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Blog by: Jon Yazzie, Big Agnes Ambassador
For nearly a decade, Dzil Ta’ah Adventures has guided bikepacking trips across the vast landscapes of the Navajo Nation. Since 2016, our goal has been simple: help riders experience the land in a deeper way- through stories, culture, and long miles in the saddle.
Over the past year, however, our tours have been on pause.
Part of that has been navigating the ever-changing legislation around commercial guiding on the Navajo Nation. But part of it has been more personal. After decades of sports and countless hours on the bike, I’ve been dealing with a stubborn rotator cuff injury that finally demanded some time off.
Stepping away from guiding wasn’t easy, but it gave me time to reflect on the trips that have meant the most over the years.
The best tours, I’ve realized, are the ones where the learning goes both ways.
When Guests Become Teachers
I love sharing Diné culture with riders who visit our homeland. Many of our creation stories are tied directly to the landscapes we ride through, and I enjoy explaining how those stories shape the way we understand the land.
But some of my favorite trips are the ones where I end up learning just as much as the guests.
Over the years, riders have taught me about everything from western medicine to running a brewery, photography, and even bicycle frame building. I’ve always been curious, and bikepacking trips often turn into rolling classrooms.
One of the most memorable trips happened with Ron and Diane—both college professors at an Arizona university. Ron specialized in geomorphology, and Diane taught biology.
The moment I read their questionnaire responses before the trip, I knew this was going to be a good one.
Ron even asked what gearing I planned to run on my single speed after noticing in our photos that I also rode one gear.
Rolling Out Into the Desert
Ron and Diane arrived mid-morning on launch day, and after a quick round of introductions and a rundown of the route, Ron walked straight over to inspect my bike.
Within seconds he noticed something.
“You’re running a taller gear than you told me,” he said.
He was right.
My strategy was simple: if he was a little slower, I’d have more time to ask questions.
Thankfully we had already set a water cache along the route, so we didn’t have to haul five or six liters of water each across the desert.
Once we rolled out, the miles passed easily as the conversation picked up.
Eventually the route dropped into a dry wash filled with deep sand dunes, and the riding turned into an hour-long hike-a-bike.
Dialing in a Bikepacking Sleep System
Long desert days mean good sleep systems matter.
For this trip, I was running the Three Wire Bivy paired with the Lost Ranger 3N1° Sleeping Bag and an insulated pad.
The Lost Ranger uses a sleeve system that connects directly to the sleeping pad, which cuts weight while still keeping the bag from sliding around at night. As a side sleeper, I appreciate the extra room to move without feeling constricted.
After pushing bikes through ankle-deep sand for miles, small comforts like that make a big difference.
A Desert Classroom
As we worked our way across the sand dunes, we stopped often to look at plants along the trail.
At one point I pointed out chiiłchin, a plant known to my Diné relatives for its berries.
Traditionally the berries are used to make sumac mush or a refreshing lemonade-style tea. They can also be used as a dye for wool in wedding baskets, while the leaves and bark help treat stomach ailments.
Diane nodded and added another layer of knowledge.
She explained that the plant is scientifically known as Rumex hymenosepalus, often called Canaigre dock or desert rhubarb. Its high oxalic acid content is what gives it that tart, lemonade-like flavor.
From there the ride became a moving classroom.
We stopped to talk about desert prince plum, Colorado four-o’clock, and Navajo tea which she called ephedra. I shared how the plants were used traditionally, while Diane explained their botanical relationships and adaptations to desert life.
Two ways of understanding the same landscape.
Stories Written in Stone
That evening we set up camp and watched the sunset wash across the red sandstone buttes of Monument Valley.
Once dinner was finished, I started asking Ron about the towering rock formations around us.
For years I had understood these landscapes through Diné creation stories that describe how the land changed as our people emerged through the four worlds. But Ron explained how wind, water, and time shaped the sandstone layers over millions of years.
Different stories, both rooted in the same place.
On our way back the next day, we stopped at our water cache where a rock covered in dark desert varnish caught our attention.
Curious, I chipped off a tiny piece—about the size of a fingernail—and gave it to Ron to study.
Weeks later he emailed with the results.
The varnish, he explained, forms when bacteria concentrate manganese and iron on the rock’s surface. He had embedded the sample in epoxy, polished it, and examined it under a microscope before sending me the images.
While the sandstone itself is millions of years old, the thin layer of varnish on that sample represented about 12,000 years of accumulation.
A thin skin of time written across the desert.
Why We Ride
Trips like that remind me why guiding matters so much.
Guests come to ride through Diné Bikéyah and hear our stories. They come to learn about the land and experience the philosophy that shapes how we move through it.
But what I value most is the exchange.
Every trip teaches me something new.
And while we miss running tours right now, this time away has been important—for healing, for family, and for finishing a few college courses that have been waiting in the wings.
With a little time and patience, we hope to be back guiding soon.
Until then, the land—and the stories written across it—are still waiting.
