“This looks like a campsite,” I exclaimed. Creeping down the gravel road, last, Burley in toe, I saw that we were stopping in a creek drainage. To the left water fell away rapidly, but to the right wound Flint Creek through a flat, green meadow. Hawthorne trees twisted, gnarled and matted, grew abundantly along the stream, their tips just budding out. It was the peak of spring here. In another day we’d notice heat stress.

We’d been on the bikes less than two hours. Two more hours would have taken us into Jordan Valley. Eating lunch in the shade along the green banks of Flint Creek, riding back to Jordan Valley two days early ceased making sense to us. We’d set up camp, leave the Burley and its bad wheel and all the panniers while we climbed to Silver City on Sunday.

Scott scouted about finding a fire ring and flat camping spot among the hawthorns. Soon we had the tents up and had begun to do much-needed laundry. When Doug said he was going to clean up, I knew we’d do no more riding this day.

Steve found an outcropping of granite that created just enough of a hole one could submerge in. I couldn’t bring myself to do so Saturday, but after our overheated, dehydrated ride to Silver City on Sunday, I was ready to brave the cold water.

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