• Date: October 25, 2024

• 45.8 Miles

• 2,277 Feet of Gain

• AZT Terminus at AZ/UT Border to near Bedrock Point

Biking House Rock Valley has become a multi-year love of mine. It all started back in 2017 when Darren and I were driving to the North Rim to stay at Big Springs and we eyed the straight arrow path of Buffalo Ranch Road cutting across the high grasslands out to places unknown to us. It struck us, stayed with us, and became a conversation topic we returned to over and over: what it would be like to ride out there? It took moving to the Canyon for me to begin really biking there starting in 2020. When winter set in high up on the rims, I began looking for relatively close desert treks to go ride in: House Rock Valley fit the intent. Ever since, I spend a good chunk of weekends in the area riding down old doubletrack and across sandy washes enjoying the grasslands, desert scrub, and spectacular scenery along Marble Canyon.

I originally included a ride along House Rock Valley as a portion of the North Rim - Capes of the Canyon. However, after feedback from riders and my own scouting of route changes for the North Rim COTC, I decided in June 2024 to remove the ride across the desert here - it proved too hot and chunky when descending off the Kaibab Plateau for real enjoyment in the summer. But the place is spectacular, and a unique slice of grasslands on the Colorado Plateau in northern Arizona. And wonderful to bike as well. So I decided after rereleasing the North Rim COTC to start making a ride of House Rock Valley its own route - one for the shoulder seasons. As autumn came, I worked on excising the route from COTC, expanding its exploration of side roads across House Rock Valley, and adding in some new short hikes to expansive views of Marble Canyon. Over Fall Break, I took a few friends out to the Arizona Game and Fish Headquarters at Buffalo Ranch to scout water there and take a trip to South Canyon Trailhead. It was spectacular and the resident ground staff were kind to us, inviting future bikepackers to get water at the site in addition to observing its pure-blooded bison herd. I finished details on the route and decided to take a ride at the end of October to test out the new sections on an overnighter before publishing.

October swept unseasonably hot across Arizona's Colorado Plateau. What should be a time for an inverse relationship between length of day and shortening of light instead keep strong as a cooker for climate change. I turned onto House Rock Road in Utah and started towards Stateline Campground only stopping for a quick run into the flanks of the Buckskin Mountains to confirm existence of a critical water source I learned was out here along this dry stretch (it was!). I pulled into a spot before the Arizona Trail Monument - the sole car at the campsite among one campsite with a tent. I got to work setting up my bikepacking rig under the hot October sun. Then, it was forward to House Rock Valley Road. The beautiful ochres, rouges, and tallow yellows of the rock faces on either side of Coyote Canyon made me stop and again and again for a look. Sage everywhere was faded green, but lush enough to stand out in contrast to the red rock. The miles came slowly as the start of the route in a constant, but gradual climb up next to the Paria Plateau.

The road seemed more washboarded than usual - a product of ever-increasing ATV use in the area as more and more people head down this road to check out the Wave, White Pocket, and Buckskin Gulch. This and the late-season of October meant that it had been a while since graders had smoothed the surface. Most of my up was spent dodging horizontal furrows in the road to keep an even and steady pace on my climb. As the hours went on, the sun really beat down hard. I was sweating a steady stream, carefully considering my water intake because I needed to camp dry tonight before a water resupply tomorrow morning. It was about this time that a truck hauling ranching equipment passed me and slowed to a stop. A rancher got out, ran down to me, and began offering me cold Gatorade and water. Absolutely grateful, I chugged the Gatorade and we talked for a bit about the area, where I was heading, and his ranching. He sped off leaving me renewed in the low 90s temps unseasonably bearing down.

I climbed the rest of the pass and started a descent on the dry dusty road down towards the Peregrine Fund's Condor Viewing Site. I arrived to a gathering of birders and several Fund members scoping and monitoring variously numbered California Condors soaring and roosting on the adjoining flanks of the Vermilion Cliffs. One scientist invited me to come take a look through his binoculars at some whitewash on the rocks for a view. They asked me a few questions about where I was going and my route before I sped off into a slanting Sun already tipping towards the horizon now that it was late October. I turned left on Highway 89A's shoulder to speed downhill for several miles. Although this section of pavement has little shoulder for cyclists, it's relatively fast in this direction. There was little traffic and I made the miles easily enough.

The route turned right onto some mixed sandy doubletrack that shot off immediately southwards into the Baaj Nwaavjo I'tah Kukveni National Monument. This was House Rock Valley-proper before me: an expanse of grassland shot golden with color against an auburn glow of a slanted autumn sun. I could feel the nerve to compete with the Sun grinding in me; I'm shocked each year by how fast a sun sets when it no longer steels its light from summer. But this is what makes biking across House Rock Valley fantastic - the play of long-needled grass, rusty two-track soil, and large blue skies stretching to forever. It's a smack of grandiosity against my senses, and I find myself pausing on repeat to take photos and just stare. I also turn around to gaze back at the blushing escarpments of Vermilion Cliffs as they light up behind me under the sloping sun. And then I push on with some urgency to attempt to make it to camp before dark (as well as some views out over Marble Canyon!).

I get down to the worse of the sand on the route near House Rock Valley Wash as soft and deep sand undulates along the path of the recently wet wash from monsoonal rains. It makes for perfect riding and I only have to push a few feet as the sand underfoot is firm from wetness. An old derelict cabin stands wistfully on the grasslands beyond the pasture of a barbed wire fence. I am alone in this beautiful place. It is simply perfect right now.

The doubletrack begins to ascend as I make my way out towards Tiger Point. The substrate softens and hardens, simultaneously become knotty-sand with chunk of rock. I slow - but it's okay - the views make it inviting. The two-track becomes dark grains of shadow sunken into the soft green/yellow glow of the surrounding grasslands as the sun takes an angle. Suddenly, the light only hits far bands of rocky faces silhouetting the horizon. All else stands in the shade of early sunset. A moment later, even cliffs taste darkness. I know then that I'll make camp well-after dark. I've accepted it though and compare that chance to the opportunity to be riding in these soft gathering hues under gathering dusk. I'm pumping up doubletrack all rocky and eroded now. It's a mix of hike-a-bike and good pedaling until I take the slight turn out to Tiger Point where I just make it before true darkness sets in. The chasm of Marble Canyon is stained brown and orange from the setting sun. I catch enough remaining light for some amazing photos at the cusp of night as the Colorado River shines back some silver from below.

With that, I am onto smoother doubletrack as night peeks fully and the last fade of sunglow snuffs. I feel alive and the temperature revitalizes me after I cooked in the sun all day. I speed into the dark, my light alone providing illumination of the road ahead. I also feel sudden fatigue of school hitting me, along with being sick a little over a week ago. My goal was Bedrock Point, but now that the sun had fully set, any goals of an evening view have evaporated. And with it has gone the drive to go extra miles to the point. I pedal silently into the darkness, take the turn towards Bedrock Point, and then illuminate a flat and barren spot - perfect for camping. I stop, lay my bike down, and get to work putting my X-mid up in the dark. Exhausted, I wander a short way and eat my dinner while using my satellite link to send a message of safety to Janna. I feel little ill to be honest - a product of heat, thirst, exhaustion, and lingering illness. I crawl into my quilt and listen to nothing but the bone-cracking absolute silence of nothing across House Rock Valley.