Coyote Capers

Coyote Painting by Leland Holiday

As I drove south from Blanding to Bluff last Monday morning, I felt out of sync with the rest of the world. Gray clouds hung heavy in the air. Since they were too high to offer any promise of rain, I interpreted them as ominous rather than inspiring. Consistent with my mood, the day was windy, blustery and cantankerous. It wasn't as if the dawn was consciously trying to make me blue; the early morning light provided a rosy pink glow around the edges of the clouds, and a brilliant blue sky peeked through at erratic intervals. As I descended White Mesa hill, I noticed that the hillside matched what was happening in the sky. At ground level there was a layer of dark gray earth, softening to a pinkish color and finally melding into a blue green cap. It all came together quite nicely, but I wasn't about to let it improve my mood. My attitude didn't soften; I wasn't giving in to the day's underlying beauty. It seemed that it was taking forever to get to Bluff; each mile was a struggle. As I looked up, I noticed a scraggly coyote bolt across the highway in front of me. The bugger stopped on the other side and looked contemptuously back at me, daring me to cross his path. "Dagnabbit," I had ignored warnings from this chaotic character in the past and had paid dearly for my mistakes. I pulled the pickup to the side of the road and waited for four other cars to pass before proceeding, hoping to avoid the bad luck of being the first to cross his path. Old man coyote trotted off a ways in a leisurely manner, probably frustrated at not snaring me in his attempted entrapment.

As I sat waiting, doing my penance, I remembered all of the stories concerning coyote and his tricky nature. There has always been a great deal of art depicting this creature and his many misdeeds. The Navajo people have often warned me to take heed when Maaii (coyote) showed himself. A few years back, when Steve and I were doing a great deal more mountain biking than we can find time for now, I had ignored those warnings and it had nearly killed me. Steve and I had been trying to get away for days to ride a loop on the eastern slope of the Blue Mountain; an eighteen mile route with a strenuous, uphill first half and a screaming downhill on the back side. Steve called me in Blanding to tell me that our parents had agreed to cover the trading post so that we could ride the next morning. We agreed to start at 8:00 a.m., not too early because the first few miles of the ride were on a steep, narrow, treacherous piece of highway called Devil's Canyon. Since we did not want to become an unfortunate statistic, we thought it wise to give the truckers plenty of light to see us. The next morning was drop dead gorgeous, the air was crisp and the sky was sapphire blue. The green expanse of pine and spruce trees, along with walls of oak brush, made for a striking contrast to the red rock cliffs we were accustomed to. We made it up the narrow expanse of highway without incident, and turned onto a short section of gravel road. This is where the grand fabric began to unravel.

Steve was approximately 100 yards ahead of me, when all of a sudden a big dog coyote appeared out of nowhere, and ran right in front of my bike. He was traveling from south to north, which should have set off the alarm bells in my head but didn't. I actually let out a war whoop and veered in his direction to scare him. He simply trotted to the side of the road into the brush and looked back at me, as if to say "gotcha, fool." Steve looked back, a bit startled by my yell, and waited for me to catch up. As we rode side by side I told him of my sighting; we laughed it off and continued on our way. We made it to the dirt track and began the long uphill pull to the top of the trail. For some reason the trip seemed to beat me up, my legs were extremely heavy and my lungs were screaming for oxygen. It wasn't as if I was out of shape, I had been working out regularly and riding quite a lot. The pace wasn't all that fast, and Steve seemed to be having an easy time of it. I attributed my poor performance to passing on breakfast and using up my fuel reserves. I knew that the second half of the ride was going to be a breeze, so I sucked it up and ground my way to the summit. We halted there so that I could catch my breath, drink some water and rest for a moment.


Coyote Skinwalker Carving by Robin Wellito

When Steve couldn't wait any longer he jumped on his bike and bailed off onto an eight mile downhill run, which drops about 1,500 feet in elevation. I quickly followed, looking forward to the excitement I knew would come from speeds in excess of 40 miles an hour; it was truly exhilarating. I pulled right in behind Steve and drafted him until I could get by on a straight stretch, then he would do the same. We blew down the mountain so fast that the trees and foliage became a green blur. At one point we noticed mule deer racing along beside us. We quickly left them behind. We had to focus our concentration on the path ahead, because the ruts and rocks often presented themselves as dangerous impediments to our progress. Towards the end of the ride I saw Steve blow by me on a particularly narrow curve. I was impressed, and looked up to see him round another corner ahead of me. I lowered my head and began peddling furiously to catch up; I couldn't let Steve beat me to the bottom. As I rounded the curve, I looked up just in time to catch sight of a large, sharp rock planted directly in my path. As if in slow motion I saw my front wheel strike the rock. My bike became immobile for a fraction of a second. I, on the other hand, did not. I flew over the handle bars and began a slow forward roll in mid air. I remember thinking, "This is really going to hurt."

As I slammed into the road, flat on my back, I watched my bike take a shot at me as it tumbled down the path. I lay there looking up into the cloudless sky ringed by pointed tree tops, and wondered if I would ascend into that marvelous void or descend into the fiery abyss. Nothing happened for what seemed like a very long time, and I couldn't feel anything. I slowly moved the fingers of my right hand and began to feel pain. The same with my left hand and both feet. I was beginning to feel quite a lot of pain, but took this as a positive sign because it meant that I was still alive. As I slowly sat up and moved my head left and right I became enthusiastic about my chances of survival. I began an inventory of necessary assets and decided that everything was as it should be, although greatly nicked and scratched. As I shakily raised myself, marveling at my good fortune, I noticed movement on my left side. There in a small clearing on the north side of the track sat Hasteen Coyote, looking me over with a knowing air. As I stumbled around, scratching for a throwing stone and feeling anger well up in my bruised chest, he slipped into the undergrowth. Steve came tooling back up the road and noticed that I had survived my ordeal. He snatched up my helmet and poked his finger into the sizable indentation caused by my unfortunate incident. I assured him that it could not measure up to the damage my pride had incurred as I picked up my bike and limped off.

My mind found its way to the present as I watched the fourth vehicle speed by on the highway. I pulled back onto the road, feeling as if I had shown the now disappearing Coyote proper respect and consideration. Realizing the possible consequences, I was certainly not going to tempt fate by honking or cussing. For some unknown reason, the morning now seemed more serene. I began to appreciate the beauty of the surrounding landscape and the play of light. Maybe there was the lesson I was supposed to learn from all of this: slow down and appreciate the world around you. There is beauty everywhere, even in a dark and dreary day. That and, "Don't mess with Coyote".

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