This bicycle tour is a 250 mile self-supported off-road loop. The ride begins in Moab, crosses the north side of the snow-clad La Sal mountains, drops down to the Dolores River and crosses it at Gateway. (Photo of pushing through the sand) It then climbs (Photo of the climb) very steeply up to snake across the Uncompahgre Plateau. A big drop leads to the former uranium-mining area at Nucla. Then, after following the Paradox Valley, the (Photo of nude touring) route again climbs the La Sals, on the southern flank. Finally, there is a fast descent into Spanish Valley, which leads back into Moab.
One of the more memorable legs of the journey is the Geyser Pass area in the La Sals. We spend the morning approaching the pass. The wildflower bloom is outrageous (Photo of riding in the flowers). The flower clad meadows are huge patches of blue lupine and irises punctuated by a rainbow mix of other flowers. The meadows are bordered by aspen groves, whose emergent leaves are electric green. The world is colorful and sweet-smelling in a way unique to alpine habitats. Bird song fills the air and deer seem to outnumber the mosquitoes. Snow blocks the trail for about a mile on either side of the pass (10,400 ft). But, the day is warm and pushing through the soft melting snow (Photo of pushing in the snow) just increases the sense of adventure, and our awe at how beautiful Mother Earth can be. (The temperature in Moab twenty miles away is 95.)
Just below the pass we look down on a giant relief map of ten thousand square miles of canyon country, bounded on the southwest by Navajo Mountain sharply visible 120 miles away across Reservoir Fowell, to the northwest is the San Rafael Swell, the Abajo Mountains sit to the south, and the Book Cliffs lay to the north. In between, lay the Henry Mountains, Canyonlands, the White Rim, the confluence of the Green and Colorado Rivers, and Arches National Park.
This is an area that I have extensively explored, but from that vantage, it seemed as if I not begun to scratch the surface of secret spots that await my discovery.
The view was so inspiring that we pull over to camp in a meadow and settle in to watch the show.
At ten thousand feet, the sun does not set until 9:30. As the sun angle decreases and shadows lengthen, the texture and color (it's discouraging that English is inadequate to describe the reds of the desert) that the canyon country exhibit, makes one exultant. Motionless, we watch as a couple of deer graze less than 50 yards from our sleeping bags while the twilight fades to black, and Jupiter blazes overhead. Someone I know said: "I felt that I'd had a lifelong yearning for this without ever knowing what it was I wanted, and now I was in it."
It is almost freezing the next morning when I awake before dawn to watch the terminator cast a pink shadow across the canyon country. For a brief moment in the dawn light, the reddish glow of Kayenta and Wingate sandstone walls rivals the alpenglow of the Himalayas. The Henry Mountains slowly appear on the black horizon, turning from gray lumps into recognizable silhouettes, and finally the sun illuminates their snowy peaks about 90 miles away.
I put on every stitch of clothes that I have for the fast 6000 foot descent back into Moab. After dropping a few thousand feet, the adiabatic rise in temperature forces me back into shorts and T-shirt.
Moab (Photo of Moab, UT circa 1987) used to be just another small town in the desert (which happened to be surrounded by some of the finest country on the planet). That distinction notwithstanding, there was nothing much to recommend it to tourists looking for entertainment beyond "full hookups". Hell, the reason people came to the area was for what lay outside Moab. The attraction was the canyon country, Moab provided the car parts and groceries one needed to travel beyond the rim. Town could be "done" in an hour. Today, the transformation is complete, Moab now provides everything that the jaded, consumer-tourist demands. For many, the draw to the area is no longer the desert, but Moab itself. One can now go out into the desert without having to cope with the heat, dust, and insects, -- Moab provides the complete desert experience within the air-conditioned confines of the town itself. Cappuccino, Tudor-style motels, chic bistros and brew pubs now beckon and pamper the hordes that continue to descend in ever increasing numbers.
Mountain bike mecca, Moab has become a headquarters for an army of visually-offensive, lycra-clad me-toos peregrinating like locusts over the landscape. A friend and longtime Moab resident said that he'd rather have uranium mining back, than the mountain bikers.
In the past, people came because of their passion for the desert and the canyon country. Now, many come because Moab is the place to be. The editors of Mountain Bike Action magazine have written in response to criticism about their environmental posture, "We are not environmentalists, we are mountain bikers. Nothing that we do or show is harming the planet one iota." Because so many of the new breed of mountain bikers do not come from a background that values wilderness and a "tread lightly" environmental ethic, an ugly sort of image and associated behavior is developing. The center of the horde is concentrated at the Slick Rock Trail, (Photo of me and my stoker on the Slick Rock Trail) a ten-mile roller-coaster for mountain bikes on petrified sand dunes. People and their bikes, are arguably doing more damage to the BLM-managed area, than the displaced cattle used to do. At the fringes of the herd, crisscrossing knobby-tire tracks scar the fragile cryptogamic soil. Fire rings and coals proliferate, and used toilet paper litters the ground.
This past Easter vacation Moab became Fort Lauderdale West. Thousands and thousands came. One evening in an altercation between the cops and the revelers, the cops retreated from superior numbers throwing rocks and bottles. IN MOAB!
What would Ed Abbey say? Would it have been different had he not published Desert Solitaire, or was this inevitable?
I contemplate the varied layers of canyon wall as I climb to the rim. In time, a long enough time, the Earth will be here of course, but man will be gone, as all species inevitably pass.
In the meantime, the area around Moab will continue to draw increasing numbers of mountain bikers. Please treat the land with respect, leave the smallest possible tireprint.
I could ramble on ad infinitum, but you get the idea.
Happy trails,
[blogan@chipotle.org]
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Special thanks to: ttrickel@ronan.net
for some photo credits
