Post - Lesson Collective

This post is a duplication of an article written for the Bike Packing Journal #14. Enjoy!

Under a mid-morning late-August sun, we pedaled our heavily laden mountain bikes up to a cabin located just south of Circleville, UT. This was the starting place for our Outlaw Trail adventure into the past that would encompass nearly 1,300 human-powered off-road miles across three states, seven mountain ranges, and some of the west’s most remote and desolate canyon country. The recently restored childhood home of Butch Cassidy (born as Robert LeRoy Parker in April of 1866) stood straight amid the popular trees that were planted by young “Bob” (as he was known around the family) and his mother. They still hung on in various states of health.

The outlaw-era escapades of Butch and his Wild Bunch are legendary. They thwarted posses in pursuit thanks to Butch’s knowledge of the land and well-planned evasive tactics. For nearly two decades in both North and South America, Butch masterminded and pulled off many brazen heists designed to separate corporations from their profits, all without him ever taking aim and firing at another person.

The ranch hand and cattle rustler, Mike Cassidy, was an early mentor to Bob and taught him the ways of the cowboy: how to ride a horse, rope a steer, shoot a colt .45, and observe the signs of an impending storm or trouble on the horizon. Perhaps it was his mentor’s influence or by watching the clashes his father, Maxmillian Parker, had with the Mormon Church that caused him to saddle his horse and ride east away from his childhood life on a hot June day at age 18.

Since we departed the Parker homestead that morning, we had not seen or heard a sign of any other being. The start was rude, and our crew of four wannabe outlaws silently hoped this first day of pushing bikes over a mountain rather than riding them was not an indication of what lay ahead. Had we underestimated the terrain and overestimated our riding abilities?

Our descent off Table Mountain and into the small community of Antimony, UT wasn’t without incident. A broken derailleur from an unfortunate encounter with one of the millions of baby head rocks we had to negotiate forced an emergency transformation from multiple gears to a lone cog on Diana’s bike. As the only woman on the trip, Diana was in rough company with the likes of me (her partner in life), JB with his unruly hair, and a guy named Doom. When Butch left for South America in early 1902, hoping to once and for all leave his life on the run behind, he was accompanied by one of his accomplices, the Sundance Kid (born as Harry Longabaugh) and his mysterious girlfriend, Etta Place. She proved her worth to the fellas, helping them to homestead a ranch in Argentina and later becoming a Wild Bunch member when the three Banditos Americanos returned to a life of bank and payroll robberies throughout the region. Diana proceeded to assume the hardiness and fortitude of Etta by riding a fully loaded single-speed across the unknown terrain ahead.

INTO THE ROOST

The no-man’s land between the Dirty Devil and Colorado rivers is an expansive area known collectively as Robbers Roost. This landscape of sinuous sandstone canyons, high buttes, and sage plains was a hideout of respite for those who wanted to disappear. Due to its arid, maze-like nature, which afforded plenty of spots for ambushes and opportunities to get lost, the long arm of the law made few forays into the Roost to find its prey of cattle rustlers, thieves, and Butch and company. It was dangerous country for those who didn’t know the land.

The area’s namesake comes from a remote spring located at the head of a canyon that drains to the west into the Dirty Devil River. This spring was the scene of many a shootout, and unsavory characters called it home. Our band of riders, now hardened from six days in the saddle, lazed by the cool waters under a cottonwood tree. We enjoyed the rest and a snippet of the hard-to-find shade that this country affords. From Table Mountain, we had climbed up the Aquarius Plateau towards the flanks of Boulder Mountain, which falls away into Capital Reef and the Grand Staircase. Our journey across the rarely visited Henry Mountains was highlighted by a stay in a deserted forest service campground among old growth ponderosa pines. We were grateful for the camp’s refreshing spring water and to be sleeping in the cool, elevated mountain air. The descent back to the heat of the desert and the Dirty Devil just southeast of Hanksville, Utah was thrilling and fast. We were on the doorstep of one of Butch’s legendary hideouts.

Stories abound of Butch and other outlaws frequenting this area. From moonlighting on ranches in the Henry Mountains to resupplying his winter camps at Charlie Gibbon’s store in Hanksville, Butch knew the area well and used its impenetrable character to his advantage. It is written that he spent the winter of 1897 in the Roost training horses and planning the holdup of the Pleasant Valley Coal Company payroll in Castle Gate, Utah on April 21, 1897. These efforts garnered the Wild Bunch $8,000, which is equal to over $300,000 today. His escape route led back to the Roost where he lost those on his trail.

Butch and his Wild Bunch co-conspirator, Elzy Lay, were brilliant architects of get-a-ways. They studied their intended target for days and weeks in advance—learning the tendencies and habits of their marks. They scouted their escape route, plotting where they would stash fresh horses or split up to cause confusion for the pursuing posse. At times they would venture into terrain impassable for those riding horseback. They would lead their steeds into narrow canyons and down steep hillsides dominated with cliff bands and other life-threatening hazards. Few would want—or be able—to follow them.

Spanish Bottom, a geological anomaly and prominent crossing of the Colorado River, was a key to their escape route. It’s a flat, wide, sandy plain in the middle of the steep and confining Cataract Canyon. Just downstream, the seemingly placid river plunges into a maelstrom of some of the West’s most fearsome whitewater. But at Spanish Bottom, cowboys could easily swim their horses across the river. Having abandoned our own iron horses with an accomplice to our outlaw endeavor at the border of Canyonlands, where riding or carrying bikes off designated roads is not permitted, we hiked a day and a half to the river and carried packrafts with us for the crossing. It would be more exciting on a swimming horse, but the pack rafts would suffice and keep us drier.

OUTLAW LIFE BEGINS

Before all of these escapades, on Monday, June 24, 1889, three men rode slowly down the dusty main street of the thriving mining town of Telluride, Colorado. Their destination was the San Miguel Valley Bank and its vault. Butch and fellow Utahan, Matt Warner, wandered into the bank, while the older Tom McCarty stayed outside to watch their horses. Soon the two young men emerged from the bank to mount their horses for a quick exit from town. Butch had robbed his first bank. He would now and forever be a man on the run.

After 12 days and 474 miles on bike, foot, and packraft, we rode into Telluride with our dusters and outlaw attire fluttering and made our way to the site of the former San Miguel Valley Bank. No longer a remote mining town, today’s Telluride is a playground for both the rich and famous, as well as outdoor sport junkies who test themselves in the steep mountains that tower over the town. When Butch rode into Telluride for the first time at age 18, it was made up of hardy men seeking to find a fortune of gold and silver in the surrounding peaks. It was a place of possibility. Today, the “potential” for wealth is gone, but signs of wealth are everywhere. Butch’s take in 1889 was $21,000 which equates to over $700,000 today.

Feeling restless from the crowds and opulence, we resupplied and pedaled out of town and back into the high peaks, veering from our eastward course to turn north with another legendary outlaw hideout as our objective: Brown’s Park, or Brown’s Hole, as it was called in the late 1800’s. To get there we would need to overcome the remainder of the San Juan Mountains, the Uncompahgre Plateau, Utah’s La Sal Mountains, and the Book Cliffs, and cross the Dolores, Colorado (for the second time), and White rivers.

Employing a page from Butch’s unwritten playbook of How to Successfully Evade a Posse, we decided to switch from mountain to gravel bikes when we reached the old town site of Westwater located on the border of Colorado and Utah. Depending upon the terrain of his escape route, Butch would utilize either speedy thoroughbreds or more hardy and slower sure-footed steeds to cross rugged landscapes. His choice of horses, along with having fresh rides staged along his route, gave him a great advantage over his pursuers. While the horses of the chasing posse would exhaust themselves, Butch and company would switch to fresh ones and easily outdistance their followers. After over 700 miles of pedaling along technical trails, sandy washes, and jeep roads, our search for the outlaws of the past was going to pick up in pace. The remaining 650 miles would be on mostly gravel roads.

END OF THE TRAIL

The Green River Valley sits at the border of Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming and was a favorite of outlaws of the era. It was a secret paradise of settlement for the hardiest of the hardy. Due to its isolation and the ability to easily cross into one state or another to escape the lawmen of whatever state one transgressed, outlaws of all kinds spent time in Brown’s Park. Butch was a frequent visitor to the Bassett family homestead, the social hub of the valley. Herb Bassett was a high-minded man who had an extensive library, which may have been Butch’s attraction to the Bassett household given he was a reader and well-educated by his mother. Perhaps another reason for spending time at the ranch was the presence of Herb’s two attractive daughters, Queen Ann and Josie. Both women were spirited and had outlaw tendencies. It is rumored that Josie and Butch were romantically involved for a period.

As we rode down Crouse Canyon with its steep, overhanging walls closing in, we rolled under Cassidy Point. There on August 18, 1896, Butch gathered those of similar mindset to discuss his proposal to create the Train Robbers Syndicate, which would later become known as the Wild Bunch. The January before that gathering, Butch was pardoned and released after having served a year and half in a Wyoming prison for stealing a horse. It was the only time Butch would spend time behind bars. His prison days were influential in that instead of getting on the straight and narrow, he chose to go all-in on the life of an outlaw and took aim at robbing the big boys: banks, trains, and corporate payrolls.

Our passage through the area was slowed by many stops to walk through abandoned ranch building doorways and old fence gates, thresholds to the past. During these forays, our imaginations drifted to thoughts of what it would have been like to live during the heyday of the outlaw era.

Camped among the sage and swaying grasses, we stared up at the red wall escarpment before us, taking in the final brilliance of the day. The spectacular geologic feature stretched to the north and south across the eastern horizon. For us, after crossing Wyoming’s desolate Great Basin, it was a barbed wire fence, locked gate, and “No Trespassing” sign that proved to be an impenetrable barrier to our forward progress. Our county road dead-ended at the Hole-in-the-Wall Trailhead, the public land easement through a sprawling private ranch allowing access only to this prominent stop on the Outlaw Trail, but no further. The end of the trip was near.

Like the Roost and Browns Park, the Hole-in-the-Wall was notorious for attracting outlaws. A V-shaped break in the wall allowed cattle rustlers to drive their illicitly acquired beef out of sight to fatten them up for a future illegal sale at a market. Others living in the shadows of society found refuge in this hard-to-reach place. Butch had a ranch behind the wall, as well as a rumored cave hideout.

Ultimately, after hiking to the top of the red wall via the “V,” we had hoped to continue north to the site of Butch’s ranch. From there, we would take our final pedal strokes to Kaycee, Wyoming, and our month of hard riding on the Outlaw Trail would end. As the stars emerged over the wall and the nearby private fence line, I felt an upheaval of emotions. I was frustrated and sad that an idea I had researched and worked so hard to make a reality would end just short of its natural finish.

“There’s little doubt that the ghosts of America’s Western outlaws are still out there.”

A month ago, we pedaled from the childhood home of one of the West’s most legendary outlaws, seeking to travel to his old haunts and possibly find some evidence of his former existence. Having found his name carved into a boulder while in the Roost, stepped into weathered dugouts he used as hideouts, and conversed with strangers along the way whose family members had told first-hand accounts of Butch, there’s little doubt that the ghosts of America’s Western outlaws are still out there.

As I zipped up my sleeping bag to keep out the late-September chill, an acceptance took hold. In some ways, being stopped by a locked gate was a fitting end for this trip. Butch encountered the same thing. On February 20, 1902, Butch, the Sundance Kid, and Etta boarded the S.S. Soldier Prince bound for Buena Aires, Argentina. With barbed wire being strung across the west and ever-changing technology allowing Butch’s pursuers to quickly communicate his whereabouts, he saw the writing on the wall. It was time to get out while he could.

Depending upon which Cassidy myth one chooses to believe, Butch died in a shootout with the Bolivian Calvary in 1908 or once again escaped death to emerge back in the U.S. and live out his days with anonymity. Regardless, the ghost of Robert LeRoy Parker, aka Butch Cassidy, still haunts the plains, canyons, and mountains of Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming. There’s a fading western wind tonight, and as I drift off to sleep, I can almost hear the whispers of long-lost outlaws.

This outlaw adventure would not have taken place without the support of the following. The modern day outlaws are forever grateful.