But antelope Ridge could be called a road only with great generosity. Oh, sure, for a time it gave a reasonable attempt at being a road. Though double tracked, the lanes were wide enough for the Burley’s two wheels and mostly flat. But soon basketball sized granite bloomed everywhere in the trail forcing the cyclist to pick a line around them ever watchful for ruts where enough topsoil persisted to support them.

And then it got worse. Broken rubble gravel three to six inches in diameter covered the lanes. When the trail climbed steeply rushing water had removed most of the soil leaving hard stones treacherous to bikes and Burleys.

And it got worse. We began to descend. The rocks knocked me down hard bruising my left hip and kept me off the bike. Everyone had disappeared and I had lost interest in keeping up. But now I saw clumps of little white flowers. Scott says he saw a drainage covered in yellow. I missed it probably by watching the “road” so carefully. For the most part the flowers were thin and well distributed rather than profuse. But a delicate splash of color gave me an excuse to stop and rest alone on Antelope Ridge.

The Burley hit a rock or ridge and tipped. Not once. I gave up counting. A rock could appear unexpectedly and tip the trailer up at any time.

I hadn’t had trouble in Death Valley’s Titus Canyon, but on a main gravel road on the second day, I came too close to a rock in the road, the Burley wheel hit it and my momentum tipped the trailer. I failed to check for damage. Later I discovered the expansion axle on the right wheel had bent. That wheel listed badly from then on and had to be reinserted into the axle repeatedly until Scott and a Juniper tree had talk to straighten it out.

Doug said I was going too fast. My momentum should have been my friend, but here it provided just enough force to overcome the Burley’s normally steady inclination to remain upright. Rocks grew up out of the earth mostly rounded but creating drag. And strewn everywhere were blocky chunks of something. On the steepest sections the road was washed out completely leaving only boulders and their chunky companions.

Tough enough for a mountain bike, let alone a fully loaded mountain bike, or, in my case, a trailer far preferring a nice stretch of tarmac.

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