“All I saw was his taillights about twelve feet up and rolling to the left!”
FEATURED IN CARTWHEELING' MAGAZINE
PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVE DAHM
It was a typical Tuesday morning when driving into the office thinking of overdue bills the coming weekends chores and how in world the morning radio DJ's could be in such a great mood, when my cell phone rang. On the other end was my close friend that had recently moved to Lake Havasu Arizona. A fellow adventurer at heart, he had come up with another wild idea to get me to come out. "Why don't you grab your Rhino, come out to Havasu, and we'll go to the Grand Canyon!” I don't think I spoke for a full minute thinking back to the last “adventure” he came up with, witch ended with a phone call to my wife explaining that we were stuck in a blizzard in Big Bear, and that we needed her to hook up the trailer to the back of my truck and come get us… I still hear about that…
Just before he hung up the phone thinking we'd lost signal, I said, “That sounds like a great idea!”
Winter was coming on fast, so it was imperative that we did the ride as soon as possible. So with the holiday weekends filling up fast we decided on the weekend before Christmas. With short days, and brutally cold nights, it was definitely worthy of the title of “Adventure”.
That Monday before the trip my buddy called to make sure I was still coming out, and to let me know that two of his fellow Rhino buddies would be joining the ride, so that Friday night after work I headed straight to Havasu.
The next morning came early, as the four of us headed out around six o'clock, but first we had to stop by one of the guy's office to grab a forgotten item. As it turned out, his office was located on the waterfront in the English Village, right next to the famous London Bridge. Photo Opp.! Being off-season and so early in the morning the place was deserted. So we snuck the Rhinos down to the lower level courtyard and took some great and rare photos.
Once on the trail heading out of town it started to sink in just how long this day was going to be. The first hour or so was some great high-speed Baja-style jeep roads that paralleled the highway heading northwest towards Kingman. Along the way, now paralleling the railroad tracks, we came across The Doll House. A truck stop / gentlemen's club that must have been built very early in the last century since it sported his and hers outhouses built right into the front next to the entrance.
Past the Jump of Death we came into what we thought to be an old abandoned factory, so we thought. Spreading out across the vast back lot of this mammoth facility to get out of each other's dust, I happened to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. An over eager rent-a-cop in a older Ford pickup with a single yellow flashing light on it's roof was hot on our tail. We must have looked like scattering roaches as we headed in every direction trying to find a way out of there! Finally we found a hole in the barbwire topped fence, and escaped to the safety on the opposite side of the fence, and railroad tracks. That made for a great laugh a mile or so up the
road.
Driving four Rhino's down Main Street, Kingman was kind of cool. The looks from the passing cars and pedestrians on the street corners were a mix of surprise and wonder. Once refueled and back off the pavement we found a wide open dirt road that paralleled Rout 66 north towards the town (if that's what you'd call the single signcovered gift shop complete with a beautiful all original 57' corvette parked out front as “decoration”) of Hackberry. Venturing on we found an old mining road that wound its way through the ever-changing landscape of red rock and sagebrush. Passing old Victorian style ranches nestled in the willow's set along small seasonal streams, I really started to slow down mentally and take it all in. This was a great idea indeed.
Pulling into the Indian Nation town of Peach Springs, located along the historic Rout 66, it occurred to me that this trip was actually going to be a double feature. Not only were we headed for one of nature's most wonderful marvels, but we were also being submerged in the romance and wonder of the nations first interstate, the great 66. Once the greatest highway in the states, these towns that were once thriving metropolises are now merely empty shells of their former selves. When the newer, straighter, and faster interstate 40 was completed, these towns that it bypassed turned to dust overnight. (The annimated move Cars is real. In fact Radiator Springs was actually named after Peach Springs.)
We knew that from this town we could find a rout that would take us to our destination, the Grand Canyon. We went into the local market with the sign on the front that said “One child in the store at a time please” and asked the Indian lady with the three kids running amuck how we could get to the rim from there. She politely told us of Dear And Doe Rd. just outside of town, and explained that we needed to buy a pass from the local wildlife office before venturing onto their sacred land. Then staring at my buddies $5000 professional camera slung over his shoulder, she reluctantly asked, “are you going to be taking pictures?”… We said no.
It was now late in the afternoon and the sun was sinking low in the western winter sky, the temperature was dropping fast and if we were going to make it to the edge for sunset photos we'd have to get moving. Heading out the 60-mile dirt road towards the rim we could see the top edges of the great canyon in the distance straight ahead, and off to our right to the distant north. We passed small non-descript dirt roads heading off to the north every mile or so, but we continued down the main road as the anticipation of the canyon grew.
After 45 minutes on this wide dirt road that seemed to be running parallel to the rim, with the sun quickly setting, we made the fateful decision to take one of these inviting roads to the north sure we'd run into the rim in only a mile or two.
With the anticipation of the great rim and unimaginable views reaching a fever pitch, we raced each other as if in the lead to win the world famous Baja 1000. After several miles of winding around through cattle grounds, chasing elk the size of fat horses with antlers spanning at least six feet, while racing blindly through a field of grass six feet high, we finally stopped along the old cattle trail and watched as the last of the sun sank into the western sky… We failed… But more importantly, where were we?!
As night quickly fell around us and the wind began to pick up, we knew we had a long and cold night ahead of us. Starting the campfire became priority number one as the temperature dropped into the 30's as if someone switched on the great AC in the sky. It was only seven o'clock. Happy hour!
After three hours of great laughs of the day and a few bottles of the devil, we thought we'd better get the tents up, and the bedding down. It was now 22 degrees, and blowing a constant 10 knots from the north, according to my trusty hand held wind and temp meter from Big Five. The skies were still clear, but we were all too aware of the oncoming storm that was due to arrive either late that night or early the next morning. At 5500 ft. that meant snow, and at least six to eight inches worth.
As the sun rose in the east, we all seem to come to life at the same moment, and with the same thoughts… “Oh my head!”... & “Dam its cold!” We quickly dressed and refueled the still smoldering ashes to get some warmth back into our blood. The impending storm had not arrived, but the wall of clouds on the horizon was a sure sign that she was still coming.
After breakfast we pulled out the GPS to try to determine first how close we were to the canyon, and second, where we were at all! According to the little black computer we were still six miles from the river as a crow flies, and forty eight miles from Rout 66. Knowing of the long day ahead, the approaching storm, and the relatively short distance to the river, we decided to pack up camp and continue to our destination. We weren't giving up yet!
Once the camp was packed, we buckled in to head out, only to find that one of the Rhinos refused to start. Apparently running that massive overhead lights the night before with the engine off while trying to set up the tents in the bitterly cold wind wasn't the greatest idea; although I do wish we had a video of that segment! After the brief “friendly” discussion over who was suppose to bring the jumper cables, we had to get creative. Removing one battery and holding it upside down onto the top of the other sounded like a good idea at the time. However in practice it didn't work out so well. Fortunately the Rhino in question happened to have a winch on the front with huge leads that were easy to get to.
Not before we moved one foot in the direction of the great canyon did the adrenaline spike in all of us as we pinned the throttle and the race continued from the evening before as if it had never stopped. Thankfully my reaction time and location allowed me to gain the lead and stay out of the blinding dust that would quickly stop or progress in its tracks.
“All I saw was his taillights about twelve feet up and rolling to the left!”
Yeah, I'm glad I got the lead. It seamed my buddy / photographer decided he could take the lead if he could only get around the outside in the next corner… He failed to see the rock the size of the desk that I'm sitting to type this, and went for the ride of his life! Not only did he destroy his rim & tire, crack his a-arm, and badly bruise his ego, but he managed to actually oblong his steering wheel!
Battered, but not broken we put on the spare, laughing about the huge rock that he somehow split in two and then realized that his Rhino wasn't running… Remember the lights from the night before?Same Rhino. Again pulling the battery from another Rhino we were able to get it running only to notice that the impending storm was right on top of us. It was getting late in the morning, the storm was on us, and we had no idea where we were or how far we were from the rim. With no remaining spare, fuel running low, a storm clamping down, and the real world calling us to come back to reality, it was time to admit defeat and turn for home.
Making our way out of the bush and back to the main dirt road was thankfully easier then anticipated. Only two hours had passed before making it back to Buck And Doe Rd. to continue our journey roughly thirty miles up the main dirt road heading back to Peach Springs.
Once in Peach Springs we headed north for a few miles to the Grand Canyon Caverns. Arriving at the caverns around lunch time, we were delighted to find that they boasted about their world famous cheese burgers. They weren't lying! Never before had I not been able to finish the biggest of burgers. Twice this weekend we were all defeated, as none of use could muster the strength to finish them, even though we desperately wanted to.
While enjoying our burgers and beer we kept hearing the loudspeaker in the background announcing tour starting times for the caverns. This peaked our interests, so twelve dollars and twenty one stories down; we were smack dab in the center of a cavern that could hold four regulation football fields. Making our way along the path looking at all of natures subterranean beauties we passed a giant prehistoric sloth. It looked like a giant grizzly bear with a tail. Apparently it, along with a few others found down there, wandered in and could find their way out. Above the sloth's head on the wall you could plainly see her claw marks where she tried to climb out.
Once back on the surface it was time to say goodbye to the cook, waitress, and others who made us feel like family in only an hour, and prepared for our long journey home. But once again before we could leave, the spare tire on the one Rhino was flat. It was a quarter after one in the afternoon with 6 hours of drive time, 170 miles to cover, and a flat spare. After a few minutes of looking the tire over to see the cause, we determined that it was merrily a loose valve stem. An easy fix. Except we could find a valve core remover to save our lives, so we pumped up the tire as hard as possible, chewed a piece of Bubble-Luscious, stole a metal valve stem cover from another Rhino, stuck the gum in and screwed it on.
The ride home was uneventful, staying within eyeshot of ol' Rout 66 incase we needed to break out the gum and find some air. Along the way we passed two story Victorian houses built in a time gone by, with barns and cattle fences that have stood the test of time and looked set to do so for some time to come.
We finally rolled in to Lake Havasu around eight o'clock that evening, cold, hungry, and exhausted. Thank god I only still had a four hour drive back to So Cal!
Departing my friend's house for the long warm quiet drive home, I simply looked at him and said “thanks… When are we going to finish this one?”
