Last week I went to Utah. There were a number of reasons for
the trip: tickets to Salt Lake City were on special, I wanted to see some
sunshine and it’s usually dark and rainy in Juneau in autumn, I wanted to try
mountain biking in Moab, I needed a distraction from the fact that many of my
neighbors and fellow Americans were bigoted enough to vote for Donald Trump,
and other reasons but the prime reason for the trip was that I wanted to meet
Tom’s gods.
Moon rising over Deadhorse Point State Park, Utah.
My friend Tom worships the Holy Trinity of bicycle, trail,
and desert, most notably mountain biking in and around Moab, Utah. Some people
are Baptist, some are Methodists, some are Buddhists, some are Islamists, some
are atheists, or some other form of "ist." Tom is a Cyclist, with a
capital C, he is also a Moabist, though he lives near Salt Lake City. Tom says
he is most happy when the desert is trying to kill him and his favorite desert scene is Moab. I share his love for the area. I have known him for
years and yet had never had the opportunity to see his gods in action. In late
October I noted airlines special on a night when I was despondent about the
extent of racism in America. This was even before it occurred to me that Trump
might win. Tom was sending emails and making blog posts about the Slickrock and
Captain Ahab Trails with video footage attached. I needed something like this. I have already
spent a good bit of time in Moab and figured a trip back might be in order
though in the past my trip were always for rock climbing and canyoneering and never riding
bikes. The last time I rode a mountain
bike was over twenty years ago. As a
teen I had a bike and I jumped curbs and sometimes rode trails and dirt roads but
mountain biking then and mounting biking now are two entirely different
animals. I went to Utah with some
anxiety that I might wreck and make a blood sacrifice to Tom’s gods.
So on a Wednesday evening I flew from Juneau to Seattle and
slept in the Alaska Airlines Wing of SeaTac Airport. The following morning, I
flew to Salt Lake City and the next day Tom de la Cyclery and I drove to Moab.
The drive down is about four hours, ample time to silently stare at the scenery
and still have time to talk in depth about things wearing on our minds. In this
case we were both thinking about the recent election of Donald Trump. We talked
about the fact that before the Clean Water Act and the Clean Air Act, rivers
use to light on fire and air pollution has improved in US cities even though
the population doubled. We talked about
how Mexican immigration is a shining part of US history, and that black lives
really do matter.
Sunset near Moab.
We got to Moab and checked into a cabin in town. We met up
with some of Tom’s friends.
Introductions were done and names promptly forgotten. I forgot one of
Tom’s friend’s name outright, though I learned later. He thought my name was
Hyrum. Yes, we laughed that Carl doesn’t sound one whit like Hyrum but after
the laughter subsided I was called Hyrum all weekend. This name is significant
because in Utah, Hyrum refers to Hyrum Smith, a prominent polygamist and Joseph
Smith’s brother. Jokes were made about multiple wifery all weekend. The cabin was a great setup partly because
Tom and his friends like to bike most of the daylight hours which doesn’t allow time for
things like setting tents and other dirty activities. Also, the little cabin
was right in Moab which makes it easy to get to restaurants and such.
After we got the keys for the cabin, we went on a ride
called Baby Steps in Klondike
Bluffs. There is absolutely nothing about this landscape that looks like the
actual Klondike in Yukon and I figure I should say this because most of the
people reading this actually know what the Yukon is like because they are from
Alaska. The Utah Klondike is a series of
bluffs comprised of a mix of bedrock, sand, and boulders. Some of the rocks are
whiter than the surrounding red rocks and somehow someone thought it looked
like Yukon snow. I suspect peyote drove their thinking. The “baby steps” are a series of steps in a
trail and I don’t think we rode the part of the trail containing the steps themselves. There are many trails in
Klondike Bluffs. Any plants in the Utah Klondike are spiny and razor sharp but most
of the landscape is pure geology and plants are rare indeed. Looking to the
west you see the Island in the Sky part of Canyonlands National Park. It is a
spectacular scene and if they ever compromise Canyonlands NP by giving it to
the state of Utah, I am going to strangle a host of greedy politicians.
Klondike Bluffs
The next day we ramped up the skill level several notches
and rode the Slickrock Trail. This trail is world famous and put Moab on the
mountain biking map. It’s arguable that in turn Moab put mountain biking on the
map. The Slickrock itself is a rolling maze of Navajo Sandstone with an uncanny
ability to grip to bicycle tires. In the midst of this there are vertical
chasms that roll off into the abyss. It was named Slickrock because horses and
cattle couldn’t get their footing and fell into the canyons. A bike tire, however,
sticks to the rock in ways that seem to defy gravity. I feel I learned a lot about riding on the
Slickrock as well and I only crashed twice, both times with little damage.
Our team of riders on the Slickrock.
The following morning, we rode Amasaback, Hymasa, and
Captain Ahab trails. These are three
intertwined trails that loop so you can ride them in one loop They are quite
steep and unique. Some of the drops were phenomenal and a little crazy. I
managed to wreck only once and mistakenly took it as a bad omen that the crash happened only thirty seconds into the ride. I scratched
my shin and drew blood. Blood atonement
for Hyrum and the rest of the day went great.
Later that afternoon we rode another trail north of Moab at
the Bar M. It was an easy trail and fun.
An odd twist of biking is that steep trails take longer than easy trails
because the former need to slow down to clear obstacles like rocks and ravines.
We flew through most of the Bar M trail, including a section with banked
sweeping S patterns.
Later that evening we went for a moonlight hike at Deadhorse
Point State Park. The park offered a ranger led hike and lecture on the
occasion of a “super moon,” a full moon that is even larger and brighter than
most because the earth and moon are closer together than most full moons. It
was a beautiful evening and the moon was indeed bright to the point of not
needing flashlights. The downside was the ranger leading the shindig was
overwhelmed by about forty people and talked like he normally spoke to small
groups of little kids. We left early. We should have just grabbed a six pack
and hiked by ourselves out on the Slickrock. Maybe next time. The following morning,
we all headed back to Salt Lake area. I spent a day bouldering in the Wasatch foothills, marveling that I went to one of the Meccas of climbing, and didn’t
climb and didn’t miss it that much.
Tom’s gods are good gods. They impart sense and reason
through means that don’t intuitively make sense. Life’s fears dissipate through the act of
embracing something that is actually quite scary. In moments moving through
rock and stone at speeds where an accident could cause injury, the human brain
isn’t capable of thinking about anything else. It’s impossible to feel guilt
for all your sins, perceived or real. It’s impossible to think of greed or
anger or hate. For a moment in time, it’s possible to focus only on the wind in
your helmet and the feel of rock under your tires. This is true of climbing as
well. My next trip to Moab may well be to teach Tom how to climb or to
canyoneer. Or to ride bikes again.
Slot Canyon in Utah.
Back home sitting in my garage there is an old mountain bike
with flat tires and a derailleur that slips out of gear. I suppose I should fix
it.
