Spring Break 2015 – Adventures in a Dry Paradise
Typically, the spring time of year is one that drags by
without haste, excitement, or weather worthy of anything other than those
activities to which a duck might aspire.
The ski/snowmobile/fatbiking season denigrates into a morass of melted
mountains and muddy trails, with temperatures flirting with comfortable at
times, but then inevitably slapping any exposed skin with a healthy dose of
reality, sometimes in the form of late season snowfall. In just the past 7 days, I have ridden my
bicycle through 5 inches of snow, and then on dry trails with temps nearing 70
degrees…and didn’t have to travel anywhere.
Honestly…I hate spring.
This year, however, I had Spring Break to look forward
to. Back in January, we nailed down an
excursion that would knock off a few bucket list items for each of us…a bunch
of national parks for Michelle, and the mecca of mountain biking in the United
States for Mike…southeast Utah. My
ordinarily laconic schedule took a major uptick in the week prior to departure,
with an inordinate amount of complexities related to both household and work,
and I spent Monday through Thursday running around like a proverbial
chicken-with-its-head-cut-off…and the social graces I displayed by the end of
that time were akin to said headless poultry. Needless to say, I was very ready for a
vacation, and by 11 pm on Thursday night, I was resting my head on a pillow in Salt Lake City.
Day One: The Search
for Spirits
We left SLC at an early hour, thanks largely to the benefit
of our transition from Central to Mountain time zones. First on the agenda was to stop at a grocery
store and procure provisions for the trip, which we were pretty sure would
result in travel to areas which might have questionable sources of
sustenance. In other words…we were
heading into the hinterlands. Batting a
VERY close second was the need to get BOOZE…after all, despite the eccentric
nature of this journey, it WAS Spring Break.
The initial problem was solved easily, and we hit a grocery store in Provo on the way
south. Thusly supplied, we found that a
source for libations was a mere two blocks away…perfect! And then it was closed. Being that this is the state of Utah, they have all
kinds of crazy Latter Day Saint ideas about how alcohol may be accessed, and
none of them seemed to be playing in our favor.
We had driven out of range of all of the State liquor stores before we
knew it, and desperation began to set in.
Another town, another closed liquor store. Finally…we had a choice of detouring about 10
miles to roll through a town that had a Package Store, or leaving it up to the
chance of one final town that was on the way to our destination of Torrey, UT. This paid dividends…although due to our
arrival right at the opening of the store, we were made to stand in line with
the rest of the local drunks. Two
bottles of Sailor Jerry in hand, we high-fived and continued our sojourn.
Capitol
Reef National
Park is among the newest NPs in the country,
having been established in 1971. The
90-mile-long park covers the Waterpocket Fold, which is essentially a rift in
the Earth’s crust that has exposed multi-hued layers of sandstone in
spectacular fashion. Reds cliffs
streaked with grey and black strata, earthen formations that Michelle described
as “brownie-like”, spires, cones, chimneys, castles and the like made for a
truly extraordinary visual experience.
The park resembles a cross between the red rock formations of Sedona, AZ and the Grand Canyon and the Badlands of South Dakota. We stopped at the Visitor’s Center and made
some inquiries as to a nice hike for the afternoon and were directed to the
Grand Wash trail. A little over 2 miles
in each direction, the Grand Wash was an ancient river bed that had carved the
sandstone out to depth of a few hundred feet, and at its narrow point, was only
about 100 feet wide. At the very least,
the scope of our humanity was put into perspective with relation to the time it
must have taken for the elements to carve such intricacies into the
landscape. I have a fairly solid grasp
of the humility inherent in the human creature, but seeing petroglyphs carved
into the sandstone by native peoples from over one thousand years ago was
really quite staggering to me. I took
the time to offer a thought on the juxtaposition of these crude symbols in the
sandstone and the timelessness of the landscape we trod upon to the contrails
of a jet that was crossing the azure and cloudless sky above us. The human creature, for all of its failures,
is really fascinating. Nature, however,
is incomparable.
We are currently parked in Torrey, at the Chuckwagon
Lodge. Torrey only has 120 residents,
but this is a really nice joint, replete with wi-fi and hot tub…more amazing
triumphs of humanity. Tomorrow is
looking to be another long day of adventure, and we are ready to take it as it
comes…after all…we have rum.
Day Two – Hittin’ The Slots
Oh yeah…Las Vegas and the greater Chicagoland area casinos
would have you believe there is a copious amount of excitement to be had when
playing the old “one-armed bandit,” but I would hazard a guess that our
experience today would out-do all but the biggest of jackpots. The day began early once again, as our
time-zone advantage once again helped us out.
We had some breakfast in the room, packed the rental Cherokee, and
headed for the hills by 7:30 am. The
previous evening had left us in a bit of a quandary, as the planned activities
for the day involved an undetermined driving distance…the advances of
GoogleMaps and the map function of the I-phone have not yet come to anything
resembling accuracy with regard to this part of the world. The plan was to drive over to Boulder, UT,
across the Waterfold that formed Capitol Reef, and from there head on a
southerly route over 30 or so miles of dirt road in order to access a hike that
would route through two slot canyons. We
weren’t entirely certain that the distance would be tenable, and, as we had
driven 300 miles the first day…a repeat performance was not necessarily all
that exciting of a prospect. Since we
had to head over to Boulder anyway, we decided
to see how long it took to get there, and decide from that point if we were
going to continue west to the slot canyon area, or head back east towards our
nightly destination of Lake
Powell and do a hike in that area
instead.
Michelle got behind the wheel, and our route took us up and
over a mountain range with a decent amount of snow on the roadsides…we were
well over 9000 feet of elevation.
Dodging mule deer and allowing me to control the speed of the descent
with the tiptronic shifter, we made Boulder in just over an hour, which left us
PLENTY of time to head west and make a go for the slot canyons. We did a driver change when the road surface
turned to dirt at Hole In The Rock road, which we followed for almost 30 miles,
until we turned left on Dry
Basin “road,” which in turn, led
us via very bumpy surface that got Michelle leaving imprints on the grab
handles, to the parking area for our hike.
The parking area was said to be only accessible by “high-clearance”
vehicles, but when we arrived, there was a woman in a VERY low clearance
sub-compact that was just finishing up cooking her breakfast on a camp stove,
having obviously spent the night in her car out there. The manner in which her fenders were hanging
off made me question the intelligence of bringing such a vehicle up there…but
the fact that she had a rainstick in the car and was clearly of the
ultra-hippie vernacular somehow made sense of the whole deal.
The hike was to be just over 3 miles, but would incorporate
two slot canyons. The descent from the
parking area had us gaping at breathtaking panoramas of the high desert and multi-hued
rock formations while watching our steps on the slickrock and sand trail
surface. We arrived at the bottom of the
wash, and, fortunately, found another couple that had already accessed the
entrance to Peek-A-Boo canyon, as we certainly would have missed it, due
largely to the fact that it involved a vertical climb up about a 10 foot
sandstone face with small hand/foot-holds carved into it. For those who have never experienced a slot
canyon…there is nothing even resembling a misnomer in its description. We were made to scramble over a variety of
obstacles, one of which actually required me to take a running start to gain
enough momentum to make a grab at a hand-hold that would allow me to propel
myself over a ridge. The canyon itself
was about one mile in length, much of which was spent alternately walking over
the sandy floor and gazing upwards at the sliver of sky we could see and
scrambling over and through various sandstone formations. Eventually, the “slot” effect took hold, and
we were forced into shuffling sideways through narrows that literally had me
holding my breath to make it through. We
were pretty exhilarated when we emerged into the bright sunshine at the top,
and once again took some time to appreciate the amazing scenery we found
ourselves in. The surroundings could
really only be described as a moonscape, with the exception of the juniper
trees and the tinge of green they added to the otherwise red and brown
surroundings. We followed marker cairns
to the top of Spooky canyon, only losing our way once (resulting in a minorly
perturbing feeling of being lost in the middle of freakin’ nowhere). Now…according to our reading, Spooky Canyon
was REALLY skinny, but the first part of it wasn’t too bad. However, it began to narrow, and then…there
was an obstruction. A huge pile of
seriously large rocks had apparently fallen into the canyon and wedged
themselves between the walls. I
scrambled over the top of them, only to find that, at the end of the last
boulder, there was a 25 foot drop down to the sandy canyon floor. It was at that point Michelle realized that
we need to be UNDER the rocks! This
required squeezing through a gap that could not have been more than 20 inches
wide and dropping about 5 feet. Being
Midwesterners, we are not normally programmed for such a thing, but I forged
ahead, leaving Michelle and my Camelback (which would not have fit)
behind. I proceeded only due to the fact
that I could see footprints in the sand from other hikers (we still weren’t
even certain we were in the correct canyon, lol), then turned around to help
Michelle through the tiny crack. Things
widened out a tiny bit after that…maybe three to four feet…while we were at the
bottom of the 20 foot canyon….but then, they started to get SERIOUSLY thin. Hearing voices ahead of us, we detected that
there were other hikers heading UP the canyon, and due to the narrowness of the
passage, we told them we would wait, as there was NO WAY two people would fit. We let them pass, then descended down a crack
so narrow, that I had to suck in my gut to get through certain spots. One could not walk, rather shuffle sideways
and conform your body to the sandstone in order to make it through. Prior to this, I had thought myself
claustrophobic…apparently, I’m not too bad.
Regaining the truck after about 3 hours, we drove back over
to Boulder and had an excellent lunch at Hellbent Café, then turned eastward
down the Burr Trail, which we had thought would be another unpaved road, but
ended up having been recently blacktopped, which was a bonus. Michelle took the wheel, and we were treated
to some more absolutely incredible scenery, prompting a discussion that
basically resulted in our decision that Utah is, in fact, the most amazing
place we have ever been. Even Yellowstone
pales with regard to the diversity that exists out here…from towering mountain
peaks capped with snow, to the endless spectums of geological colors spread
across soaring rock outcroppings and seemingly endless canyons…all within one
day’s drive!
To cap it off, I drove the final unpaved switchbacks back
through Capitol Reef, and then headed south and east towards Lake Powell and
our destination for the night. After
another 200 miles on the odometer, we pulled into the Defiance Lodge at
Bullfrog Marina on Lake Powell, and the promise of some delicious rum and cokes
with a view of the lake and the marina on the deck of our room. The only caveat…we found upon our arrival,
that our plan of taking the ferry boat across the lake for tomorrow would
be…compromised. Apparently, the ferry
only runs on Saturday at this time of year…which means…we either drive around
the Lake (3 hours!), or just spend the day here tomorrow and give up on our
planned visits to Bridges National Monument, Monument Valley in AZ, and Four
Corners…oh…and our stay in the town of Mexican Hat. Hmmm…decisions, decisions. I guess we will find out in the morning what
the best plan is…for now, I am going to head out on the deck and check out the
stars.
Day Three – Sensory Overload
Having encountered the apparent roadblock that the lack of a
ferry crossing presented, we dealt with it in TRUE “Spring Break” fashion… by
drinking a lot and delaying the decision until the morning. Well…the morning arrived…Easter morning as it
were…and we awakened to spacious blue skies and the sun shining off the red
rocks riding above the pristine blue waters of Lake Powell. Those blue waters proved hard for us boaters
from the Midwest to resist, and 10am found us in the office of the boat rental
agency at Bullfrog Marina. We rented a
saWEET 19 foot Triumph bowrider (with requisite rental boat dock rash and
rubrail hanging off due to recent impact).
The 150 hp outboard MIGHT have gotten us to 40 mph, but the real treat
was being able to boat into a couple of canyons…something not quite available
in any of the prior aquatic locales we have visited. Idling past picturesque walls of red
sandstone infused with streaks of mineral deposits rivaling…no…EXCEEDING… the
best modern impressionist art made the two-hour tour simply fly by. We could have spent days marveling at the 96
canyons of Lake Powell, but, alas, we had to continue on down the road.
Michelle drove almost all day today, giving me the
opportunity to really admire the landscape.
And what a landscape! Utah, for
all its glory, can really only be described as spectacularly
schitzophrenic. Towering peaks covered
with snow in the distance, contrasting with arid red mesas streaked with greys
and whites from ancient times on one side of the road, and the verdant green of
mesquite and juniper trees concealing the wonderous depths of innumerable
canyons on the other. It is a landscape
like no other…desolate, yet full of life, and so removed from all humanity that
a passing automobile was a noteworthy occurrence. I am pretty certain that in over 200 miles of
driving, we may have passed less than 10 private residences.
Bridges National Monument was our pass-through park for the
day, and we hiked to the bottom of two different bridges (different from ARCHES
due to being formed by water, as opposed to wind). The first was over 200 feet high, with over
200 feet of span, and the second, about ½ that size. Both were amazing…and definitely beyond the
pale when it comes to observance with the Midwestern eye. I’m pretty sure we appreciate these things in
a far greater respect than people who live out here. Let’s face it…you’ve seen one corn field,
you’ve seen them all.
The road from Bridges to the town of Mexican Hat was about
35 miles long, and featured a sign at its start that read…”Gravel Road Surface,
10% downgrade, 5 mph switchbacks.” This
was…unexpected. After all…this road was
a STATE HIGHWAY! Michelle was behind the
wheel until the road surface changed…and then…HOLY COW. We descended 1300 feet in about 2-1/2
miles…coming down from Cedar Mesa to the flatlands that encompass Mexican Hat
and, to the south, Arizona’s Monument Valley.
There was a time in my life when I would have likely just said NO WAY to
such a road…but a couple years’ experience driving in the mountains of Colorado
have given me a bit more confidence.
Still…the vision of the road surface we were headed for over 1000 feet
below was…disconcerting.
Our arrival in Mexican Hat and the subsequent evening pretty
much paralleled the diversity of the landscape we experienced on the drive
over. The San Juan Inn where we are
lodging is owned and operated by Navajo Indians, who live in the reservation
that is literally across the river from the hotel. In fact, when we checked in, the proprietor
spoke in the actual Navajo language to another customer in the gift shop…and I
realized that was the very first time I had ever heard a Native American
language spoken in person. Wow…what a
culture shock…and one that I very much appreciated. Having settled into our room, we began the
nightly ritual of rum’n’coke consumption…with some chips and salsa to sate our
hunger. The warm sunshine and refreshing
breeze really hit the spot, and when the guy staying in the room adjacent to
ours showed up, it was only natural to offer him a drink. When he responded quizzically to our offer of
rum, it became apparent that he was not from “these parts”…and further
examination revealed that Brian was, in fact, from France…and in the midst of a
three month world tour that included South Africa, Japan, China, New Zealand,
southwest USA, Peru, and Bolivia…and that would conclude with 6 days in Chicago
in mid-May. We spent the evening with
our new-found friend, answering each other’s questions and generally being
cross-culturally educated…all whilst sitting mere FEET from the “reservation”
of an indigenous population. I am pretty
much chalking it up to UTAH, at this point.
What an amazing display of diversity…in a land that has such a
homogenous, milquetoast persona in popular culture.
Days Four and Five – The Road to Nowhere…and then Moab
The fourth day of our sojourn was one that was to be mostly
designated for travel…in four different states, mind you. We were again on the road at an early hour,
headed south out of Mexican Hat and onto the Navajo Reservation that straddled
the Utah/Arizona state line. Along this
course, we saw wild mustangs crossing the road in front of us (another first)
travelled through the infamous Monument Valley, with its towering monoliths
familiar to the general public through cinematic masterpieces like “Dumb and
Dumber.” We elected to forgo the actual
visitor center, and just observe “on the fly,” as we had a couple more spots to
hit before ending up in Cortez, Colorado, at the home of our friend Louise
Jackson and her husband Jim. Arizona,
and particularly the Navajo Reservation…were not very exciting. The landscape was pretty much
Illinois-like…only with sagebrush and sand instead of farm fields. Four Corners National Monument was next on
the list, and, quite honestly, seemed like some kind of government ploy to
wrest a $10 fee from our wallet. Should
the dear reader find himself/herself in the area, I highly recommend skipping
this one. At any rate…neither of us had
been to New Mexico…and now we can say we have been…albeit only by inches.
Another long, boring stretch of Colorado road put us in
Cortez, where we grabbed a quick lunch, and headed up to Mesa Verde National
Park. This one held a special
significance to us, as the last time we attempted to visit (waaaaaay back in
the very first road trip of our marriage)…we could not go, as the place was on
fire. Well…this time we made it…and the
place was only about 1/3 open. Still…we
were able to get up close and personal with the Spruce House cliff dwellings,
and, through this experience, develop such interesting and mind-bending
inquries as “Who the heck had the idea to live under a cliff overhanging the
first place?” and “Where did they go to the bathroom?” Hey…we are realists over here. After the short hike to see the ruins, we
were back in the car in order to get a glimpse of the larger ruins (that were
closed still for the season). On one of
the scenic overlook sights, we actually saw a pirate. Well…what we naturally ASSUMED was a pirate,
anyway…he DID have a parrot on his shoulder, and was wearing the Seinfeldian
“pirate shirt” in a lovely purple hue.
Chalk that up to the unexpected.
We descended from Mesa Verde with a righteous amount of
speed…those were some fun roads to drive…and headed over to Louise and Jim’s
house. We have known Louise since 2002,
as she kept a boat on the same dock as us in Hammond, IN. She and Jim married in 2008, and she retired
and moved out to Cortez with him. They
live in a beautiful house in the ranchlands outside of Cortez, with a 360
degree panoramic view of the surrounding mountains. In fact, out their front window, the outline
of Ute Mountain recalls a Native American Indian lying on his back with his
arms folded on his chest…the “Sleeping Ute.”
We spend a wonderful evening of conversation, wine, and gourmet Italian
food that precluded any of my writing…hence the two-day report.
Today, we were not in a huge hurry, and rolled out of Cortez
around 10am, headed in the general direction of Moab. Along the way, we decided to take a more
scenic route up and over the Blue Mountains (where there were still snowmobile
tracks visible off the roadside), stopping along the way to see the petroglyphs
at Newspaper Rock. The symbols etched
into the dark sandstone have defied interpretation, but archeologists have
determined that they were added to this rock gradually from pre-historic times
through about the 1300s. From there, we
decided to delve into Canyonlands National Park. Michelle had planned on hiking there while I
biked Moab, but, as there are three distinct “districts” to explore, we figured
we’d just knock one off the list. So…we
hit the Needles District, so named due to the mass of chimney-like features
bristling from the top of surrounding mesas.
We chose a hike to get us up close and personal with said Needles, and 6
miles, 3 hours, and 2 sunburns later, we were back at the car. The hike was a challenging one…plenty of
climbing up and over slickrock formations and around various buttes and
escarpments…but it was also a rewarding one, as the view from the turnaround
point was spectacular.
From there, Michelle got behind the wheel, and we headed up
to Moab. At this point, we aren’t sure
if it is the fact that we have been largely FAR FAR away from any civilization
that has us so sensitized to the extreme amount of noise and activity in this town…or
if it is just plain BUSY. The streets
are FULL of jacked-up pickup trucks, lifted Jeeps, RZRs, Hummers, motorcycles,
and vehicles bristling with mountain bike racks. We are staying in a small efficiency
apartment for four days, which will be a nice change of pace from the running
we have been doing. Personally, I am
full of the stoke, as I have been waiting approximately 27 years as a mountain
biker to get here, and I have always wanted to ride a Yeti mountain bike…which
is what I will be renting tomorrow.
Another couple of great days, in what is sure to be quite a
memorable trip. Now all I have to do is
get out of Moab alive, and, preferably, with all limbs intact.
Day Six…Inches of Travel
I was up today before dawn, and felt like a kid at
Christmas. Despite cooler temps and a
blasting wind, today was going to be perfect.
I purchased my first mountain bike in 1988. My walls were plastered with pictures and
posters from magazines of the pros of that day shredding Moab singletrack on
bikes I could only dream about. Today, I
am in that place, and have the financial means to make one of those bikes my
own, so I figured I’d pony up the cash for the nicest bike I could rent. I have always wanted a Yeti, and the SB5
Carbon is the top of the heap, so I had one reserved at Poison Spider Bicycles
back in January. Well, my luck had to
play in at SOME point…and the person who had rented my size SB5
yesterday…killed the bike. So…the shop
was scrambling to get me on an equivalent bike, and the compromise ended up
being TWO bikes…first, an Ibis Mojo HD...a carbon masterpiece with 6 inches of
travel, 1 x 11 gearing, and a Rock Shox Pike up front. I have this bad boy until tomorrow, when I
pick up a carbon Salsa Horsethief, which will be nice, as it is very similar to
the Salsa Spearfish I have at home…just more suspension travel. Anyway…the people at Poison Spider were
SLAMMED, but they took the time to rectify my situation, and suggest a riding
destination, and I was back at the condo about 40 minutes after leaving. I had purchased a map, and was also
utilizing a book detailing local trails that had been given to me by a friend,
and combining that knowledge with the suggestion of the bike shop guy, I chose
to ride the Moab Brand trail system. It
worked out well, as Michelle could drop me off at the trailhead on her way out
to Deadhorse Point, where she had planned to hike for the day, and I could ride
a paved bike path back down into Moab when I was done on the singletrack (it
was only 9 miles out of town).
Upon arrival at the trailhead, Michelle was relieved to see
a couple tours and some families with smaller children getting ready to ride,
so she knew that A) I wasn’t going to be out there alone, and B) these trails
were at least interspersed with a modicum of sanity. Another bonus was that I did have cellular
service out there…just in case. A quick
tweak to the seat height, and I was geared up and ready to roll. I gave Michelle a kiss goodbye, and rode off
with the wind blasting me from behind. I
was rolling along some nice multitrack, hitting a few little rock jumps here
and there and getting a feel for the bike, when I saw the sign for the first
singletrack. A slight right turn and an
instant incline really got the heart rate pumping. I kept telling myself to slow down and just
enjoy the day…but my legs wouldn’t listen.
I was spinning along pretty good, and the trail was very technical. Lots of step ups, drop offs, and
switchbacks…pretty much what I expected from Moab. The wind was an issue…everything is exposed
here as there are NO trees, and I came around a rock formation on a steep
climb, only to be met by a gust of wind that nearly knocked me sideways into a
ravine. I also saw a scorpion for the
first time, and was SHOCKED by how fast those suckers can move…I don’t know
why, but I always thought they would be slow?!?
The trail called Deadman’s Ridge proved to be the toughest…I had to put
my foot down a number of times trying to clear some of the steeps, and had one
section of hike-a-bike, but the traction out here is beyond the pale…as long as
your tire is on the slickrock surface, it’s not spinning. I covered nearly every trail in the system
(probably about 15 miles) in about 2-1/2 hours, stopping only to take a few
pictures. My legs felt great, but my
stomach was yelling something that sounded a lot like “feed me nachos,” so I
pointed the front wheel downhill…utilizing the EZ singletrack, the Rusty Spur
singletrack, and, finally, the super fun flowy Sidewinder singletrack before
hitting a beautiful paved bike path that led me 8 miles downhill (and mostly
with a tailwind) back to Moab. I stopped
in at the bike shop to get a quick lube of the chain and to inquire about a
shuttle for tomorrow’s ride, and then rode through town to our little
homestead…and nachos.
Michelle arrived home from her short hike about an hour
after I got in, but she wanted to head out to see another arch that was just
outside of town, so after a quick lunch, she was off again. As for myself, I am planning on a nice,
vacation-like NAP this afternoon. Tomorrow,
I am catching a shuttle at 8:30am out of Poison Spider to ride the infamous
Porcupine Rim Trail from the Kokopelli Trail down… only part of what is known
around here as “The Whole Enchilada,” but the only part that is open right now. It should be a burly ride…descending from
8500 feet to 4000 feet in about 21 miles, followed by an 8 mile flat ride back
to Moab. The dude at the bike shop says
my Ibis will absolutely slay this trail…I am just hoping to hang on!
Day Seven - A Touch
of Heaven
Today was a tumultuous day in terms of emotions and
happenings. I was awakened at 7 am by a
phone call from my shop with a semi-emergency that was pretty easily solved…but
it was still an auspicious way to begin a vacation day. Then, just after 8:30, I received the phone
call I had been dreading all week. My
uncle Larry had been ill for some time, and had gone into the hospital late
last week, and things were not looking good.
The phone call from my mom confirmed the worst…her brother was
gone. I know in my heart that his
suffering is at an end, and that he is at peace, but hearing pain in your
mother’s voice has a way of cutting to the very core of your being…I just
wanted to be near her to give her a hug.
This event put in sharp relief the ride I was to be taking today…the
ride I have waited ½ my life to take. I
thought a lot about my uncle, and my family, and my life…and I redoubled my
affirmation to live life at full throttle…have fun EVERY day…and make every day
count. I want to rest my head each night
knowing that revolution of the Earth was appreciated…and I was going to make
sure this one did just that.
The temperature had plunged to about 30 degrees after the
blustery front came through yesterday, so later in the evening, I called the
shuttle company and asked if I could change my 8:30 departure to 10:30, so
things would be a little more bearable at the starting point at around 8500
feet. This also proved to be fortuitous
because I was able to get my mom’s phone call.
Michelle had left to go hiking in Arches National Park with our friend
Louise from Cortez, so I had all day to ride.
I rolled into the Parking Lot at Poison Spider bikes at just after 10,
and when another guy came in geared up in similar fashion, I asked him if he
was there for the shuttle. He answered
in the affirmative, so I introduced myself.
His name was Martin, and he was from Calgary, CA, via Quebec. He owned a French-Canadian restaurant in
Calgary, and had done Porcupine Rim two years ago, so we agreed to ride
together. At the last minute, we were
joined by a Moab local, Kevin, and, finally, by a raggedy looking, flat-brim
hat dude sporting a full-face helmet and a downhill bike who introduced himself
as Ronnie. On the 40 minute shuttle
ride, we bantered about where we were from, chatted with Carrie the driver and
Kevin about life in Moab, and talked about the riding in our respective areas
of the country. I asked Ronnie what he
was doing passing through Moab on a trip from his hometown of Temecula, CA, and
his answer was…looking for places to film.
This piqued my interest, so I inquired further, and found out that
Ronnie was actually Ronnie Renner, X-Games Gold Medalist and legend of
Freestyle Motocross. He was a super cool
guy…and I can say that I rode with him…right up until the trail went DOWN. Then, he was GONE.
As to my own ride…well…as amazing as everything on this trip
has been….this was pretty much the tops.
17 miles of technical downhill riding, featuring loose rocks, embedded
rocks, rock drops, slickrock, layered rocks…yeah…it was rocky…and it
rocked. The Ibis ate it up. I was sooooo happy to be on a 6-inch travel
bike, as I was able to blast over all but the biggest hits without effort. The abilities of the bike exceeded my own on
numerous occasions, as I just couldn’t bring myself to launch any drops much
higher than three feet…and rolling slowly over anything bigger would have meant
utilizing my helmet. And then there was
the location of the trail. In some
spots, it was within 5 feet of a sheer dropoff to the valley floor over 1000
feet below. I simply concentrated on
where my front wheel was going, as opposed to what my peripheral vision was
picking up. At one point, I rode over a
crack in a rock that had to extend hundreds of feet down…fortunately it was
only about 5 inches wide. I was laughing
manically at certain points, and swearing at others. Martin followed me down, his Specialized 29er
had a lot less travel than my bike, so he had to be a bit more cautious, but we
stuck together all the way.
The trail NEVER got easy…and actually seemed to get even
harder towards the bottom. My arms were
jacked from all the breaking and pumping to get up and around rocks, my calves
were cramping from standing on the pedals and absorbing all the shocks, but my
mouth was in perpetual grin mode. When
we finally did reach the bottom at Sand Flats Road, I was exhilarated and
strangely calm at the same time. I bid
adieu to my compatriot with the ubiquitous mountain biker fist bump, and began
my 4 mile pedal back into town (Martin was camped on the Colorado River, right
where the trail ended). I took time to
reflect on my Uncle Larry and his life, his family, and his legacy. The sun shown brightly on the canyon walls
across the Colorado, the sky was the same impossible shade of blue that seems
to pervade this state, and the river steadily ran below, carving out the canyon
as it has done for millennia. I put my
hand over my heart and felt glad to be alive.
After a meditative ride back to the condo, I ate a quick
lunch, procured a Polaris RZR for an adventure tomorrow, and Michelle and
Louise arrived back from their hike.
Louise headed home, and we headed to the hot tub with cocktails in hand,
regaling each other with tales from the day.
Then, we drove back over to Poison Spider, where I turned in the Ibis
and took possession of the Salsa Horsethief I will be astride for the next two
days. We ate tacos and planned out the
day for tomorrow, which will include an early morning ride on the classic
Slickrock trail for me (another bucket-list ride), followed by an RZR
adventure…something Michelle has always wanted to try. We are hitting the bed early tonight, as both
of us are pretty torched. Vacations are
hard work.
Day 8 – Razor Power
Bright sunshine and temps in the 50s greeted us in the
morning, and the plan was for me to get a quick bike ride in for the morning,
then head into town and grab our rented RZR, which we would have until 6
pm. I utilized the Michelle-shuttle
option, and saved myself 2 miles and 1200 feet of climbing to get to the famous
Slickrock Trailhead. Along with
Porcupine Rim, Slickrock was a ride I’d been looking forward to for decades,
after reading about it constantly in mountain bike magazines. I headed off into the hills…rather…rock
formations…and it became pretty readily apparent that this was going to be
HARD. The slickrock surface itself is a
complete misnomer, as it is extremely tacky.
My tires gripped like Velcro on sideslopes and uphills, which made for
some eye-opening situations where I was climbing grades I never thought I would
clear. Unfortunately, the same
grippiness meant there was little to no speed on the descents (with the
exception of the VERY steep ones), and much of the power applied to the pedals
just never seemed to translate into speed over the ground. Not that speed was even a real issue…as there
was almost a complete lack of flat area.
Constant steep climbs followed by steep descents, and then the
occasional deep sand pit kept my heart rate high…and kept my brain wondering
who the heck created this torture chamber.
The trail itself consisted of a series of painted dashes to follow
across the rock in an almost arbitrary pathway.
I was under the impression that the trail was 13 miles long, so when I
hit the 7 mile marker, I was surprised to end up back at the start of the main
loop. Upon checking the map I had
grabbed…the main trail was only 9 miles long, so I decided to add the
additional 2-1/2 mile practice loop, and then roll back downhill into
town. No sooner had I made this
decision, I descended into a sandy wash and hit a sharp rock with my rear
wheel…resulting in the never-pleasant sound of air leaving the tire. I knew I was running tubeless, so I stopped
quickly and spun the wheel in the hopes that the Stan’s sealant inside would
plug the leak…but alas, no end came. I
knew there was a small mini-pump and a tube in the seat bag provided by Poison
Spider, but I also knew the pump was REALLY small, and that dealing with putting
a tube in would be a pretty messy job, considering all the liquid sealant
involved. Just then, another rider came
up, and, as he had a more accessible (and larger) pump, he let me bum it for a
second to see if MAYBE the hole would be plugged. The answer was no…and further examination
revealed a pretty large sidewall blowout…something not too uncommon in these
parts…especially on a tire that looked as worn as this one did. So…I made an executive decision to run to a
high point and see if I could get cell service for a pickup from Michelle, who
was back at the condo…and if I couldn’t get in touch with her, I’d toss the
tube in. Fortune smiled upon me, as she
answered the phone. I told her I had
about 1-1/2 miles to run, but that we should end up at the staging area at
about the same time. I hung up…and
started to run. Now…this trail was hard
to ride…but running it in cycling shoes…that was REALLY tough. Nonetheless, I made it out, tossed the bike
in the car, and ended my cycling for the day.
A quick turnaround in the condo involving a bite to eat and
a shower, and we were out the door.
First stop, Poison Spider to drop off the bike for the repair, and then
to Cliffhanger Jeep/UTV rentals to pick up the RZR. We ended up with the last one available, a
2-seat 800 EFI, and were on the road up to Sand Flats Recreation Area
(coincidently where I was biking that morning) by 11am. Having never driven a side-by-side, I had no
idea what to expect in terms of performance, but was told by the dude at the
rental place basically to just point and shoot…don’t even worry about 4 wheel
drive, or even low gear, for that matter.
We took his recommendation as to a general area in which to head, but
weren’t sure exactly what trail to hit first.
Michelle decided it would be a good idea to hit up a nice easy one
(yeah, right) called Hell’s Revenge.
Great. We got in line behind a
couple other UTVs, and two Jeeps, and were immediately going vertical up a
slickrock “fin”…so named due to it looking like a dorsal fin sticking out of
the ground. Well…to say the RZR handled
it easily would be a vast understatement.
Within two minutes, the Jeeps were pulling over to let me by (common
courtesy on the trail was to let faster traffic pass). I was running this thing across huge rock
gardens, through deep sand troughs, and up slickrock verticals that I was SURE
were going to send us over backwards…and the thing was just unstoppable. If there was any slight feeling we wouldn’t
make something…all I had to do was nail the gas, and we cleared it. I have NEVER heard Michelle laugh so hard and
so constantly in the entire time I’ve known her…and that is a LONG time. It was CRAZY.
The trail took us about 45 minutes to complete, and at the end, I switched
seats with her, and she drove us over to the next trail, called Fins ‘n
Things. After a tiny bit of initial
fear, Michelle was in pro-driver mode, ramping us up inclines and around curves
like we were on the best roller coaster of our lives. We stopped for a bite to eat, then I jumped
behind the wheel again for the remainder of Fins. Well…it turned out that I got the good part,
with repeated instances of beautifully bermed sand chicanes. I had the thing flying up the berms and
roosting sand…man it was fun…and then came the FINS. Like…a LOT of fins…some of which were pretty
narrow, and pretty tall. All I had to do
was keep my wheels in the rubber track left on the rocks, but it was a little disconcerting, especially
when the steep were such that we couldn’t see over the hood to what was in
front of us. Just awesome.
Never one to let something and easy be enough…Michelle had
us heading back down through town, onto the highway (the RZR would do just over
50 mph and was street legal), and out to the Poison Spider Mesa. Like Hell’s Revenge, this one was rated “Most
Difficult” on our map. Unlike Hell’s
Revenge, this was an EXTREMELY loose and rough rocky trail…no slickrock. We were bounced and battered up a series of
switchbacks…chasing a guy in a Jeep Rubicon who was obviously insane. After a ridiculously rough incline, we
reached a small “rest” area where a couple other families on RZRs were pulled
over basically just watching the show, and we decided to stop as well. We were treated to a fun sight, as four
massive rock crawlers came downhill -with no little difficulty- and that pretty
much made our decision that we were a little over our heads. So…back down we went, this time chasing
another RZR. We raced BACK across town
and back up to Fins and Things and Hell’s Revenge…and did both of them again
(this time with Michelle driving on the fins).
After fueling up (a LOT of fun for less than $10 in gas!!!), and hosing
it down at the local car wash, we returned “Cliffy” (as Michelle called it),
then headed back over to Poison Spider to grab my repaired bike.
A day that started off on an inauspicious note proved to be
one of the more memorable of the trip…and has us sorely tempted to add a UTV to
the toybox!
Day Nine – We Love Moab
This place is just awesome.
A bit off the beaten path, and a bit left of center in terms of the
locals…but everyone knows they are “out there,” and the common culture of Moab
is one of pervasive oddity…such that every damn thing that would be completely
“at odds” with a regimented norm…seems to fit right in. Dreadlocked hippies holding impromptu
concerts in a parking lot, art and photography shops galore, tourist traps and
outfitters, hard-core tree-huggers rubbing shoulders with mountain men in
lifted, smoke-spewing diesel monsters.
Jeeps EVERYWHERE. Mountain bikes
EVERYWHERE. And smiles on every
face. I really like it here.
Up until later last night, we were somewhat undecided as to
how we would spend our last day of vacation.
Fate intervened, however, in the form of my former teammate and Palos
riding buddy Mike Sealey, who just happened to be arriving in town with a group
of mountain bikers from Colorado Springs, where he now
lives. The Springs guys would be leaving
at 9 am from their campsite, which was only one mile from our pad, so it worked
out perfectly. Michelle was off to hike
in the Firey Furnace…or at least ATTEMPT to, then hit up a few more arches for
photography purposes…and the day was set.
I rolled into the CS campsite at about 8:45, and we left a
bit after 9, heading up to the Magnificent Seven Trailhead. Mag Seven was listed as a Classic Moab ride
in my readings, but had not heard much of it…other than hearing it was
GOOD. A group of 9 left the lot, and a
gentle two mile descent along the rim of a canyon deep enough to get the
Colorado guys nervous was first on the agenda.
I stayed towards the back of the pack, and conversed with the other
guys, as it was a very relaxed pace. It
was a gorgeous day…in the 70s with full sun, and the trail surface was
relatively flat, which was a nice change from the Slickrock of yesterday. There were plenty of little ledges and
features to play on, and a couple of fairly technical spots that had the group
stopping and taking turns attempting. I
was off my game for some reason, and dabbed on about every “difficult”
section…but no matter…it was a fun ride.
After about 4 miles, we ran into 2 more riders (a guy and a girl) from
the CS group, that had started at a lower staging area and rode up to meet us,
so now we were a group of 11. More fun
ensued, the trail stayed relatively flat, and after about 9 miles, we began to
loop back. One of the guys attempted to
ride off a 2 foot ledge, and didn’t quite have enough speed, resulting in an
endo and a rather harsh landing on his wrists, which immediately began to
swell. Since we were on our way back, it
was decided that he would ride up a dirt road towards the parking lot where the
lower car was, and they could give him a ride up to his car at our starting
spot. I had been slowly working my way
towards the front of the pack, wanting to push the pace a little bit, even if
it meant waiting for the group every once in a while, and I was right on point
when Sarah (the girl that joined us) jumped out front and dropped the
hammer. I took off after her, and we
quickly dropped everyone else. She was
surprised I was on the wheel, and told me I could pass, but I told her I was
fine…I just wanted to get a little bit of hard riding in. We spent about 10 minutes going pretty good
and talking, and finally arrived at the parking area, where we bid our injured
rider and the other 2 goodbye, and continued on our course. Everyone was huffing pretty good at that
point, and my legs were still ready to go, so, considering this was to be my
last ride, I just got on the front and started doing tempo. Mike stayed with me, and we left the group
quickly, but I periodically slowed down to let everyone catch up. It was hard to resist going full-bore…but I
remembered what Michelle had told me the other day….that perhaps the reason I
was only riding 3-4 hours instead of all day was because I ride too hard, and I
need to learn to relax. So, relax I did,
and I just spun the last 2 miles or so, which were notable due to the incline
we now faced…which had seemed MUCH easier on the way out!
The ride ended up being 18 miles…and it was a perfect
capstone to my mountain biking adventure.
Not too hard, not too easy, and in great company. We drove back into town, I said goodbye to
the crew, and set about provisioning for my last afternoon of vacation
relaxation. By that, I mean, I hit the
State Liquor store, grabbed a small bottle of Sailor Jerry, then stopped at a
gas station for a 2 liter of Coke. Upon
my arrival at the condo, I tossed a bunch of nachos down my throat and washed
it down with my beverage of choice (preceded by a Gatorade, of course). I was on my 3rd drink when
Michelle came into town, so I put it on hiatus, tossed the Horsethief into the
Cherokee, and dropped it back at Poison Spider, being sure to personally thank
the guys that had helped me out. Poison
Spider is probably the busiest shop I’ve ever been in, and the selection of
bikes just about had my wallet jumping out of my pants every time I went in
there, but the people that worked that could not have been more patient,
friendly and helpful…I’d highly recommend them to anyone looking to hit Moab
and rent.
Back to the homestead, and some afternoon cocktails in the
courtyard of our building, basking in the sunshine and marveling at the cliffs
forming the valley that surrounds the town.
We called for a reservation at a steakhouse, then showered up and walked
into town, stopping for a drink at one bar, and getting denied drink at another
due to stupid Utah alcohol laws that say in some places you must order food to
drink. Whatever. We cruised a couple art galleries and a
western store, then loaded up on delicious filets and a couple more
rums…toasting a superlative vacation.
Our walk home under the stars was the perfect summation of
the Utah experience, and we lamented the fact that there just aren’t as many
stars back in Illinois. Just another
thing that makes it tough to leave.
Day 10 – Homeward bound
Since Michelle never ever ever gets enough vacation…we HAD
to see one more thing on the way out of town.
Dead Horse Point was an area she had not yet been able to visit, and she
NEEDED the picture from said peninsula to make the trip complete. So…we cleaned up the pad, packed our clothes,
and were on the road by 8am. After a
stop in town for some breakfast tacos and a muffin, out to Dead Horse we
went. The view WAS spectacular…a sliver
of land jutting out into a canyon thousands of feet deep, colored with reds,
browns and greys…with the silver-hued Colorado river at the bottom. Utah is indeed an amazing place.
Four hours later, we were dropping off our Jeep at the
airport, having put almost 1600 miles on it, and over 35 hours of drive
time. In addition to being amazing, Utah
is also REALLY big.
We are on the plane now, somewhere over Nebraska, probably,
and heading back to our jobs, our families, and the droll reality of a Chicago
spring. This trip, however, won’t soon
be forgotten in the collective retinue of vacation memories. Utah was truly a special place, and I am very
happy to have taken in the spendor it offers with my favorite person in the
world.
Au revoir.
