Indian Road 6310

You have to go there to get there. That’s my van life aphorism. It pretty much meets any situation but I have to say our journey across the top of Arizona had me muttering this phrase more than once.

The desert is beautiful but we’ve seen a very great deal of it in the past couple of months. And there’s more! We had to drive to Page Arizona just south of Utah from the Grand Canyon to start driving new roads to the Navajo National Monument, our camp for the night. 

That meant we had to double back down from the Kaibab Plateau and we only found fresh vistas, of desert as we turned north to Page.

We never drive as fast as Google plans for us so we add an hour for every four they say. We followed the blue line above but it took longer than the hour Google suggests. Rusty needs breaks from time to time so our slow pace is all his fault. 

Our goal was to check out the Navajo National Monument which has FREE camping with facilities according to iOverlander, the best camping app. 

That sounded promising. All we had to do was go there to get there. So we drove. And drove and drove some more. To squeeze mileage out of our more than five dollar gas we drove slow and steady, mostly between fifty and fifty five with bursts to sixty downhill. Amazing how much further the gas goes. Then I saw an alternative route to the Monument on Indian Road 221. It was splendidly paved and boxed well. 

According to the Tony Hillerman mystery novels set in Navajo Country the locals like to live apart from their community and we saw evidence of this as the day wore on. Lots of little homes sitting by themselves usually surrounded by cars not trees. They take less watering my navigator suggested. 

The pavement ran out. We stopped. We could turn back and take the long, paved way round. Or not. Got to go there to get there I told myself. Let’s take the dirt I said out loud to my dubious navigator. How far is it? was her sensible question. Eleven miles I said. Well I suppose she started… and we were in gear taking on the unknown. What could possibly go wrong? 

It started out okay on soft sand over hard packed dirt. We could hit 20 miles per hour. So what could go wrong? Well, this is the largest Indian reservation in the country, something like 23,000 square miles over three states. They have rules which include wearing masks when inside public buildings and no drone flying. You aren’t allowed to wild camp without a permit in the back country. 

There was, from time to time some washboard which slowed us down as the rumble from the back of the van sounded like our home was being bombed as we bounced over the rough sections. The washboard got worse when we turned onto the narrower Indian Road 6310. 

The silence from the passenger seat was profound. Having fun yet I asked brightly. Sure, she grumbled. I’ll have fun when we arrive. I was enjoying the unknown, and the startled looks from the few Navajo drivers coming in the opposite direction. Not every day they see a camper van lumbering through their back yards. And that rarity is probably a good thing for their peace and quiet. 

We needed to pee so we stopped in a wide spot. It’s lovely traveling with your own toilet especially when it’s brand new. I got out with the camera as it seemed a good moment. 

There was a nearby driveway to some isolated homestead. The cardboard sign announced “No Visitors” which seemed to make it unlikely they’d brew up a nice cup of tea if we went knocking so we just pressed on. 

I don’t think there is anything inherently illegal about just taking off through Navajo backcountry but I wasn’t entirely sure. We never passed any “No Trespassing” signs so I figured we were fine. But on the other hand they have lots of tribal rules and customs and observances about which I know nothing. I didn’t want to inadvertently tread on any Native American toes. 

And for the first stretch of road a large pick up truck tailed us keeping its distance and patiently following our erratic progress. I figured they might be tribal police wondering what the hell we were doing, which even to us seemed a fair question. So far so good I thought as I saw no blue lights of fond memory appear in my mirror. Layne had the same thought but when we turned off Indian Road 221 into Indian Road 6310 they carried on straight ahead. Phew. And I noticed it was just a work truck hauling water to some thirsty homestead in this parched  land. 

I suppose you could say I was a bit nervous about the Navajo and their special rules. On the other hand GANNET2 was doing great. The Mexican tires from Hermosillo coped perfectly with the sand and washboard on this road, which it has to be said wasn’t a fierce test of dirt driving. It just took patience.  Finally we saw our goal, the Navajo National Monument boundary fence: 

It’s a square of Navajo  park land managed by the park service. In back there’s a canyon and a campground overlooking it, but only the Sunset Campground (facing west obviously) was open. We found one other RV among the three dozen spots. The view south from the top of Sunset Campground. 

Anyway we knew we had arrived when we reached blacktop. We had both wondered privately on the dirt road if we might find the back door to the monument gates and locked. But here we were:

We circled the empty campground a couple of times. A solo German called Klaus whom we met later had taken the high spot and he had been parked three days already. We found a secluded spot where Rusty could lurk undisturbed. 

As described: surrounded by cypress trees. No check in, no reservations, no muss no fuss. Drive in and pick an open spot. Maximum length  of permitted stay is uncertain according to Klaus who said it might be one week or two. “But there’s really not much to do here,” he said. Predicting more campers would arrive and like us spend just one night. He also said he’d seen a stray dog wandering the campground and he said to expect a visit. 

Sure enough. 

He ate three bowls of food and a handful of snacks. Then drank three bowls of water and promptly wandered off. 

That was a stress. I couldn’t believe the parks service wasn’t looking after him and Layne found a no kill shelter in Durango. Here we go again, we figured, we’d be transporting a friendly stray to safety. 

Aside from the stray dog stress it was a lovely spot and as Klaus had predicted it filled up as evening drew on. 

In addition to the visitor center there is a bathroom with toilets but no showers in the campground itself. 

I enjoyed this stop. Not just because there’s no charge but there are trash cans and toilets (no electrical hookups in case you cared- we didn’t!). 

No dogs on trails of course but we walked a fair old bit inside the fenced area around the campground. 

The stray dog story ended well. It took food and water from us but showed no signs of being ready  to surrender to us and join us in the van. 

For some reason a ranger came by and brought out a stiff rope to lasso the squirrelly little dog. That didn’t work either but he promised to put out a cage to trap the dog and get it to safety. 

He looked a bit younger than me the motorcyclist from North Carolina. I don’t think I’d enjoy sleeping on the ground anymore. But he doesn’t have to take responsibility for stray dogs he meets on the road! 

The ranger turned out to be a really nice guy, turning around my irritation at the neglect exhibited by the park toward the starving thirsty little dog accidentally in its care.  

We talked about life at the park and he told us he’d rescued a “res dog” and it was totally loyal and very protective of his family. We we’re happy to know the little dog was now on the official radar. The ranger looked thoughtful and said he thought this little mutt would make a good pet. We agreed. 

It was a relief not to have to deal with the fog which clearly isn’t house trained. Plus Rusty would have got in one of his moods when we rescue a dog. All was well and we left the park. 

It was overcast and we had a little rain but temperatures were cool and we slept well. Life without mosquitoes or sweating. 

We said goodbye to Klaus, an interesting man who lived in Sedona until he got gentrified out and moved to a mobile home park near San Diego. He’s been driving around in his RV visiting friends in Arizona and was heading to Mesa Verde in Colorado so we might meet him again. 

The immaculately clean toilet block: 

We talked to Klaus about driving Mexico which he has a hankering to do so we tried to reassure him about such a bold plan. I hope he plucks yo the nerve to do what we enjoyed so much. 

We left the campground with a happy Rusty and aimed toward Monument valley a couple of hours away on the Utah State line. 

You have to go there to get there.