Half a Century Worth of Temperature Change

From Jody:

Friday, September 14:

Up at 4:45, and in The Little Darkness at 5:34, only four minutes later than planned. Damn good, team.

We drove from our motel in Springdale, UT, just outside the southern entrance to Zion National Park back to the end of yesterday's route, Mt Carmel Junction.  I'd checked the weather reports and knew the high temperatures in Kanab, UT and Page, AZ.  It would be much more moderate than the desert temperatures we had previously experienced.  It was a comfortable 62 degrees when we left Springdale.  I joked that the temp was 49, when that was a reading on the trip odometer. 

The Little Darkness's thermometer kept dropping as we proceeded through the park.  It reached 48 degrees near the 1.1 mile tunnel that is off limits to pedestrians and bicyclists, the only mileage on our overall route thus far that I have not experienced from astride my bike.  This morning, I was too intent on the twin issues of guiding the car through the maze of switchbacks and also observing the temperature drop to put up much of an argument about an illicit 1.1 mile bike ride through a long dark tunnel an hour before dawn.  

We proceeded out the east park gate and the temperature continue to drop as we climbed the approach to Mt Carmel Junction.  It bottomed out at 38 degrees, then finally climbed to 48 as we descended to town.  I scurried out of the car and tore apart my bag of biking gear to add layers.  My bike shorts and jersey weren't adequate for the chilly start.  With Nicole and Janie's gentle insistence, I added knee warmers, under-helmet liner, jacket and long biking gloves.  Much better suited for the environment.  

Jody, getting dressed for the cold.

I affixed the Garmin cycle computer to the handlebars and was surprised to see a reading of 61 degrees. Then I realized it had been in my jersey pocket.  Exposed to the elements, the Garmin's reading quickly dropped to 48 as I started the first climb of the day, out of Mt. Carmel Junction towards Kanab.

The elevation rose from Mt. Carmel's 3898 to the pass at 6100.  A great way to greet the brisk weather.  The entire route was on US Hwy 89 for 90 miles.  Traffic was a mix of local cars & trucks, long haul truckers, two groups of motorcyclists, lots and lots of tour buses & RV's, fellow tourists - some of whom had bicycles on car racks - and one other lone bike rider, pulling a two wheeled trailer with one flat tire.  I met said fellow biker about 12 miles east of Kanab.  He said he was heading toward Page to get a new tube for his trailer tire rather than wait until 4:00 pm for Kanab's bike shop to open.  Said he intended to live off the land for a while, not go back to his home in Texarkana.  May he travel safely.

US Hwy 89 was long and only moderately accommodating for bikes.  The narrow shoulder is separated from the main roadway by a jarring rumble strip that I kept experiencing over and over again.  The main roadway is smoother, but motor vehicle traffic was unrelenting.  The shoulder was not only narrow, but frequently rock covered and periodically strewn with blown tires and other debris that threatened the skinny tires of Jean Luc and The Fish.  (More about The Fish, Janie's hybrid bike, in a later post from Janie.)

Kanab advertises itself as the gateway to Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, The Grand Canyon, Lake Powell and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.  Only the Grand Canyon escapes our visit on this wonderous stage.  The mesas visible east of Kanab announced our entrance into the lands of Grand Staircase-Escalante, which Bill Clinton elevated to national monument status in 1996.

We glimpsed Lake Powell as we entered Arizona, which is where I caught up to Janie.  Nicole had dropped her down the road.  She beat me into Arizona, but only by a couple of minutes and with a pretty good head start.  More on that below.

Lake Powell, in the distance.

 

Jody, riding up to the bridge.

On the approach to Page, AZ, the highway turns sharply left to town and we crossed a majestic bridge.  I looked right, downriver, and shouted, "Holy Shit!"  The steep rock walls extended far below to the river.  (Page is a new town, founded in 1957, nearly coinciding with the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam that created Lake Powell.)  Janie got out of the car, and we joined throngs of visitors along the bridge to gaze at the wonder.

The dam.

 

Sign on the side of the bridge.  Don't feed the animals either.

 

Nicole shuttled back and forth between Janie and me.  While I started the day's route where yesterday's had ended (before that damn climb!), Janie started east of Kanab.  I had an hour head start, but thirty-six miles behind.  Nicole kept providing fresh water and energy drink, as well as sandwiches.  I kept the first peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my jersey, in anticipation of another stop.  It seemed so much more appetizing than the granola energy bars in the next poket, as I had eaten the twins to those granola bars every other morning of the trip, and our motel room meal earlier had been granola and yogurt.  No more granola.  I ate the first half of the PBJ, then returned the second half to my jersey pocket.  Two miles later, out it came.  Proud that I'd saved it, I carefully removed it from the baggie while continuing to pedal.  Two bites later, as I expertly returned the empty bag to my jersey pocket, the remainder of the sandwich fell.  Yes, I retrieved it and salvaged the top portion.  Good eats are savored on the route.

We stopped on the Arizona side of the AZ/UT border.  Like I said, Janie beat me there. No fair.  There is a picture of her celebrating on the AZ side of the border, as I approached from the UT side.  You can see it on Nicole's Shutterfly Photos.

By the time I finished the ride, in Page, the temperature was in the mid 90's, nearly fifty degrees higher than when I started, the largest temperature swing of our trip.

The strongest oak tree of the forest is not th.e one that is protected from the storm and hidden from the sun. It's the one that stands in the open where it is compelled to struggle for its existence against the winds and rains and the scorching sun.
    ~ Napoleon Hill, author of Think and Grow Rich