4/8/04 – Alan, Paula and I loaded up the backpack, panniers and bob trailer (respectively) for a short tour in the San Rafael area. We started our trip in Patagonia, at the Arizona Trail parking lot, rolling out in the late morning.
It was warm and comfortable with large puffy clouds in the sky. We rode up Harshaw creek to the crest of the San Rafael valley. Unfortunately the grandeur of the valley unfolding at the hill’s crest was somewhat spoilt for Paula by a flatting (pannier loaded) rear tire. We fixed it on the vast plateau then continued on to Canelo Pass. I was surprised at how easy the climb felt despite the (possibly overloaded) Bob trailer. I had 3 sleeping bags, 3 thermarests, a large tent & tarp plus a bag of my clothes and other items. For a while I also had my 15 pound camelback on there (mostly water). It was actually quite fun to pull it.
Near the town of Canelo we hit our only pavement of the ride–on highway 83. But soon we opted for “old 83” which is still dirt and was devoid of traffic. As we turned off two border patrol “cops” came speeding by, seemingly out of control. After watching them speed by I was glad we had turned off the narrow highway; and, this was not to be our last encounter with these control officers.
We climbed a surprising amount out of Canelo into the backside of the hills. Still on the pavement I noticed pockets of ponderosa pine trees in valleys below us. Then the trees appeared on the trail. Somewhat of a strange sight for the 5400-5800 foot range, but a welcome surprise. The dirt turned darker and the air cooler–it was awesome.
A few last hills that definitely took their toll remained to reach our destination: Parker Canyon Lake. We were considering staying at the FS campground, but after watching hordes of campers and yahoos in pickups drive by us on 83 (despite it being a weekday!) we knew the campground was going to be out of the question.
The lake was better than I expected it: very large and quite scenic. The water even looked fairly clear. The shop at the bottom was all about one thing: fishing. And the owner only wanted to talk about one thing: fishing. I told him we might camp off the lake somewhere, away from the chaos of the campground, to which he replied “This lake is always quiet, not like Patagonia.” Uh, huh.
We hopped on the lakeshore trail to find a place to camp. Singletrack with the bob worked out very well, though some sections of the trail were totally eroded away, making them unrideable even w/o a trailer. Al spotted a social trail heading away from the lake that lead to a fire ring and a relatively flat area. It would work and was sufficiently far from the water (well above it with a nice view in fact).
We set up, then headed out sans gear to the lakeview campground to look for water. There was an old road behind our campsite which we took, looking for a way to avoid sliding the trailer over the eroded lakeshore trail. The road took us where we needed to go, but it climbed far above the lake. As we started downhill to the lake I heard a frightening sound–a vehicle was coming towards us at a ridiculous speed. I yelled to Al and Paula to get off the road as I did the same. Our border patrol buddy drove around the corner almost completely out of control and kicking up enormous amounts of dust. He barely slowed when he saw us and may have taken Al (in the lead) out had he not jumped off the road. Another truck was following him (at a slightly safer speed). I shrugged my shoulders at him and threw up my arms in disbelief. I won’t call into question the somewhat dubious mission of the border patrol here, but one thing is for certain: even if you think it’s an important job, it isn’t worth risking the life of citizens for. The guy was completely out of control and should have had his SIREN on if it was really an emergency.
We kept riding and found the campsite as expected–rowdy and completely full. We filled up our camelbaks and bottles, then headed out, taking the lakeshore trail back to our camp.
We could still hear the “quiet” campsite on the other side of the lake–0.5 miles as the crow flies. The night was a bit cold but there weren’t any clouds around so we didn’t bother with the tent. In the middle of the night a mouse grabbed the zip lock bag I had my PB&J sandwich in, but our panniers hung in the trees safe and sound.
4/9/04 – In the morning Al and I went down to the dam, then rode the lake shore trail in its entirety (roughly 5 miles). It was surprisingly nice and actually quite technical in places. It was mostly flat, but on the north end the taller trees appeared, and there’s even an island. It made for quite a nice morning warmup ride.
On the northeast side near the campground there were quite a few people out fishing. We exchanged some friendly greetings, then received a choice comment from a mulleted man in a black t-shirt, with Keystone light nearby.
He asked, “did you ride around the whole thing [the lake]?”
“Yes”
I almost didn’t believe his response: an enthusiastic “Yeaa, Rock on!” Al didn’t believe me at first, but come on, the guy had a mullet for crying out loud.
We filled up water again at the campground, just to be safe, then rode back to camp to rest a while, then head out. We were treated to some very nice temperatures and plenty of cloud cover as we climbed the big hill behind the campsite, then turned right towards the Arizona trail.
We could have taken the safe, graded road route back into the San Rafael, but we instead opted for the “short cut” on lower class and more unknown roads. Things looked good at the start, so we continued rolling down the slightly rough but very scenic and gradual descent. I was a bit worried things might get too rough for the trailer, but what I really should have worried about was access to the road(s). We consulted the map a few times, trying to drop into Jones Canyon. After a right turn, we rolled some more downhill out, then were met with the worst of signs: no tresspassing, private property, blah blah blah. Yet another inholding in public lands. How nice of them (or the Forest Service) to sign this road as NOT A THRU road, before we had dropped 200 feet–Fie. We turned around and climbed back up to the last junction, still unsure if the same fate awaited us down the left (and more unused) road. This road, not on any of our maps, did lead us where we needed to go, but we soon faced another “private property” sign–this one for the San Rafael ranch. The signs were on the sides of the road, and it was clearly county maintained, so we took it to mean that the property on the sides of the road was private.
We passed gate after gate, each one fashioned with a private property sign or two. We began sarcastically singing the praises of GI Rancher, always there to shut down access to public lands. He’ll ranch for freedom wherever there’s trouble: GI Rancher will dare. I still don’t know how you’re supposed to divine where all these private property closures are. The USGS maps certainly don’t help. I suppose you could ask the FS before a trip, but I’m somewhat doubtful that you’d be able to talk to someone that can actually get you the information you need. Afterall, if it was that easy, why didn’t they just sign the road?
We were on the legitimate access road through the San Rafael valley and after 7 or 8 miles on “their” property we saw the sign (in reverse) that said “access is granted but may be revoked at any time.” We hit the junction and rolled back down Harshaw Creek road and the car. The temperatures and cloud cover held, and we ran into almost zero cars the entire day. It really was an ideal place for a bike tour–a very enjoyable loop. Paula did very well on the ride, coming off months of intense marathon training, then racing hard only a few days ago. She was getting tired near the end but pulling through.
In the end we had about 80 miles and around 7500 feet of climbing. I am looking forward to further tours. Something is likely to happen this summer, but specifics have yet to be worked out.
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