Back Road Adventure

Battling Mud, Ruts, and Fear North of Salina Spring

“Put it in neutral and try to stay off the brake,” said one of my Navajo passengers as we headed into seven inches of mud and a steep descent from the trading post at Salina.I had met this man, his wife, and their preschool-age son in the remote trading post a half hour earlier. I had no inkling that we would soon risk death together.

Salina is directly south of Black Mountain, roughly 40 miles southwest of Chinle, a major community on the Navajo Indian Reservation in northeastern Arizona.

I arrived at the trading post early in the morning, driving a short but treacherous “allweather road” that was riddled with potholes. I knew this “good” road was supposed to end at the trading post at the top of a hill, where the dirt road would begin its descent to the community of Cottonwood.

“What kind of conditions can I expect when I start down that dirt road?” I asked at the trading post. “Can I get through with an ordinary car?” The man who had stopped in with his wife and son said, “Oh, we do it all the time with our car, but it rained last night, you know. Just stay off the gray mud, and you'll be okay. Try to stay on the brown mud.” I went outside and scribbled some notes while a couple of ragged dogs looked me over with what appeared to be genuine concern. It could have been my imagination, but one of them a mixed Lab I guessed wrinkled its brow and widened its cowlike eyes as if to say, “You're really going to drive down that hill in that little car with barely six inches of clearance, eh?” Suddenly the Navajo man came out of the trading post and walked up to my window. “Can we ride with you down the hill?” he asked. “We have a car, but we loaned it to my sister-in-law because she had to go to Gallup. We were going to walk down the hill and go to Blue Gap to check the mail.” “Climb in,” I said, thinking how lucky I was that I would now have someone along to distinguish good mud from bad mud for the next five miles.

As soon as we left the trading post, the road veered to the right and then immediately rounded a curve to the left. Two things caught my eye simultaneously: About a quarter mile to my left, a cluster of startling white cliffs rose from the canyon floor like an immense cathedral. My companion noted that it looked more like a giant spider, no doubt because of shadows between the tall spires that made the vertical fissures look like spider legs.

right and then immediately rounded a curve to the left. Two things caught my eye simultaneously: About a quarter mile to my left, a cluster of startling white cliffs rose from the canyon floor like an immense cathedral. My companion noted that it looked more like a giant spider, no doubt because of shadows between the tall spires that made the vertical fissures look like spider legs.

We did not get to spend much time debating this point because the second thing I noticed was that, about 20 feet ahead, the road made a 45degree dive, veering in a slight S curve down through seven or eight inches of mud that extended for at least 150 feet. This mud was gray (bad), not a hint of brown (good) anywhere in sight.

noticed was that, about 20 feet ahead, the road made a 45degree dive, veering in a slight S curve down through seven or eight inches of mud that extended for at least 150 feet. This mud was gray (bad), not a hint of brown (good) anywhere in sight.

That was when my companion gave me his sage advice to stay off the brake and coast not at all an easy thing to do when the car begins to fishtail and traction becomes more or less equivalent to that of a stick of margarine skittering across a hot broiler pan.

At the bottom of that first incline, I felt relieved, grateful that I had not skidded into one of the six-foot ditches on both sides of the road. However, my euphoria was premature, and brief. The next four miles were a series of slight hills with long stretches of oil-slick mud interrupted occasionally by drier mud, every inch of it battleship gray. I was unable to touch the gas pedal for fear of going into a ditch. I could have thrown the brake pedal away for as much good as it did me.

About a thousand feet before returning to the pavement of Indian Route 4, a three-quarterton pickup truck turned off the highway and headed straight toward us. For the first time, my Navajo companion seemed to grow tense.

"Stay in the tire tracks in the mud, stay in the ruts," he said in a voice just above a whisper. "Just move over slightly, slightly, just enough so he can go by."

His wife, seated with the boy in the backseat, said something in Navajo to which my companion replied, with a hint Of irritation, "He's got four-wheel drive; he'll be all right." Obviously a reference to the truck driver's well-being. I had two-wheel drive and wasn't feeling all right at all.

As the truck passed, I took a deep breath. There may have been three inches between us, but I wouldn't swear to it.

Finally we were on pavement, headed west toward the trading post and post office at Blue Gap, 14.9 miles away. The woman in the backseat had said very little during our slide down the mountain, but now she remembered that in the trading post I'd said I hadn't found much to write about yet.

"Now you have something to write about," she said with a laugh, "because you are still alive."

Yes, that was something. This back road excursion started at Chinle, went south on U.S. Route 191 to the cut-off for Indian 4, a distance of 6.2 miles. I turned west onto In-dian 4 and drove 14.3 miles to the right-hand turn onto Indian Route 251, the road to Black Mountain. You'll see a sign for the Black Mountain Mennonite Church, which is on 251, before you see the 251 marker. Indian 251 makes a 15-mile semicircle through short grass, sage, and towering sandstone buttes in the shadow of Black Mountain. The semicircle will return you to Indian 4. Cross the highway and continue south on the all-weather road that climbs 12 miles to the Salina trading post. The road was filled with potholes that day in Feb-ruary when I went through, yet I was told it was better than it normally is. If you try this trip, and it has rained the previous night, do yourself a favor: Turn around at the trading post and come back down through the pothole route. If there's been no rain, the dirt road beyond the trading post will likely have been graded and will make for a short and remarkable ride through a dramatic landscape of piñon pines, arid buttes, and mesas, where log hogans and rustic corrals lie scattered in the pale green sage.

TIPS FOR TRAVELERS

Back road travel can be hazardous if you are not prepared for the unexpected. Whether traveling in the desert or in the high country, be aware of weather and road conditions and make sure you and your vehicle are in top shape and you have plenty of water. Don't travel alone, and let someone at home know where you're going and when you plan to return. Odometer readings in the story may vary by vehicle. The AAA Indian Country Map is a good guide to take along. For more about traveling on the Navajo reservation, contact the Navajo Nation Tourism Department at (520) 871-6659.