My approach to questionable driving conditions has always been to take it slow. But Betty needs to maintain forward motion. On an uphill slope, losing momentum would mean sliding into the creek, a fifteen foot drop. So Betty moves at a fast clip. When we approach a hilltop, we can see the slick downhill beneath us. Betty has no choice but to keep moving. The downhill slope is nightmarish: I cling to the truck and brace myself for going over the ledge. Betty loses all traction with the tires, and they become like dull skis on ice.
Incredibly, she sails the truck down the road, and when we hit the bottom, we break through mud. We go through this sort of thing for four miles, and now I wonder, how do we get back? When we get to a creek, Betty says, "There's another way out." She is thinking the same thing as me. "Really?" I say, relieved. "Yeah, its longer, but it meets up with the 89A. Problem is, this creek is really running."
Betty decides to try the creek elsewhere. "Looks okay here," she says. "So, should we keep going?" she asks me. What do you say to that? Of course.
We ford the creek easily, but the next four miles to the trailhead only get worse. "Did I scare you?" Betty asks. But I can tell she's not comfortable with our situation either.
When we make it to the trailhead, I tell Betty that I'll try to be back by sundown. It dawns on me that Betty is handicapped – if the roads get worse, hiking out would be impossible.
This is when rain clouds envelop the valley and it begins to rain. Just a few years ago, about twenty percent of hikers wouldn't even find Coyote Buttes. But now the ranger station offers detailed instructions – eight pages of maps, photos, text and GPS coordinates.
Slickrock, mesas, buttes and hoodoos on the way to Coyote Buttes
