Lost

At 7:32 PM I realize how scared I am when I call my wife.  “Mags,” I say, “I…I…I’m lost.”  I stammer and I fight back tears.  

Earlier that afternoon I had set out for a ride across the Moab desert.  My plan was to ride from Gemini Bridges to Poison Spider, via Gold Bar Rim and Golden Spike trails, for a heavy dose of classic Moab terrain.  At 1:40 PM I still had four hours of daylight, plenty of time, I thought, to complete the ride before darkness set in.  But just in case I packed a good headlight and a blinky red light for riding the ten miles of pavement at the end of the ride to complete the loop.  The forecast also called for rain after 5:00 PM, so I also packed a rain jacket.  I also had three energy bars, two bananas, four bottles of Carbo Rocket and a plasticized map.  

The first two hours go by without incident.  There are two ways to get to Gold Bar Rim, and I take the longer way, miss a turn, but find my way before losing much time.  At 4:30 I’m at the top of Gold Bar, looking over the cliff at the town of Moab below.  Descending Golden Spike and Poison Spider won’t take much more than an hour, will it? 

I stop to mount my light around 5:30.  I am somewhere near the end of Golden Spike or the top of Poison Spider.  It’s unclear on my map where one trail ends and the other begins.  There is no sign of the rainstorm yet, but the winds are picking up.  With my Princeton Tec Switchback 1 lighting my way, I press onward toward the Poison Spider trailhead.  There is a documentary on the Miss Navajo Pageant showing at the Moab Library at 7:30 that I want to be back for. 

This is when things start to get confusing. 

Trails in Moab are marked with paint where they go over sandstone.  Sometimes the markings are pictures like dinosaurs or little jeeps, but on Poison Spider Mesa they are just white rectangles, spaced every 50 feet or so.  I’d followed trails marked with these splotches dozens of times before, even on Poison Spider Mesa once or twice, but never in the dark. 

Is that paint on the rock, or just a white lichen?  I follow it, then see another splotch 50 feet away.  I follow it to the edge of the sandstone, looking into the sand.  Yes there are tracks there; jeep tracks, motorcycle tracks, mountain bike tracks.  In fact, there are tracks everywhere.  How am I supposed to know which track to follow? 

I pick a track and follow it as long as I can, but inevitably it leads to another patch of sandstone.  And again I am left to wonder, are those paint marks or splotches of lichen?  By this time I am walking my bike, studying each splotch, looking for straight edged paint marks, and feeling for that smooth, painted feeling.  But how long has it been since I saw a paint mark that I was absolutely certain was not a patch of lichen?  20 minutes?  30 minutes?  An hour?

Now I am at the top of a steep sandstone hill.  How far down is it?  I cannot tell, but the paint marks go straight down it.  Would the trail really take such an unsafe route?  No.  Those are lichens.  They must be.  Back to the edge of the sandstone again.  But which way did I come from?   I can’t find the trail.  I can’t find the f*cking trail!  There are no tracks now, no white paint marks anywhere, white lichens are everywhere.  It’s getting late.  I circle around the sandstone.  Where did I come from?  How did I get on this rock?  The wind is getting stronger. 

I wander in search of a track for—how long?  I look at my cell phone—7:32 PM.  Two minutes past show time.  I have one bar so I call my wife, who is at home cooking a hot dinner for herself and our niece.  “I’m lost,” I say, “I can’t find my trail.” 

I’m not really lost, I know exactly where I am on the map, and know exactly where I need to get to, but there are cliffs and ledges everywhere.  I can see the glowing lights of Moab just over the horizon.  I just don’t know how to get from here to there because I don’t dare to hike cross-country in this terrain in the dark.  “I may have to spend the night out here.”  I tell Mags,  I’m going to look for 30 more minutes for the trail. “If you don’t hear from me it means I’ve come down from this high place, have found the trail and don’t have a cell signal.  If I decide to sleep out here I’ll call and let you know.”

I say a little prayer.  “God, please help me find the trail.” and He does.  I follow it easily now, and have learned how to distinguish paint from lichen. I should be out in no time, down to the highway where the pedaling is easy and the route easier.  I’m hungry and am looking forward to the pasta I am going to make for dinner. 

9:03 PM.  I see a reflective Carsonite sign.  ‘Poison Spider Route’ it says, then a little further on, spray painted onto the sandstone is a big arrow pointing in the direction I had just come from, and next to it the word ‘SPIKE’. 

I have been here before.  Probably two hours ago.  Somehow I have walked a giant loop and am still several miles from the trailhead.  I consult my map, more anxious than angry, and set off for the trailhead.  But it happens again, only this time it’s a smaller loop, but here I am again, standing in a spot I had stood in only 30 minutes earlier.  Just like in the movies, I am literally walking in circles.  I come to a T-intersection.  Now which way?  I consult my map again and make sure I pick the right direction.  Ten minutes later I pass an intersection that tells me I made the right choice.  30 minutes after that I pass Little Arch, which tells me I was wrong. 

Now I’m on the right trail but walking in the wrong direction.  I’m six miles from the trailhead now.   According to the map , there’s another junction ahead, and the trail on the right  leads to the Portal Trail.  I’m afraid of the Portal Trail because cyclists have died on it, but if I make it down it’s an even shorter ride on the pavement back to my car.  It’s worth the risk.  I plod onward, now getting further from where I had originally wanted to be, but also confident in knowing where I was going for the first time in three hours. 

I see a trail on the right.  Finally, I have found the way to the Portal Trail.  Oops, that’s not it, but 20 minutes are wasted getting back to the real trail.  Now here’s another trail.  Nope, that’s not it either.  Another 15 minutes down.  Oh, now here’s a big wide trail, with lots of tracks in the sand.  This has to be it. 

Twenty minutes later I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.  The view is beautiful, but for one missing feature.  I can see the Holiday Inn in Moab, but not the Portal Trail.  It is somewhere directly below me at the base of this cliff.  I have a strong signal on my cell phone now.  It’s 10:32.  I have been wandering in the dark for five hours.  I call my wife again.  “I’m going to spend the night” I say.  “The temperature will be in the thirties tonight,” she says “and it’s supposed to rain after 5AM.”

“I’m afraid I won’t recognize the Portal Trail when I come to it” I say.  I don’t want to walk past it and spend another five hours searching.  I walk down the slope and find a small sandstone shelf, eighteen inches off the ground.  It’s just big enough for me to squeeze underneath to get out of the wind.  I put on every piece of clothing I have, eat my last energy bar, lean my bike against the shelf to keep the critters away from my head, say another prayer and slither into my hovel, pulling my map over me as a blanket.  It will be light in eight hours. 

I’m surprised that I’m actually able to sleep.  Not a good sleep, but sleep nonetheless.  I awake every couple of hours, because my hip aches from the rock I’m curled on.  I get up to pee, and to circulate some blood.  Then I slither back in and shiver convulsively until sleep sets in again.  I repeat this four more times during the night:  11:24, 12:17, 1:38, 3:54.    

5:44 AM.  I get up again.  This time while I’m doing my calisthenics it starts to rain.  The sun won’t be up for another 45 minutes, but I’m not going to sit here and get hypothermia.  I continue down the hill in the dark (my light was still shining brightly after all these hours) and find the Poison Spider trail.  Within 15 minutes I come to another trail on the right.  This one is clearly marked ‘To Portal Trail’. 

6:47 AM.  I’m standing on the cliff edge again, looking at Moab below me.  I switched off my light 15 minutes ago.  I can see the pile of uranium tailings below me, where cleanup activity is just getting started for the day.  The Portal Trail is easily visible to my left and to my right.  I call my wife again.  She didn’t sleep well either. 

7:53 AM.  I’m at the junction of US 191 and S.R. 279.  I call my brother.  He and Mags almost drove to Moab last night to look for me. 

8:34 AM.  I’m in my car at the Gemini Bridges trailhead, feasting on canned peaches, cottage cheese, an avocado, chocolate milk, sliced bread and Tostitos tortilla chips. 

11:08 AM.  I stop in an empty parking lot in Price to take a nap.  My sleeping bag is luxuriously warm.

2:28 PM.  I’m home again.  Mags and I share a long embrace.  We go out to the yard to rake leaves together.