Moab. Thus far on the journey, this single destination has been the most contemplated. The Mecca of mountain biking, they call it. Beware overexpectation, however, 'cause it'll nip ya. Moab turned out to be good but not really better than any of a dozen other mountain biking spots I've seen during the last two months. Its reputation is built on the original Slickrock Trail that was designed and built by a couple of dirt bike enthusiasts at least 25 years ago.
I rode the Slickrock Trail on the first morning after finishing up at Arches National Park. Riding slickrock is just like riding on the pavement except that it's steeper than any road you will ever see. It's also not at all for beginners. I was about halfway done with the six mile loop when saw a rider ahead of me contemplating a steep drop. He was decked out in a nice matching Spandex ensemble and a spotless titanium full-suspension bike. I thought, "I'll watch this dude first, for he surely know what he's doing."
He didn't. With an initial maneuver that made me wince, he pushed off, failed to step into his clipless pedal (a binding) and with lightning-quick precision, the rock gobbled him up. Chump hit the ground with his dome, split his helmet in two, and
skidded to a halt on the scorching rock. I had to smack myself out of disbelief to go help him out. By the time I got there, he was up and walking around with a four inch handlebar-created laceration on his inner thigh but, thankfully, his brains remained inside of his head. I helped him evacuate his bike so that he could get stitches. In the commotion, I failed to get one picture of me on the slickrock. The image at left shows the typical non-slickrock terrain at Moab. Behind me is a sample of the numerous canyons and multi-colored rock formations that stamp their signature into a day trip in the Utah hills.
My uncanny ability to avoid disaster continued into the evening. And believe it or not, it was advice from my dear old dad that saved me this time. I had received an e-mail from him when I was in Colorado warning me about the flash floods that can occur in Utah this time of year. Instead of dismissing his advice as I usually do, I decided to relocate my campsite neighboring an idyllic, gurgling stream to a slightly higher position. If I hadn't noticed the an unassuming-looking flattened grass around my tent and linked the phenomena to Pop's advice, I would have been S.O.L.
The rain started at about 2 a.m. and continued steadily into the early morning. Oblivious and happy inside my tent, I slept until mid-morning waiting for the rain to stop. When I could wait no longer, I peeked outside and to my utter amazement, the nice desert creek had become a swift, muddy river that ripped over the exact spot where I had had The Rig parked and my tent laid only twelve hours prior. Come wit' it now! Thanks, Dad.
Waiting out the rain was excruciating. I went to McDick's and enjoyed some gristle 'n' grease and then jacked up on Dots at the movie theater watching The Mummy, a sure Oscar contender.
Finally, in the early afternoon, the rain
broke and within about fifteen minutes it was sunny and 80 degrees again. In a fit of deft driving that would have made the Duke brothers proud, I skidded The Rig into the parking lot at Canyonlands National Park to get in a full ride before the darkness could turn me away. And mad boy grips the bike of chrome with a fistful of steel!!!
Canyonlands consists of three approximately equal sized sections called Island in the Sky (the portion I visited), The Maze and The Needles, each characterized by unique sets of impossible landscape. It is really like three separate parks because the Green River and the Colorado River ensure that none shall pass between them. The Maze is especially remote and can only be accessed by 4WD vehicles and hearty travelers.
I had wanted to ride the entire 110-mile long White Rim Trail but the park ranger would not let me because the ride takes four days and the second-stage campsite was full. Probably
a good idea to skip it this time anyway. I will be back, someday. I did manage to ride the first fifteen miles of White Rim which slithers its way along the canyon edge with spectacular views of the cliffs, various rock formations and the Colorado River, far below. The riding is very easy and, unlike Slickrock, does not present many dangers to the inexperienced. The photo shows me flexing it up on Musselman Arch. What you gonna do when AJ drops the hammer on you!! (Bad WWF impression.) I cannot describe the rush I got taking this picture. Once I set up the camera, I have 10 seconds to get into position. In this case, I had to sprint to the arch and then run along its gravely four-foot wide bridge section. The entire suspension must be forty feet long. Click on the image to see another picture of me chillin' with some lunch next to the Colorado. Or should I say above the Colorado?
My third day in Moab was entirely uneventful. Just
the way I wanted it. The bike needed new brake pads badly and I didn't want to risk any more remote rides without a good bite to the rims. A six-pack of tall boyz found its way into my cooler and I located a completely solitary free campsite along the Colorado River. The weather was perfect and the water brisk. Can you say shrinkage?
Between lounging under the shedding cottonwoods and dips in the slowly coursing water, I caught a nice buzz and added some color to my pasty German ass.
As is prudent with all excursions in this area, which is short on cover and heavy on the scorching blaze, I got an early start to my final ride in Moab. I began the long gradual climb out of town on a popular ride called Porcupine Rim at about 8 a.m., feeling strong the entire way up to the Rim which is nearly twelve miles one-way. The trail is difficult and rambles its way over loose rock, scrub and slickrock, and slinks through a series
of multi-colored desert canyons. At the apex of the ascent, almost without warning, the trail bails sharply left and one is left to gasp at the vast overlook. If rides were valium, I'd be comfortably numb.
I am so squeamish at the edge of a big cliff like this. I don't know why, but I always roll through my mind a series of visual images of me hurling myself from the edge and being dashed among the boulders. Is this strange urge to leap from the rocks normal or just evidence of the quirky backwaters of my twisted mind? It makes every overlook a mental adventure.
As you can see in the photo, going to Porcupine Rim does not mean an escape from the masses, which is my biggest complaint about Moab to begin with. It's got a name and some nice rides. Everywhere else in Utah has only the latter.
To close out this journal entry, I would like to call your attention to the economic concepts that are driving land protection in our country. Everyone always seems to remark to me when I tell them about the objectives of The Rig Foundation that, "We all want to save open space but the land is simply too expensive and it will never be economically feasible."
This perception probably reflects the thinking of the majority in this country. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Please see my report on the economic benefits of open space.
P.S. I edited my Brotherhood Mix community analogy. I read it again and realized the first version was just a slew of badly organized thought. I invite you to re-read it as well as many of the other earlier journal entries which I have been editing over time.
I rode the Slickrock Trail on the first morning after finishing up at Arches National Park. Riding slickrock is just like riding on the pavement except that it's steeper than any road you will ever see. It's also not at all for beginners. I was about halfway done with the six mile loop when saw a rider ahead of me contemplating a steep drop. He was decked out in a nice matching Spandex ensemble and a spotless titanium full-suspension bike. I thought, "I'll watch this dude first, for he surely know what he's doing."
He didn't. With an initial maneuver that made me wince, he pushed off, failed to step into his clipless pedal (a binding) and with lightning-quick precision, the rock gobbled him up. Chump hit the ground with his dome, split his helmet in two, and
skidded to a halt on the scorching rock. I had to smack myself out of disbelief to go help him out. By the time I got there, he was up and walking around with a four inch handlebar-created laceration on his inner thigh but, thankfully, his brains remained inside of his head. I helped him evacuate his bike so that he could get stitches. In the commotion, I failed to get one picture of me on the slickrock. The image at left shows the typical non-slickrock terrain at Moab. Behind me is a sample of the numerous canyons and multi-colored rock formations that stamp their signature into a day trip in the Utah hills.My uncanny ability to avoid disaster continued into the evening. And believe it or not, it was advice from my dear old dad that saved me this time. I had received an e-mail from him when I was in Colorado warning me about the flash floods that can occur in Utah this time of year. Instead of dismissing his advice as I usually do, I decided to relocate my campsite neighboring an idyllic, gurgling stream to a slightly higher position. If I hadn't noticed the an unassuming-looking flattened grass around my tent and linked the phenomena to Pop's advice, I would have been S.O.L.
The rain started at about 2 a.m. and continued steadily into the early morning. Oblivious and happy inside my tent, I slept until mid-morning waiting for the rain to stop. When I could wait no longer, I peeked outside and to my utter amazement, the nice desert creek had become a swift, muddy river that ripped over the exact spot where I had had The Rig parked and my tent laid only twelve hours prior. Come wit' it now! Thanks, Dad.
Waiting out the rain was excruciating. I went to McDick's and enjoyed some gristle 'n' grease and then jacked up on Dots at the movie theater watching The Mummy, a sure Oscar contender.
Finally, in the early afternoon, the rain
broke and within about fifteen minutes it was sunny and 80 degrees again. In a fit of deft driving that would have made the Duke brothers proud, I skidded The Rig into the parking lot at Canyonlands National Park to get in a full ride before the darkness could turn me away. And mad boy grips the bike of chrome with a fistful of steel!!!Canyonlands consists of three approximately equal sized sections called Island in the Sky (the portion I visited), The Maze and The Needles, each characterized by unique sets of impossible landscape. It is really like three separate parks because the Green River and the Colorado River ensure that none shall pass between them. The Maze is especially remote and can only be accessed by 4WD vehicles and hearty travelers.
I had wanted to ride the entire 110-mile long White Rim Trail but the park ranger would not let me because the ride takes four days and the second-stage campsite was full. Probably
a good idea to skip it this time anyway. I will be back, someday. I did manage to ride the first fifteen miles of White Rim which slithers its way along the canyon edge with spectacular views of the cliffs, various rock formations and the Colorado River, far below. The riding is very easy and, unlike Slickrock, does not present many dangers to the inexperienced. The photo shows me flexing it up on Musselman Arch. What you gonna do when AJ drops the hammer on you!! (Bad WWF impression.) I cannot describe the rush I got taking this picture. Once I set up the camera, I have 10 seconds to get into position. In this case, I had to sprint to the arch and then run along its gravely four-foot wide bridge section. The entire suspension must be forty feet long. Click on the image to see another picture of me chillin' with some lunch next to the Colorado. Or should I say above the Colorado?My third day in Moab was entirely uneventful. Just
the way I wanted it. The bike needed new brake pads badly and I didn't want to risk any more remote rides without a good bite to the rims. A six-pack of tall boyz found its way into my cooler and I located a completely solitary free campsite along the Colorado River. The weather was perfect and the water brisk. Can you say shrinkage?Between lounging under the shedding cottonwoods and dips in the slowly coursing water, I caught a nice buzz and added some color to my pasty German ass.
As is prudent with all excursions in this area, which is short on cover and heavy on the scorching blaze, I got an early start to my final ride in Moab. I began the long gradual climb out of town on a popular ride called Porcupine Rim at about 8 a.m., feeling strong the entire way up to the Rim which is nearly twelve miles one-way. The trail is difficult and rambles its way over loose rock, scrub and slickrock, and slinks through a series
of multi-colored desert canyons. At the apex of the ascent, almost without warning, the trail bails sharply left and one is left to gasp at the vast overlook. If rides were valium, I'd be comfortably numb.I am so squeamish at the edge of a big cliff like this. I don't know why, but I always roll through my mind a series of visual images of me hurling myself from the edge and being dashed among the boulders. Is this strange urge to leap from the rocks normal or just evidence of the quirky backwaters of my twisted mind? It makes every overlook a mental adventure.
As you can see in the photo, going to Porcupine Rim does not mean an escape from the masses, which is my biggest complaint about Moab to begin with. It's got a name and some nice rides. Everywhere else in Utah has only the latter.
To close out this journal entry, I would like to call your attention to the economic concepts that are driving land protection in our country. Everyone always seems to remark to me when I tell them about the objectives of The Rig Foundation that, "We all want to save open space but the land is simply too expensive and it will never be economically feasible."
This perception probably reflects the thinking of the majority in this country. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Please see my report on the economic benefits of open space.
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