Special thanks to BarYak for the handlebar harness system and Bike Bag Dude. Adventures like this wouldn’t be possible without them!
White Rim Trail
Canyonlands National Park, Utah
November 2017
I set out to bikepack the White Rim Trail and the surrounding area — 146 miles in 3 days, self-supported, carrying all the gear and water I would need. There is always a concern for water in the desert and you’ll hear about it from everyone and their grandmother. But there’s something else that isn’t talked about nearly as much. Something that at a moment’s notice can rise up and cause havoc. Unexpected, high winds with gusts reaching 50 or more miles per hour. This, I wasn’t prepared for.
I started from the intersection of Highway 191 and Scenic Byway 313 and rode to Airport Campground, the first campsite on the White Rim, named for the large rock tower nearby. The breeze made cooking dinner a little difficult and caused me to burn through twice as much fuel even with a windscreen. The breeze changed to a slight wisp as I laid down for the night. Everything went calm. I gazed up at the stars as the wispy clouds floated past and felt a cool desert air. I drifted away.
Suddenly, I woke to a fierce gust of wind. The dirt and sand whipped through the air and ricocheted off the ground and my belongings. Just as soon as one gust was over, another howled not far away. I jumped up and tossed rocks onto my quilt while I gathered up my clothes and gear I left out to dry on rocks. All the while, huge 50-mile per hour gusts roared in. Further down the rim, I heard another build up, getting louder and louder the closer it got. The red dirt whipped through the air. I tucked my head down, turned away and braced as sand pounded against my back and head.
The sand whipped through the air. I tucked my head down, turned away and braced as sand pounded against my back and head.
My clothes had already begun to scatter and I ran around with a headlamp chasing down my shirts, socks, and other belongings. I gathered everything but one sock. I looked for a few more minutes then gave up. Everything else was secured. I wiped the grit out of my eyes and crawled back into my quilt. Each time I heard a bigger gust approaching, I pulled the bag up over my head and tucked as far in as I could as I braced as it hit again. This was going to be a long night.
After hours of enduring the storm, but finally falling asleep, gripping my quilt tightly wrapped around me, I felt a drop. No. I looked up and noticed that one dark cloud, in an otherwise clear sky, loomed directly over me. I looked at the ground and my personal belongings covered in a layer of dust. Sure enough, there were some drops on them. Rain and dirt was not a good combo and I wasn’t going to chance it. I reluctantly jumped up, yet again. I decided to take refuge in the vault toilet restroom. Battling the storm, which seemed to come from every direction, I carried as much as I could.
I looked up and noticed that one dark cloud, in an otherwise clear sky, loomed directly over me.
After three trips, I had all my gear inside the small enclosed space. I laid out my tarp, sleeping bag and pad on the cold, grimy concrete and tried to position myself as far away from the toilet as possible. The pungent smell soon wore off and the protection from the howling turmoil outside was nice. I looked at my phone. My now cracked screen, from stepping on it when I frantically gathered my belongings from blowing away, read 3 AM. I dozed off again, going into a dream for the first time that night. I can’t remember what it was, but I remember it being very odd… and having to do with a vault toilet. Those three hours of sleep were the best I had all night but didn’t nearly last long enough.
Soon my stomach growled. I crawled out of the claustrophobic smell factory only to be blown away by the beauty outside.
The sun lit up the canyon and the red dirt, which I cursed the night before. What was previously a treacherous environment of whipping wind carrying sand in every direction you turned to avoid it, was now peaceful, as if nothing had ever happened.
Despite the negative events, it was a good experience and gave me respect for the desert — a landscape which can turn against you at a moment’s notice.
I boiled water for my oatmeal and coffee, packed my bike and rode away from camp, leaving behind those dreadful memories. I only hoped it would be better from there on out, that the worst was over and I could enjoy the White Rim without the focus of those memories.
It is interesting, however, that in all the beautiful sights I saw. The thrills I had. The incredible terrain I traveled through. When the White Rim comes to mind either in daydreaming or in sharing my stories, I always mention this night.
…it was a good experience and gave me respect for the desert — a landscape which can turn against you at a moment’s notice.
On the second day, I would ride along the entire White Rim from Airport Campground to Labyrinth Campground, the last campsite before climbing back out of the canyon.
Did you like what you read? Soon I’ll be sharing an in-depth trip report of the whole 146 miles in 3 days, including how I planned for it, the gear I used and many, many more photos of this incredible place!
If you’d like to know anything specific, shoot me an email with your questions.
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