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Wednesday, November 08, 2017

Moab

Over the weekend I had an opportunity to join a few friends on a camping trip in Moab. Car camping in the Utah desert always brings a flush of happy nostalgia for a segment of my life when I lived on almost nothing with nine other 20-somethings in Salt Lake City's Avenues, commuted to the hinterlands of Tooele to work 50-some hours a week, and when Friday night rolled around, we escaped to the redrocks. Every weekend. Even if it was January and the San Rafael Swell was coated in a half foot of snow, for backpacking trips that required crossing waist-deep rivers choked with chunks of ice, and my $40 Coleman sleeping bag didn't quite cut the chill, and expired Power Bars from Market Square turned out to be a bad idea, and all of my Nalgene bottles froze solid. 

Most of those trips ventured to quieter corners of the Colorado Plateau, so my experiences in and around Moab feel more limited. There was a time when I thought myself too desert-sophisticated for the tourists and mountain bike bros and sand-dyed T-shirts. Still, there's an air around this former uranium-mining town that feels like coming home. 

The occasion was an engagement of two members of my local running group, the Boulder Banditos. Since the gathering was a whole bunch of trail runners, I assumed the activities would involve running, and packed accordingly. As it turned out, nearly everybody had a bike and riding plans. However, even if I had known, I likely still wouldn't have brought my bike. In the same way I used to wrongly think of myself as a desert-wilderness-sophisticate, I also used identify as a mountain biker. Now I realize that I am a balance-challenged and adrenaline-averse bike tourist who prefers long, open tracks regardless of width, and actually doesn't enjoy jackhammering over miles of rocks. Of course, I still jackhammer over miles of rocks, as long as the ride is long and meandering and goes to interesting places. Which Moab trails do ... although really, it's nearly as efficient and much more relaxing to go on foot.

Had I known the group had no running plans, I would have put together my own, better routes. Instead, Wendy, Jorge and I found ourselves agreeing to run the shuttle for Porcupine Rim on Saturday — we'd park a truck at the river and plod 15 miles uphill while others in the group rode bikes downhill. I've never run or ridden Porcupine Rim before, and didn't quite conceptualize the barrage of oncoming bikes we'd be dealing with. I now believe this is not an appropriate route for a run, at least during an autumn weekend. However, moving against traffic is ideal in this setting, and I think we managed it well — we always veered out of the way so no one had to slow or stop for us. All of the bikers were polite.

The weather was warm and very windy — we shuffled and hiked into a 30mph sand blast for most of the climb. Wendy and I weren't in great shape — I'm currently in a down phase of the infuriating physical rollercoaster I'm riding these days, and Wendy was ill from what was later diagnosed as a kidney infection. So we plodded along with Scout the Border Collie on a leash while Jorge ran back and forth like a loose puppy. Despite gray skies, the scenery was beautiful and I was happy to be hiking, which is peaceful, undemanding and affords lots of time to look around. Despite giving them more than an hour head start and hiking uphill versus riding downhill, we were nearly halfway through the route when we crossed paths with our group. They're not regular mountain bikers, and seemed stressed by the technical nature of the trail. Later, Steve crashed over a 10-foot ledge, smashed his helmet, dented his bike frame, bruised his hip and broke several ribs. Mountain biking ... eh.

We camped close to the Slickrock Trail, so on Sunday I suggested a plod around the iconic loop. Sure, it's another popular spot, but the terrain is open enough to easily avoid cyclists. I also figured it would be less crowded on a Sunday afternoon, and that we'd see almost no one beyond the stem of the lollipop (both true.) Here are the non-bikers shuffling on Sand Flats Road. Look how happy we are!

The Slickrock Trail was my first-ever mountain bike ride, with my boyfriend in 1999. I was 19, so I followed him blindly around each terrifying curve and crashed my hard-tail rental bike many times. So many times. The crashes usually happened after I slammed into a patch of sand at the bottom of a steep descent —flying over the handlebars, ripping my jeans, mopping up a steady stream of blood from my shins and elbows. Look, I found a photo:

My First Mountain Bike Ride, Slickrock Trail, April 1999. I'm fairly certain this was taken as Mike yelled "Go for it!," seconds before one of my many sand-eating dives.

Oh, to be 19, unbreakable and fearless again. That original experience was harrowing enough, though, that I came home from Moab and renounced mountain biking forever. It took me three more years to get back on any bike, and I remember ride number two as the Jem Trail near Hurricane, on a borrowed 1986 steel Cannondale. Shortly after that I rode the White Rim over three days on the same ancient bike. These experiences were enjoyable, however, they were not special enough to embed themselves in my soul. It took seeing a guy on a skinny-tire bike with panniers in Spanish Fork Canyon ("people ride bikes long distances? With camping gear?") to spur me to go out and purchase my own set of wheels — a flat-bar road touring bike. I've always been a bike tourist at heart.

And the Slickrock Trail, well, I haven't been back since 1999. It was surprising to realize how many specifics I could still recall after 18 years. As usual, more intense experiences embed themselves in memory, while comfortable moments fade away. If that's true, memories of this outing will probably soon fade. But it was everything I needed. I loped along at an easy pace, blissed out on vistas, entirely content.

I wish I was in better shape, because this is a really fun running trail —custom-designed to encourage playful skipping and bursts of sprinting. I became overly winded a couple of times and backed off to mostly walking.

Toward the end we veered off trail to blaze a more direct route back to our camp site. Traveling cross-country in the Utah desert is the most fun. That is, until you reach the dead-end of a wash or the ledge of a sheer canyon. This is nearly always the case, but didn't happen to us here.

Back at camp, we burned steak burrito fixings and marshmallows over the fire, and mused about the state of the world. Some things never change. The much-too-early sunset arrived, so I strolled up to a sandstone fin to watch the light fade.

Looking toward the La Sal Mountains.

Every time I return Utah desert, I wonder why I don't spend more time here. A hundred weekends from age 5 to 25, and the trickle since, still seems like not enough. Like Alaska and California and everywhere since, these places are inextricably embedded in who I am. 

18 comments:

  1. Jill, are you trying to make me stop reading your blog? Going to Moab....to avoid cyclists? Seriously, I thought Moab had enough trails for everyone, jeeps, MTB, runners. I'm going to ride around Tucson, AZ in December and I'm already scared of cacti, it's definitely easier to run around those.

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    1. This part of the post was a bit tongue-in-cheek. I've ridden trails in Moab that I loved — however, I've never seen an uncrowded trail in the vicinity, so if you do something within human-powered distance of Moab, you're going to be avoiding someone. But seriously, I thought I had my MTB card revoked years ago when I declared my undying love for fireroad climbs. Anyone who reads my blog because "mountain biking" hasn't been around much lately. ;-)

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    2. I will take some bikepacking posts, please! Or are you saying come back in ten years when your knees are blown from running stupidly steep hills and we will talk about eMTBs? :)

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    3. You think there will still be blogs in 10 years? Heehee. I already wrecked my knees with cycling. Diagnosed with osteoarthritis in 2007. Somehow they haven't bothered me since I took up running.

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  2. If you were to ride the Slickrock say around early July you'll have it all to yourself (hey...I was passing thru and couldn't NOT go out on it after reading about it for years). You'll also nearly die in the 3 bazillion degree heat because there's a REASON you have it to yourself. And also if it's your first time there it's very easy to get seriously lost and run out of water, and getting back to your vehicle isn't as simple as going 'that way'. However, that was a long time ago and maybe it IS crowded even in July these days.

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    1. I have spent time in the desert in mid-summer. Waking up in the morning because it's 150 degrees inside your tent one hour after sunrise is also a fun experience.

      I can't really conceptualize how one becomes seriously lost on the Slickrock Trail. You just follow the white dotted line. ;-)

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    2. Well, I wasn't 'lost-lost'...I could SEE where I needed to go. It's just that as the crow flies it was a few miles, and I was suddenly pretty much out of water, and it was stupid hot. And yes, follow the white dotted line is easy...except that I needed to get back to my car (moving van) pretty-quick, not in like 2 hours or so. Sure, it was REALLY STUPID to run out of water in a place like that (AND I was alone, AND the only one there). I was so enjoying the slickrock even in the heat that I failed to realize how low my water was until it was pretty grave. I survived tho..but I still recall the terror/panic I felt realizing my truly dire situation. Only time I've ever felt like that outside (that I might actually die). I also recall the elation I felt when I made it back to my van, and got an ice cold Mt Dew (or 3)out of the cooler, and sitting in the shade (prob only about 110 or so there) and just being happy to be alive.

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  3. We've found some places "near" Moab where we see only a few people on the rides and runs that we do. They aren't the popular trails (duh, obviously!). I am more a lover of riding on singletrack than you are but I actually like somewhat easier routes in the desert so that I can soak up the landscape rather than focusing on staying upright!

    Have you enjoyed the snow? I actually have!

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    1. I do enjoy riding singletrack, but the zeal with which most mountain bikers regard it doesn't reach me. It's often limiting, confined to small areas of forested open space (of course I know there are many exceptions in Colorado), and technical singletrack is just a vehicle to be battered by your own bike. Sometimes I write posts such as this to see if there are others out there who feel the same way, but nope, haven't seemed to reach anyone yet. Just baffled comments from friends.

      I didn't have a chance to enjoy the snow yet. I was working on Tuesday, and then it melted. Looking forward to the next storm.

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  4. I think your exercise attitude is refreshing. You did the same trail as the MTB'ers, same scenery, same exercise quotient, more comfortable, less dangerous, just as much or more fun, and so on. It's not like you've shunned mountain biking...you've got a fat tire, after all! We're all different, just do what you like to do and don't try to bully everyone else into adopting the same means.
    Good for you!
    Box Canyon

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    1. I receive these types of reactions when I try to defend why I don't like skiing. Some of these sports are almost a religion, with similarly exclusive cultures and dogmas.

      "Have you accepted MTB as your Lord and Savior?"

      As I get older, I only become less inclined to try to wedge myself into denomination, with all of the expectations and restrictions therein. Unless there's one for people who love moving slowly over the tediously resistant terrain. The Church of Slog. :)

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  5. I totally agree with how you like to ride bikes. I like to go on long rides that aren't that technical. I don't mind some single track but I don't like the "challenge" of riding technical terrain where I'm worried about falling. Eric loves to be challenged riding. Not me, I don't mind steep or a little rocky but I want to be able to ride and enjoy looking around. So I'm totally with you on biking!

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    1. See, this is why we get along so well. :)

      I feel like my ship to improve my technical skills has sailed. At this point I would be happy to do balance exercises to simply lessen the number of face-plants while running/hiking, or walking on a city sidewalk for crying out loud (not too long ago I walked right into a street lamp. I was looking right at it. I can't even begin to explain why I didn't miss it.)

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  6. I remember the first time I went thru Moab on a bike tour in '73. Back then they called it Utah's little Appalachia. How times change. I think the watershed moment was when the Slickrock Trail appeared on the cover of "Bike" (? Mountain BIke?) magazine in spring of 1986.

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    1. I missed out on that era, although I remember visiting Arches with my family in the mid-80s as a child. Even then I remember thinking of Moab as a place overrun with jeeps and dirt bikes; it was a popular off-road spot long before mountain bikers caught on.

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  7. Cannondale did not make steel bikes

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    1. Really? I was so certain because it weighed at least 40 pounds. Of course I knew nothing about bikes in 2002. Curiosity led me to dig for Web images, and my best guess it was a Cannondale SM600. You're correct, aluminum. The owner told me she bought it in 1986.

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  8. I kind of find myself in the middle of the 'road' so to speak. I can really groove on LONG dirt-road rides (we have some doozies here), and I also DO really like singletrack (wide open/swoopy is my fav), and technical to a point. But REALLY technical, rocky, serious-risk type stuff is just not my thing. And jumping and that sort of stuff? The only time my tires should ever be off the ground is when I'm putting my bike in or out of my car. Those days of 'catching air' are LONG behind me. Politically speaking I'm an Independent Mt biker...I like some things on each side but overall I'm pretty much in the middle of things.

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