Seeking a Reset in a Monument of Contention
This adventure originally took place during the Fall of 2022 and was meant to be shared through Salsa Cycles. For one reason or another, the story was not told. Given the recent attacks on our public lands and most likely, the upcoming attempts to reduce the boundaries of the Bears Ears National Monument, we thought this was a good time to share just one of the many experiences we have had in this amazing national monument. Enjoy!
The morning air was cool and crisp as Jesse, and I stowed away the last of a week’s worth of gear and food onto our Blackborows. Last week’s fall temperatures were more moderate and typical for this time of year, but then the first cold front abruptly descended upon the southwest, dropping nature’s thermostat and plunging the region into a cold spell. Jesse’s wisdom of packing down pants and other warm luxuries were sure to be essential in our comfortable endurance of the long and chilly nights ahead of us. After all, there is no bad weather only poor clothing choices.
The idea behind this trip started out as a proposal to some of my supporters and good friends in the outdoor industry to join me on a human powered tour of our nation’s newest national monument. For me, it was going to be the adult version of what I do nearly every weekend with the college students—exposing and viewing through their eyes the wonders of the natural world. Only this time, my ‘duty to care’ would be limited to the general well-being friends have for one another rather than being paid to ensure all are safe and sound. After a hectic semester, this shift in responsibility was greatly welcomed.
As often happens in today’s frenetic world, however, there is a slow erosion of commitment. Other things take precedence and require our attention. One by one, my adventure partners backed out until I was considering the possibility of a solo adventure. Fortunately, my friend Jesse was eager to get away for a week before his life would shift with the birth of his first child. We were both looking forward to time outdoors and experiencing a unique place by bike and foot.
A Monument of Contention
The Bears Ears National Monument was first established by President Obama on December 28, 2016. The designation has been politically contentious at all levels, dividing those who call the area home and creating dissension within each ascending level all the way up to the highest office in our country. Immediately after assuming office, President Trump significantly shrank the boundaries of the monument along with the boundaries of Grand Staircase—Escalante National Monument, which is also located in Utah and was established by President Clinton in 1996. On October 8, 2021, President Biden restored Bears Ears to its original boundaries.
Currently, the monument encompasses over 2100 square miles and 1.36 million acres of public land. The monument is of significance because it protects and preserves a vast landscape rich in historic, cultural, and natural resources. With five Native American tribes all coming together in support of the monument’s creation, this area is a time capsule of the cultures and peoples who have made the southwest their home for thousands of years. The peoples of the Navajo Nation, Hopi, Ute Mountain Ute, Ute Indian Tribe of the Uintah and Ouray Reservation and the Pueblo of Zuni all have ancestral ties to the region and seek to preserve their homeland from the resource extraction and cultural looting that has historically occurred prior to the protections provided by the monument designation.
Though one can travel by vehicle throughout the monument, I believe it is best experienced via human powered means utilizing both bike and one’s own two feet. This type of intentional travel allows one to experience the wonders of the landscape more fully—the faint trailside petroglyph, the mountain lion track in a sandy wash, or the final ray of the day’s light illuminating the canyon wall above. Since moving to the southwest, I have been experiencing this land by slow means and finding wonder in every one of my trips. Upon returning to my mountain town home after one of these wanderings, the urge to resupply and explore more of the region’s canyons, high buttes, slick rock escarpments, sage covered plains, and all the other creases in the land only grows.
Finding the Way
As Jesse said with concern, “Are we going up that?”, I squinted up at the sandstone buttress that lay before us, my mind worked furiously to recall its secret. Somewhere among its fissures, ledges and sheerness was a safe route to a mind-boggling cultural site at its top. As I have found through years of desert wandering, the seemingly impassable becomes passable by confronting the unknown.
I answered Jesse’s question in the affirmative by beginning to pick my way through the sage and juniper trees. Still unsure of the path ahead, I grappled within myself to slow down to the pace of the land. To become present. To observe. To listen. To seek the path of least resistance. These acts can be difficult. Today’s world of nonstop distraction, movement and hustle often erodes one’s self-discipline and the ability to find inner calm when needed.
For thousands of years, people were an intimate part of this land—working with the environment to sustain life for all. They understood that every action reverberated throughout the ecosystem with dire consequences for all when exploitation and overconsumption took place. Their relationship was one of give and take with respect for maintaining balance.
I took a deep, slow, centering breath, my complete focus began to fall upon each footstep towards our objective. Upon my steady exhale, I felt my spirit begin to dissipate from the inner fog. I started to find clarity in the moment even as it mingled with a sense of timelessness. I was freed from my typical overloaded “to do” lists, the ever densely packed work schedule, and from the bombardment of virtual sensationalism and click bait. The nuances of this landscape dictated my direction and movement upwards. As we climbed onto a sloping ledge, the black on white pottery fragments scattered among the sand, gravel and slickrock were a welcomed trail marker from the past. We had found the way.
A Brief Visit
The namesakes of the monument dominated our view ahead. The Native American names for the buttes have the same meaning in each of the languages of the tribes that call the region home: the Bears Ears. It was day three of our tour and we were getting into the rhythm of nature and living off a bike. Life was simple. Eat. Sleep. Pack Up. Ride some. Hike some. Set-up camp. Repeat. When my life is chaotic, there is no better way for a reset than seeking solace in the natural world.
Under blue skies and warming temperatures, we relished in the work ahead—4000’ of ups and downs would bring us to the foot of the buttes. Due to the unseasonably cold temperatures, I deviated from the original tour plan to explore more of the low altitude parts of the monument, hopefully forgoing frozen water bottles and numb extremities. The land that the monument encompasses is highly diverse with pion juniper and desert flora in the lowlands and ponderosa pine, aspen, elk, and bear found along the ridge where the named buttes rise forth. We pushed on our pedals, willing our heavy bikes ever upward to explore as much of the vast biodiversity as possible.
I reached the high point a little bit before Jesse. Bears Ears West (8929’) stood tall to my left and Bears Ears East (9058’) followed suit to my right. Behind me and before me lay a mural of canyons, mesas, and the alluring monocline known as Comb Ridge. It was chilly with a blustery north wind flowing unimpeded between the two buttes. I was starting to second guess our plan to spend the night nearby—Burrrrr.
As the road contoured to the northside of Bears Ears East, the conditions made the decision for us. Our planned road was sloppy with mud, snow, and ice. Winter had come early to the high country of the monument. Neither Jesse nor I were quite ready for that next season. Our home mountains were now blanketed in snow and this trip was to be one last taste of fall before we embraced the inevitable. It was time to keep the big wheels rolling and descend.
A Disturbance in the Night
Shortly after midnight the change in weather began to arrive. It started with a few barely audible wisps of disturbance. The material of the mid began to tremor ever so slightly overhead. With each succeeding minute, the pitch increased and with it, the lone pole of my shelter began to sway back and forth. Would my tent stakes hold? Perched on a point with the land falling away within footsteps of our camp, the worry of my shelter blowing into the abyss below began to spin in my consciousness. Fighting the urge to do what needed to be done, I continued to lay in my warm cocoon trying to convince myself that everything was secure. After a few more gusts of fury though, Mother Nature’s warnings were heeded, and I emerged into the night. All was quiet from Jesse’s nylon sanctuary. Either he felt confident in his structure, or he was lying there in denial like I had been for the past hour. Little sleep could be had in these conditions.
With the light of my headlamp piercing the inky blackness, I searched for the largest boulders I could carry. There was no way this frigid gale was going to dismantle and whisk away my backcountry home. Halfway through shoring up my anchors, light burst forth from Jesse’s door. “BD, one of my poles just snapped.” Shining my light towards his voice, I saw half of his tent flapping in the wind and on the verge of taking flight. Dropping my latest rock in place, I sought out my lone trekking pole and some duct tape and headed over to help. Even though the biting wind had me wishing to be back in my warm sleeping back, I still felt rewarded with the opportunity to be here, to be part of these elements. It is hard to explain the sensation of being so comfortably uncomfortable.
At 7 AM our world went silent. The tempest had blown itself out. What was left was cold, crisp, and clear skies with a faint trace of snow punctuating last night’s turmoil. My floorless shelter was still standing. However, despite my best efforts of extending its walls to the ground, myself and all my belongings were covered in a layer of desert. Yelling to Jesse, he had fared just as well with a layer of grit welcoming him to the new day. “BD, I now know what the desert tastes like. Yet another first experience on a tour with you.” With his comment, I smiled and snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag, taking more of the desert with me than planned. The chill in the air was ensuring a late start to the day. Plus, our water bottles needed to thaw out.
A Descent into Fall
Fall could be seen below us. The cottonwoods and gamble oaks were in the midst of a building crescendo of vibrancy before they went dormant for the next season. After the previous night’s taste of winter, Jesse and I were eager to be reunited with the warmer temperatures that we knew were found in the canyon bottoms. My falls are always hectic with sporadic chances to experience the changing of the seasons outside of my work. From September through October, I can be found leading college students on one weekend adventure after another. Although I greatly enjoy my work, my brain is always engaged…thoughts of student safety, mitigating risk, planning for the unknown, ensuring everyone is in proper gear, maintaining hydration and nutrition. When working, my mind is rarely ever in quiet harmony with my surroundings. Often by the time things slowdown in the semester, the leaves of the high peaks have long since fallen. I then try to escape to the desert where I can immerse myself in the last bit of fall. The timing of this trip was a hopeful plan to capture the beauty and serenity of golden change in the desert.
After descending a steep and rocky jeep road, a sandy double track took us across a great plain of sage and desert grasses. The temperatures were climbing, but we still hadn’t reached the warmer confines of the canyon where the cottonwoods and oaks were found. A transition from sand to slickrock indicated the bottom was about to drop out of our descent. I let Jesse take the lead as I knew it was going to be fun following his line. He excels at directing two wheels down rowdy trails.
The drop-offs came quick in succession. One after another. Despite being on an extended fat bike, Jesse attacked each step without hesitation—maintaining control and exhibiting fluidity in motion. The load on his bike shook with each bounce of his tires, but despite the terrain’s best efforts, he could not be brought off balance. I challenged him a few times to re-ride some of the more difficult sections so I could get a photo of his bike handling skills in action, but even those re-dos were not enough to rattle him.
As we fell ever downward, the long sleeves turned into short sleeves. At the mouth of the canyon, pant legs were rolled up as we paused to bask in the sun near a remnant of the past. The red adobe structure had been standing erect for over a thousand years, blending into the landscape no matter the color changes of the seasons. Feeling lazy from the sun’s warmth, my mind began to do what it always does when encountering such a place. The questions; a sense of wonder; and the urge to know more all dominated my consciousness. This is part of the allure and magic of the monument and why I continue to return to it.
This tour took place on the ancestral lands of the Navajo Nation, Hopi, Ute Mountain Ute, Ute Indian Tribe of the Uintah and Ouray Reservation, and the Pueblo of Zuni. When visiting Bears Ears and other such places, respect and care for the land and culture should be of the utmost priority and concern.