thought.

Until about 300 feet later when I noticed that the locker was still on. Strange.

This is where I realized the locker hadn't disengaged.​

Not sure what was going on, I performed the "usual" unlocking tricks. Forward and backward, some easy turns. Actuating the locker a couple of times. Nothing worked. Hmm.

After mentioning the issue to @mrs.turbodb, we decided that we'd better call it quits on the ruin search and get ourselves headed in the "back" direction, just in case we needed some professional help to get the locker disengaged.

The locked locker wasn't an issue as we headed south along Butler Wash, but as soon as we turned west on pavement, we experienced the telltale jumping of the rear end. It wouldn't be a problem on the highways - where turns are broad and I was aware of the issue - but I wasn't looking forward to dropping the truck off at the storage facility, where they'd have to make tight turns to park it until my next visit.

Many have had trouble with their e-lockers - usually because they've not used them for long periods of time and so they get gummed up - but I've never had any issue or run into this situation before.​

After a bit more discussion, we decided we had three options:

1. Use the hi-lift to jack up the rear end of the truck until the tires were off the ground, and then try to rotate the wheels to jostle - and release - the locker. This wouldn't fix the underlying problem, but would at least allow us to drop the Tacoma in Las Vegas as we'd planned.
2. Take the Tacoma to a shop and have them manually disengage the e-locker by removing the locker housing and prying the locking fork out of the differential. Or, try to do it myself in a parking lot.
3. Drive all the way home - some 27+ hours - so I could diagnose and fix the underlying issue.

None of these were great options, but we figured we might as well start at the top and work our way down the list, since neither of us wanted to spend that kind of time on the road.

Option 1 turned out to be harder than it sounded. Trying to balance a 5500 lbs Tacoma with the rear travel of Chevy 63 leaf springs on a hi-lift inserted into the trailer hitch is nearly impossible, and no matter how we tried, it kept falling to one side or the other.

Option 2 also turned out to be impossible given the time. Already after noon on a Friday, every shop in Page, AZ was at least a few days from being able to take a look at the issue, much less solve it.

Option 3 still sucked.

So, we resulted to Option 2B - find a parking lot where I could take a look at the situation and try removing the locker manually. I was not looking forward to this option given that I've never performed this operation before, and I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion.

As I slid under the truck , I took stock of the situation. All the wiring harness were plugged in and the connecters seemed fully seated. Still, before taking the whole thing apart, I had @mrs.turbodb press the RR DIFF LOCK button a couple times to see if I could hear it attempt to acuate; I could not.

And then, I saw it.

The problem.​

Finding that wire that'd broken was a huge relief. It wasn't something that I could easily fix, but it was something I could temporarily hold together with a pair of pliers while @mrs.turbodb pressed the RR DIFF LOCK button to disengage the locker!

Five minutes later, the diff was unlocked and we were back on the road. I'd have to fix the actual wiring later - the next time the Tacoma ends up at home - but we'd dodged a huge bullet and I thought we might even have time to do those hikes we'd planned for our return trip to Vegas...

 

You're an inspiration, sir. Keep up the amazing travels, write-ups, and serious sense of adventure within you.