The story of how I got myself stranded 24 miles deep into a forest at the Grand Canyon

TL;DR: Get lost. Get rained on. Get hailed on. Gets dark. Get lost some more, this time in a forest. Dump bike. Almost dump bike. Dump bike. Kill bike battery. Get bike jumped. Kill Bike. Get bike jumped in the rain. Bike dies overnight. Push start bike. Kill bike with the kick stand. Push start bike. GTFO of forest.

Day 24 of my cross-country motorcycle trip back in August. I left Vegas that morning swearing to never go back to that city again. It was going to be around a six hour ride before I would make my way to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, on a route that saw me going from Nevada to Arizona to Utah and back to Arizona where I would post up for some camping on the North Rim.

The weather wasn't bad at all. Blue skies and high temperatures, but it was nothing compared to the triple digit riding I was suffering through a few days previously. Most of the ride went off without a hitch. But between a slight hangover and 90 degree temperatures, there were a lot of stops for water. While I was riding through the desert of Arizona and Utah, I was dodging storms for a good portion of the afternoon. Most were small in size but whatever was in their path was absolutely drenched. My storm-dodging luck eventually ran out in Utah. Trapped in construction traffic, the patch of gray I had been eyeing for a few hours now was directly overhead. For a storm that looked so daunting in the distance, the rain was surprisingly light. At first. Before I could finish my thoughts of appreciation, the light rain turned to a skin-reddening downpour of water and hail. Completely caught off guard, I found shelter at a gas station to watch the hailstorm last for two more minutes and end quicker than it came. As an East-coaster, hail and rain wasn’t something I was expecting to run into out West. "Well that was fucking annoying." I wasn't concerned though because the sun would dry me after a little bit of riding. I pulled out of the gas station and went back to admiring the Western landscapes and dodging storms.

A little after 4:00 PM and I finally got myself to the North Rim entrance. No entry fee that day due to the 100th anniversary of the National Park Service, normally that'd be exciting but I already paid for a National Parks Pass. I asked for directions to get to Locust Point. I knew it was around 20 miles into the forest; I just needed to know the specifics. I could tell that the ranger manning the entrance booth was new when he was flipping the map up and down to figure out which way was which. After he looked it over, pointed out the roads I needed, and made a few marks for me, I thanked him for his help and went to do some sight seeing before I went looking for a campsite. About twelve miles past the entrance is the North Rim visitors’ center where you can walk to overlooks for the canyon. Immense. That is the only way to describe it. Lo and behold, I spot another storm rolling in from the distance. I snapped my pictures and got out of there before I got stuck in another one of those. Hail in the desert? What kind of shit was that? I was running out of daylight to dry me off and it was much cooler at this elevation than the desert riding earlier in the day so I wanted to avoid more rain. The ranger at the entrance to the park had told me the road I was looking for, route 22, was five miles inside the park. So I backtracked from the visitors’ center to look for the road. Nothing. There were roads, some without signs, some with signs, but none with signs reading 22. I did a few sweeps through to make sure I wasn't being a blind fool. Nothing. I made my way back to the visitors’ center so I could get some better instructions. "Ohhh, yeah route 22 is about five miles back from here." I must be exhausted, I thought, because I didn't see a single sign with anything resembling a 22 while riding around. So I rode back another five miles and took a road that I was almost sure was wrong, but figured it couldn't possibly be any other road. I was getting increasingly frustrated because my daylight was rapidly diminishing, the temperatures were dropping, and the storm was right on top of me. I turned around, with the rain starting to sprinkle, and found the first ranger I could. Third time is a charm. She informed me that the road I've been wasting all my daylight looking for is several miles OUTSIDE of the park in the Kaibab National Forest. I thanked her profusely, sat on my now wet bike, and rode back on the now wet roads. I was pretty damn frustrated at this point. Seeing this, the universe decided it needed to really fuck me up good. That's when the hail started. Riding through rain feels like being stabbed with needles, but riding through hail feels like being stabbed with knives. I had to pull over and wait for the hail to stop before I could continue. The hail eased up within minutes, the rain went back to a light sprinkle, then stopped completely. The sun wasn't much use for heat and warmth at this point so I rode out of the park soaking wet and freezing. Noticing I had less than 80 miles of gas left in the tank, I figured I better fuel up before I head into a forest for the night. Getting gas was the one smart decision I made this day. Finally, finally, finally I started riding the 24 miles of forest road I needed to get to Locust Point. But it wasn't just one road that I needed to get there. There was a network of roads, all of which lead to different points along the canyon. To my surprise, the road was well maintained and easily manageable on my Shadow. I got a few miles in, found the next road I needed and continued on. I might just make it with a little light to spare, I thought. Oh how wrong I was. With visibility getting worse and worse, I missed the sign for my next turn and continue riding straight until I got to a puddle that covered the entirety of the road. No way around it. I checked my map, and realized I needed to turn a while back. I was annoyed but also relieved I didn't have to cross through the mess in front of me. All the time I wasted throughout the day had finally caught up to me. It was dark now. With each turn, the road conditions got worse and worse. The rain from earlier left puddles scattered throughout the road but easily avoidable. Mud was flung all over but I didn't care. I got into a comfortable rhythm cruising the forest roads and dodging puddles in the dark. I should have figured I wouldn't have gotten to the end without a few mishaps. Riding my cruiser a bit quicker than I should, on gravel forest roads after a rain, in the dark, you can imagine the issues I'm about to have. Sneaking up on me, I rode directly into a puddle covering the width of the road. The rear tire washed out to the left and the bike went down to the right. Between my anger and the adrenaline rush of dumping my bike in mud, I was able to lift it up without much issue. So now my bike and myself are covered in mud. And wet. And cold. In the dark. Miles deep into the forest. There's no going back now. A few more miles, a few missed turns, a few times stopping and using my headlight to read my map, and I get to the last road I need. "Locust Point 8 miles.” I was so relieved. I crawled my way along, learning my lesson from earlier. Another road-wide puddle was coming up but I saw a small chance of an easy crossing, an elevated dry spot on the right side of the puddle. If I hit it just right it would be smooth sailing. Well I didn't hit it just right. The rear tire started fishtailing to the left. I got a foot down for some support but in the process I grabbed a hand full of throttle. The tire caught traction somehow, standing me directly upright. Except now I wasn't facing forward towards the road. I was 90 degrees to the right and accelerating into the trees. I managed to grab my front brake and stop right in-between two trees. The whole thing happened in less than a second. 500 hundred pounds of metal sinks down pretty quick onto a soft forest floor so it took a bit of rocking to get out and back in business. Further down the road I managed to wash myself out in mud one more time while trying to get to the point, this time with some campers nearby who surely heard me swearing at myself.

But I did it. I made it to the point and found a camping spot. I don't know if it was exhaustion or just my own stupidity, but in my rush to get my campsite set up and get myself changed out of my wet and muddy clothes, I used my Shadow’s headlight as my source of light. Except my bike wasn't running. I assumed my battery could survive a few minutes of use without the engine running. But we all know what happens when you assume. I get set up and rush over to my bike to make sure she'll pop off okay for me tomorrow morning. I got a bad feeling when I saw my neutral light dimming out. Clickclickclickclickclick. "FuuuuuUUUUUUCK!" And with that I went to bed. I had enough. But the North Rim wasn't done with me. A mid-night storm made sure to wake me up to remind me of the shitty situation I was in. Then it flooded the underside of my tent to slap me across my damn face. I reached out and dug a quick trench to help alleviate some of the water flowing underneath. I'd like to think I made it difference but it was mostly just so I could feel a little better about going back to sleep. It wasn't long after sunrise when I woke up. I peeked outside the tent and saw my bike was still standing. The rain didn't do much to wash the mud that was caked onto it.

 The first thing I did was look for an incline to get myself push started. There was an ever so slight tilt to the road leading down to the end of Locust Point, but I couldn't get the speed necessary to get it to pop off. I gave it a couple tries, none of which were close. As I was pushing my bike back for another attempt, a car came driving by. A middle-aged man with a Brooklyn accent got out, gave me a puzzled look and I explained that my battery died. Despite having a bad knee, he got behind the bike and helped give me a running start. A little closer this time, but not enough. We chatted for a bit and asked me if I tried to call anyone. He said he had service, it flipped between zero and one bars, but it was at least something. I had checked my phone the night before and didn't have a thing but I checked again. Holy shit. Somehow, 24 miles into the Kaibab National Forest, I had the faintest inkling of cell phone service, something that I found was completely absent in places that were more civilized than where I was now. 

I called up the American Motorcycle Association roadside assistance, which I bought specifically for this trip, and attempted to give my details. It took several dropped calls, a lot of repeating myself, and a lot of choppy voices but I had someone working on finding me a tow truck. I said my goodbyes to the man who stopped to help and thanked him for all he did. The lady assisting me on the phone had told me it might take a while, as there were no towing facilities nearby. I walked back to my tent; leaving my bike a few hundred yards down the road, and started gathering my things.

While packing I heard the noise of some sort of vehicle coming down the road. I looked up and saw a couple merrily cruising along in a side-by-side ATV. I watched them pass in what felt like slow motion. I wasn't sure if I was looking at a mid 40's husband and wife out doing some forest riding on a Saturday or two beautiful angels sent from heaven above to rescue me from the forest that was trying to murder me and consume my soul.

I walked up to the road when I heard them coming back from checking out the point and waved them down. "Hey, is that your bike down there?" the wife asked me. I explained my situation and asked if they had a set of cables to give me a jump. They didn't, but they would ask some of the campers they passed a bit up the road. I thanked them and they went on the hunt for cables.

When I heard the buggy coming back, part of me just knew this was my chance to finally get out of here. They held them up and the grin on my face nearly blew out my cheek muscles. Finally things are starting to look up and I can get on with my trip. We get everything hooked up and my Shadow starts up right away. Hearing those pipes fire up and start roaring was one of the most beautiful sounds that had ever graced my ears. We said out goodbyes and I watched them travel up the road to return the jumper cables they borrowed while I twisted on the throttle. "Don't let that die, now," the man said smiling before he left.

“Believe me, I won’t!”

I called the AMA back to cancel my roadside assistance request. I felt bad for the woman who had been helping me, she seemed truly concerned and was working hard to get me out of there. I was very much appreciative for that.

I kept on the throttle a bit to build a charge back up. Feeling comfortable, I let off and started putting the electrical components back in place. Then the motherfucker died. My face dropped in disbelief. I went through the five stages of grief trying everything to get it running again. I hit the acceptance stage before I started thinking clearly.

I knew there were people somewhat close. I knew they had cables. I can still get out of here. So I walked. It took me about twenty minutes to find nearest campers to me. They were posted up right on the rim of the canyon, with their chairs set up side-by-side while they watched the scenery. I interrupted their peace to ask if they were the ones with the cables. Not them. So I kept on walking. 15 more minutes and I got to another campsite. I tapped on the camper to see if anyone was in. Nothing. I walked a bit more before I turned around. On my way back, I saw someone was leaving the camper that I thought was empty. I asked him if he had cables. He did indeed. He said he'd come on down and jump the bike as soon as his wife got back from a bicycle ride. We chatted for a few minutes and I made my way back to the bike to get the seat off and the battery ready again.

Him and his wife came down in their truck and for the second time that day, my bike would soon be running. It started raining as we were getting everything set. He offered to keep on the throttle for me while I got the bike back together, despite the increasingly stronger rain. I can't appreciate this man enough.

So the Shadow is running again. I tell him and his wife how amazing they are and I stay on the throttle and ride around in circles in the rain while the battery gets a charge built up. At this point, I decide it would be in my best interest to stay a second night. I have enough food and water to make it one more night (which was pure luck) and the thought of riding back out of the forest after more rain just wasn't tickling my fancy. In addition to the fact that I had no game plan since it would have been fairly close to dark by the time I could get to any nearby town. So I stayed. I parked the bike by the tent and hoped it would hold a charge through the night. I started it and kept on the throttle a few times just to be sure.

This was actually the first chance I had to relax and explore the area I went through hell to get to. The rain stopped and the fog was mostly gone now and for the first time I could see the canyon from Locust point. It was incredible. No pictures or words will ever do it justice; it's just something that needs to be experienced first hand. I walked the trails around the point and everything that happened to me over the previous day might as well have been a distant memory.

When I first woke up earlier that morning, I spotted what I thought were skunks running around. Not something I was too concerned with, but figured I better make sure my food is secure. As I was exploring the point, I realized that those weren't skunks. They were chunky black squirrels with white tails and pointy ears. Apparently Kaibab Squirrels are only located in a 20 x 40 mile area in the entire planet and here they were frolicking around in one of the most beautiful places I've seen. Pretty cool experience.

As sunset was getting close, I found myself the perfect rock to sit on that overlooked the canyon. I spent my last Arizona evening watching the sun dip out of view behind the canyon while it changed the sky into all sorts of oranges, pinks, and purples. I was the only person on Earth with that view. Sitting there put a lot into perspective for me and was an experience I'll never forget. Above all, I realized I had one hell of a story to tell.

I slept great that night, knowing all that trouble was worth it. But, the North Rim had to get its last few punches in before I left. I woke up the next morning, packed up my belongings, strapped them to the bike, kicked a leg over, turned the key, pushed the starter, and got the dreaded clickclickclickclickclickclick. I was getting out of there and it was going to be now. A couple push start attempts and I damn near got the thing. I was convinced I would have gotten it on the third try, but before I could get it to the top of the incline, my saviors who were camping up the road came to check on me.

The husband gave me a push start, and we got it on the first try. I rode it down to the end of the point and turned around to gather up my backpack and helmet I left sitting at my campsite. I parked the bike with a huge smile on my face, kicked the kickstand do-

“OH MY GOD THE KICKSTAND,” was all I blurted out after it died. In my excitement, I kicked it down while in first gear and killed the bike. I grabbed my backpack, strapped on my helmet, and we went for round two. “Alright, now no stopping this time,” the man said laughing. And I didn’t. Once that bike shot off, I rode it down, turned around, shouted “THANK YOUUU,” with a thumbs up and got right the hell out of that forest.

Source : https://imgur.com/gallery/MDQvc