Sunday, October 23, 2022

[New post] Unbelievable grades: A play in two acts

Unbelievable grades: A play in two acts

walnutshademom

Oct 23

(a.k.a. "Amazing, triumphant cycling on our final day in Utah – Day #21")

ACT II

Announcer's voice: "When we last left our protagonists, they were about to embark on their second long bike ride of the day."

As per Scott's amended plan, we did indeed drive up those last two very steep miles of the Snow Canyon State Park road. At a tiny, three-space parking area near the north entrance guard shack we Scott unloaded the bikes, and we loaded onto them all our customary day trip gear. We then cycled, grunting, up the final few steep feet to the beginning of the bike trail and saw that we could have left the Jeep in the much larger official trailhead parking lot there. Oh well.

We turned right and began pedaling on the flat beside Highway 18. We must've been up on a mesa or something; it seemed like we were on the top of the world! Off to our right, way, way down, the road we'd just driven up snaked through the valley which is Snow Canyon. The views were incredible, and in just a mile or so, we turned off at an overlook on the right to see what we could see and take some pictures of the snaky road we'd just driven up.

See all that black, rocky-looking stuff on the center far left in the picture below? It's lava! We didn't know this at the time, but the Santa Clara volcano is just off-camera to the left, and some 27,000 years ago it spewed lava into what is now Snow Canyon State Park. You can also see smaller piles of lava on the right side of this picture, just below the road.

**Road through Snow Canyon State Park; it's steeper than it looks here!**

Here's a closer look at some of the lava.

In this picture, we are grinning because the scenery is so amazing and because Scott just picked up three pieces of lava to bring home. It is technically illegal to remove anything (animal, vegetable, or mineral) from the state park, but we were standing outside the state park boundary, and these charcoal briquet-sized pieces of lava were just lying on the ground. As of October 23, 2022, they are still sitting on our kitchen counter next to the fruit basket where we dropped them when we got home.

**Happy cyclists overlooking Snow Canyon State Park, Utah**

Back on the trail, we were zipping along at a good clip. We turned down another dirt road to the right that led to what we think was a large family compound with a couple of really big, gorgeous homes out on a point overlooking the canyon and several large buildings that may have been barns, warehouses, or workshops. It was like a little neighborhood that I'm guessing may have been an extended family's new homestead. A couple days earlier when we were riding down below the campground, we'd seen what looked like a couple of massive homes far away up on the horizon. Now we think these may have been those.

**High house (zoomed-in shot from canyon floor)**

It was fun to ride along next to Highway 18, creating a breeze to keep us cool. I was going pretty fast; in 7^th gear with pedal assist 1, I was averaging over 16 mph and really enjoying the ride.

When a path or road is wide enough, we like to ride side-by-side, and I always stay on the right; partly because I'm more comfortable close to the shoulder, and partly because when someone comes up behind us, or when we face oncoming traffic, I think we should be riding single file. If I'm on the right, Scott can either power ahead of me, or slide in behind me… or just stay next to me because he doesn't necessarily share my single-file-when-others-are-near conviction. (If I had a winking smiley, I'd insert it here.)

We had learned in Bryce Canyon National Park—and had had lots of confirmation in Zion National Park—that when a traffic situation forces us to go single file, it usually works best for me to be in front. This is because the person in the back needs to keep up with traffic coming from behind and holler that information to the front person in the form of "CAR!" or "BUS!" Or in some cases, "TWO CARS!" That requires the back person to be able to look back over his left shoulder while riding forward, preferably without swerving to the left and/or losing his balance. I'm not a steady enough cyclist to do that very well, so Scott usually rides rear guard in single file situations.

Another reason he rides behind is that, as the weaker member of the couple, I am more likely to have a problem or need help than he is. If I have an issue when I'm in the back, he won't see it and will only hear about it if I holler loud enough. With me in front, he can see how I'm doing and be available to help me if needed. The only problem with this arrangement is that my hearing is not as acute as I wish it were. If Scott's 30 feet behind me and quietly says, "Car," well, given the steady whoosh of wind in my ears plus possible traffic noise from a road or highway beside us, I sometimes don't hear him. But in general, when the path is too narrow for side-by-side cycling, I'm in front. And so I was during this afternoon's ride when we passed one of those cute little mini traffic signs. It looked like this one, but also had the word "HILL" on it.

Scott hollered—thankfully loudly enough—for me to pull over before I got to the hill so we could assess the situation, and I can't tell you how glad I am that he did. We both stopped, parked our bikes on the right shoulder, and walked forward on the trail to see how big the hill was.

This particular hill is rather hard to describe in words, but I will try. First of all, it was a LONG hill; maybe a tenth to a quarter of a mile long. As we walked steadily across the flat toward the edge of it, we couldn't yet see the bottom of it—you know, where it quits dropping and starts to level out. We kept walking, and this crazy hill was so steep that we had to walk a few paces past the top, a few paces actually starting down the hill, before we could even see the bottom of the beast. I don't know if this is making any sense, but it seemed as if the top "lip" of the hill nearly curved back under itself before it started down.

I was terrified.

And embarrassed.

Scott was walking a bit behind me, and when I got to the "lip" and leaned forward and still couldn't quite see the bottom, I realized I had a big problem.

Now, Scott likes speed, and he goes pretty fast on downhills, sometimes pushing 25 or even 30 mph.

But fear and anxiety try to mess with me, and sometimes they succeed. The thought of what could happen if I'm barreling along at more than 20 mph and I hit some little rock or sandy spot or something that sends me crashing, well, that scares me. On short downhills where I can see what's coming I'm fine to coast, but on downhills that are curvy or long or where I can't see what's coming, I use my brakes. Suffice it to say that my brakes are probably a lot more worn than Scott's. In fact they made to be serviced sometime soon because sometimes I have to squeeze them really, really far to get the braking I need, and sometimes I wonder if they're actually going to stop me.

So looking down this killer hill, I didn't know if I could brake sufficiently. And although I know this is not true, it felt like I might not be able to even hold the rear wheel of my bike against the pavement; that I might flip forward.

About this time, a lady came cycling along behind us. We were walking in the right lane, and she rode slowly past us in the left lane, saying as she headed down, "Wow, this really is some hill!" I watched her zoom down, seemingly effortlessly, and noted that she lived to go up the other side. I was pretty sure that if she could survive it, I should be able to too, but the thought of that descent absolutely... well, it terrified me. I definitely did not feel safe.

But what could I do? We were standing on a bike path surveying the crazy steep hill in front of us. To our left, highway traffic zipped along on the other side of a fence. To our right, some 150(?) feet of desert ground fell away into a canyon. Three or four miles behind us, our Jeep was parked, but even if I turned around and retraced those miles, I knew that when I when I got there couldn't possibly lift my 65-pound bike onto the Jeep's shelf, much less secure it there. That meant that Scott would have to go back with me, and that would be totally unacceptable for two reasons: 1) Robertses don't turn around and go back, and 2) it would be devastating for Scott to not complete his deeply desired 18-mile loop.

So, I couldn't go back or left or right or forward. I was stuck, and I was really upset, shaking and crying. I turned around, looked at Scott, and said "I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I don't feel safe riding down that hill."

I already knew what he'd say: "I know you can do it. Just take it slowly and I'll be right behind you. You've got this."

That's not what he said.

He put his arm around me, gave me a hug, and said, "No problem. I'll walk you down."

"But I can't do that! I can't ride with you holding onto my bike!"

"You won't be riding your bike. You walk down the hill, and I'll walk your bike down beside you. Then at the bottom, you can get back on and ride."

I was still confused. "But…" [My mental wheels were turning.] "But then you'll have to leave your bike at the top and then walk all the way back up to get it!

"Sure. It's no big deal. I'm not in a hurry."

I was still crying, but now they were tears of gratitude. I don't know when I've felt so understood and affirmed by Scott. He knew I was at my limit and he was determined to help me in a way that would not push me or minimize me or shame me. I was SO grateful.

So I walked down the hill while he walked my heavy bike down beside me. Near the bottom he said, "Is this OK or do you want me to walk it farther?"

"A little farther, please."

He didn't argue at all; just pushed my bike another 30 feet. Then he pointed to a spot far ahead on the trail. "See that curve? When you get there, stop and wait for me."

And off I rode, without looking back. When I got to the designated spot, I stopped and looked way, way back. He was just starting down that killer hill. When he caught up to me, we rode on together, me in front. I felt so humbled and so treasured.

We continued on that trail as planned, and before we got to the intersection in town—get this!—Scott walked my bike down three more hills. None of those were as steep as that first one, but each time we came to a hill, he let me choose how I wanted to navigate it. On one or two I said I thought I could ride down, and I did. But a total of four times in those five or so miles, in upper 90s heat, Scott walked my bike down for me, walked back up a long, steep hill, and rode his bike down; and he never uttered one word of complaint.

Once we were down in town and on basically flat ground again, I could relax and enjoy our ride. I'd been white-knuckling it for the past several miles and hadn't really thought any thoughts that didn't have to do with God and help and brakes and speed and staying safe on my bike, but now I was finally able to ponder one of those really deep questions in life: "How do percent grades relate to angle degrees when it comes to the slope of roadways?"

I asked Scott this as we pedaled along toward our picnic area at Royal Oaks Park. He said they were the same, but that didn't make sense to me.

Now, the "HILL" sign on that first killer hill hadn't given a % grade, but at various times I've seen signs that said things like 8% grade or 10% grade, or even 13% grade. If that first hill had been, for example, an 8% grade, and if that meant the same thing as an 8-degree angle, well, an 8-degree angle is really super skinny, so it wouldn't produce such a killer drop, would it?

At lunch we happened to have a cell signal (woo-hoo!), so I looked up some stuff on my phone and we had a fun and educational discussion about this conundrum. We learned that one must use trig (specifically tangent) to convert percent grades to angle degrees and vice versa, and we were sad to learn that an 8% grade is only about a 4.5-degree angle! However, since we think that first killer hill's drop angle must've been at least 30 degrees, that would've made it a 58% grade! (We honestly have no idea what its drop angle was, but I've GOT to think it was more than 4.5 measly degrees!)

We also scored another major victory at lunch. As usual, I needed to go to the bathroom, and I was pleased to see that there were bathrooms at Royal Oaks Park. As I was about to enter the ladies room, a mom and her little girl were coming out, looking pretty frantic. Mom said that something in the ladies' room wasn't working. She called to her husband, who was sitting in their car, to come guard the door to the men's room while they went in there. When they came back out, I called to Scott to guard the men's room for me, and while I waited for him, the family drove away. But as they pulled out of the parking lot, I saw that their license plate said "LOUISIANA," and I whooped for joy!

On long road trips, I collect license plate sightings. I print out a little checklist of U.S. and Canadian license plates, and we check them off as we see them. In the first ten days or so of our big Utah trip, we had gotten all the U.S. ones except Connecticut, Hawaii, Louisiana, and the District of Columbia. We'd also gotten five Canadian provinces, Spain, and Moldova. I had given up on Hawaii, but for two weeks we'd been looking unsuccessfully for Connecticut and Louisiana. This family's car was the only one in that parking lot, and they'd only stopped there for the bathroom. If I'd been thirty seconds earlier or later, I would've missed out on Louisiana.

The rest of our ride along Snow Canyon Boulevard was fine - long, exhausting, and uneventful. I was getting really tired, and we were both quite hot, so when we finally got to the gas station at the roundabout (the point at which we were only one gradually ascending mile from the park entrance plus two ascending miles from our campsite), Scott wanted to stop for some ice cream. We were pretty wiped out as we parked and locked our bikes in the shade. Inside there was blessed air conditioning and a freezer case, from which we selected our treats. As we paid, Scott asked the guy at the cash register if there was any place there in the store where we could sit down. He said that there was not. No table and chairs, no bench, nothing. Oh well, not a problem; we'd been outside all day. What was a few more minutes in the heat? Scott said, "OK. I guess we'll go sit at a bench outside and eat our ice cream."

Only we couldn't.

The man said there weren't any benches outside because it was against the law.

Against the law?!? Really?!?

Yes, Ivins has a city ordinance that forbids any business to have any outdoor seating. Sweet Georgia Peaches!!! All we wanted to do was to sit in the shade for a few minutes on something that wasn't moving and wouldn't fall over. Our only option was to sit down on the curb next to our bikes. That wasn't the nearly-done-cycling reward we wanted, so we drank more water, mounted our bikes for one last time, cranked the pedal assist to 2 (Scott) or 3 (me), and headed up.

All went well. We entered the park where the lady at the guard shack now recognized us and waved us on through without checking our camping permit, and about a mile up the trail, finally just minutes from home, a few other bikers were stopped on the trail ahead of us. What were they looking at? I pulled over and asked. A desert tortoise was crossing the bike path! Desert tortoises are endangered, and there are signs in the park about driving slowly, watching for them, helping them across roads, etc. Wow! I don't think I've ever knowingly seen an endangered species before, and because he was a slow-moving fellow, I was able to get a picture of him.

**Why DID the desert tortoise cross the bike trail?**

And then we made it home!

Our new (much quieter) next-door neighbors in site #4 welcomed us back, and Scott struck up a conversation with the husband. After a few minutes he announced that that man, whose name we never got, would be happy to drive Scott up the two steep miles to retrieve our Jeep, so he didn't have to make that tough trek after all!

Total miles biked together today: 32

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