tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65549073801157578372024-03-13T12:51:20.652-07:00Mormon Trail ReduxTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-43951742691702480332009-10-17T12:27:00.001-07:002009-10-18T13:38:05.329-07:00The Last Waltz<div style="text-align: left;"> I awoke the next morning on the lovely shore of Lake Powell, the world's most controversial body of water. Critics of the lake deride the flooding of what some had considered to be the most beautiful of Utah's canyon country for the eventual benefit of the Phoenix-area car wash industry. However, one does have to admit that the lake is beautiful in its own right, and its also the only place in the world where one can explore a slot canyon in a houseboat and scuba dive to Anasazi cliff dwellings. In a strange twist, the lake also serves as the Daytona Beach of the southwest and so is patrolled by fleets of slowly drifting, amphibious frat parties.<br /></div>Today I had a ferry ride to look forward to (Wait. I think I just sounded like a five-year old there.), as it is the only practical way (besides a two-hundred mile drive) to get to the opposite side of the drink. I was feeling like a real outlaw after riding the Burr trail the day before; that is, until I met a family with a toddler at the ferry dock who had just driven the trail in a Saab sedan with a huge trailer in tow. To save my ego I convinced myself that they were lying through their teeth. Regardless, the ferryman happily took fifteen bucks from honest man and liar alike; and soon we were all cast together aboard the proud and foam-streaked USS John Atlantic Burr for passage across the pond to a land where a man's potential is only constrained by the size of his water bag.<br />Once on board, a ranger in the truck behind me got out, stopped in his tracks, looked at my mud-spattered VA plates, than up at my disheveled self, paused for a moment, and then said,<br />"Well, it looks like you're having fun!"<br />He then agreed to snap a pic while I waited for my daiquiri poolside:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDV0kZ2vZvb0Y9zpm915NpLydMyW7PTHn2xi0qg6ruZw5ea0u6Ex2G3B82Cf4pZTNxwhd9eoV270hufURkpf0JkHLHlsY5oW58z9dQp6MDYs4XpiyInxQEvLneGSBgK5Xu29HtwVh0Ow_/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDV0kZ2vZvb0Y9zpm915NpLydMyW7PTHn2xi0qg6ruZw5ea0u6Ex2G3B82Cf4pZTNxwhd9eoV270hufURkpf0JkHLHlsY5oW58z9dQp6MDYs4XpiyInxQEvLneGSBgK5Xu29HtwVh0Ow_/s400/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393662403241777522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Goodwill Fall Collection. Now available</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMOlTQq0G6mRNp2U49A2ebp87obOndxUJ7ONLvdxluuP6OtJ1VFEIpi0rVJV0ZRTS0SWe7sdWyydchhglKehp_ir-BlkgWa8SnDOctjTQ78OR0gD5LvTOetH-X64qMHmJ30It2SQNReJ9/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMOlTQq0G6mRNp2U49A2ebp87obOndxUJ7ONLvdxluuP6OtJ1VFEIpi0rVJV0ZRTS0SWe7sdWyydchhglKehp_ir-BlkgWa8SnDOctjTQ78OR0gD5LvTOetH-X64qMHmJ30It2SQNReJ9/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393663384971966370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The view from my hammock</span><br /><br />On the far shore I realized that I had been duped, as the only street in sight was paved with thirty miles of neglected asphalt through a sagebrush plain instead of with the gold that I had been promised back on the Dublin docks.<br />But I pressed on nonetheless, and at an isolated crossroads further on I ran into Patrick; at his essence just a sun-glasses wearing dude from Grand Junction out for a few days on his red motorcycle. He didn't know where he was going and neither did I, but unfortunately we were aimlessly wandering in opposite directions and soon parted ways after a roadside smoke.<br />But, as legions of bumper stickers on 1987 Civic hatchbacks will attest to, Not All Who Wander are Lost, and my now sweat-soaked itinerary sheet had one more volley of giggles in store for me: Muley Point, the Moki Dugway and the Valley of the Gods-the three attractions that put the greater Mexican Hat, Utah area on the map!<br />Muley Point is an out of the way precipice on the edge of Cedar Mesa, looking out over the serpentine canyon of the San Juan River thousands of feet below and beyond that, Monument Valley in Arizona. At this point in the trip I had gotten over riding for the sake of riding, so I bounced down the dirt track to Muley Point in the early afternoon, and after inattentively riding through the middle of a romantic picnic (sorry!), I threw a pair of frozen burritos on my exhaust pipe to defrost for dinner, laid down my sleeping pad at the edge of the abyss and slept away the afternoon.<br />I awoke in the late afternoon and was greeted by unbelievable views, and as often happened on this trip, I had the place almost to myself.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggucmPgrUytRXah-8s-WTvGy62f7bAP9NUfa9F9qjFE9H5oyZDJG71bwdzc8Jmk_Cx4JWEyob5Yt-IQUjHv4hDzzk5PcD1WYq9WZPhZ7N-FjQqhIHAZKV9CQ1wB4gKPrE1er5dwLKSWnCq/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggucmPgrUytRXah-8s-WTvGy62f7bAP9NUfa9F9qjFE9H5oyZDJG71bwdzc8Jmk_Cx4JWEyob5Yt-IQUjHv4hDzzk5PcD1WYq9WZPhZ7N-FjQqhIHAZKV9CQ1wB4gKPrE1er5dwLKSWnCq/s400/Picture+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393995888731039122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIp8PMZid31M7pNYAxtA-raUESiDHFSeeFKrtIESlKjQLZ2bC4jeaSd961wqJm1YjVHKlHgUULsKbctPuddcCjKwbiCE1RzgMqSIbWvjIITe9BhMa_5fRCDttX2h2fOZiXCjQ485EHlqU/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIp8PMZid31M7pNYAxtA-raUESiDHFSeeFKrtIESlKjQLZ2bC4jeaSd961wqJm1YjVHKlHgUULsKbctPuddcCjKwbiCE1RzgMqSIbWvjIITe9BhMa_5fRCDttX2h2fOZiXCjQ485EHlqU/s400/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393995292367510706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE26i0z5u1rauHa5IaaAacXbnrsgRQAZOlX5o55V17DIYG1hXIYfpCiAXPHRXujtz0x9efHW80oBxDSLFr2CRa4Ohrn5azeL0ZaGg1yWsTbysexzOGJhi5jYBWT1YlQz6xa9EVYLY8x0PD/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE26i0z5u1rauHa5IaaAacXbnrsgRQAZOlX5o55V17DIYG1hXIYfpCiAXPHRXujtz0x9efHW80oBxDSLFr2CRa4Ohrn5azeL0ZaGg1yWsTbysexzOGJhi5jYBWT1YlQz6xa9EVYLY8x0PD/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393995524300544386" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That night was my final time sleeping on the ground in the desert. The milky way was out in full-force, the occasional ESPN satellite coasted across the sky, and in the distance, across miles of darkness, the towers of Monument Valley were glowing in the moonlight.<br />The next morning, I hopped over to the mesa rim in my sleeping bag and watched the sun illuminate the plain below:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJ2BPVMQelKDM3hhfd9OD55zmvsGAn6WUpohBOdWdpJ5TUiAG6d0iAcl2FLnMEN_71rpRZBpuKvk6549KE2Gj55Fkh3_cEnn49N97HLRnxcHJAToekmolWEXtcjYlJt7Lh6ahSB5Spig3/s1600-h/Picture+016.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJ2BPVMQelKDM3hhfd9OD55zmvsGAn6WUpohBOdWdpJ5TUiAG6d0iAcl2FLnMEN_71rpRZBpuKvk6549KE2Gj55Fkh3_cEnn49N97HLRnxcHJAToekmolWEXtcjYlJt7Lh6ahSB5Spig3/s400/Picture+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393997864273403650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXiTnz1R5DpdcDGcy8u-VKZT1mnLVvfu5LjLqi9RP0rjdm6EN3AOntJWa83-zx08wy3DxjdOrI6gauallmuJxTLdZtaSbSegt2qbWM1EpvhPlDxWzyZ5Nvo7ulCZxH_-AWHG2yoi-YSJYG/s1600-h/Picture+025.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXiTnz1R5DpdcDGcy8u-VKZT1mnLVvfu5LjLqi9RP0rjdm6EN3AOntJWa83-zx08wy3DxjdOrI6gauallmuJxTLdZtaSbSegt2qbWM1EpvhPlDxWzyZ5Nvo7ulCZxH_-AWHG2yoi-YSJYG/s400/Picture+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393998154994635810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb47tPrhv4pMB0yOAK7BgGbex8_2gtWFktk1ulwXzw2rtx6lSB1yEGYY0jUf-xMO650nrHNO9jggK6U78MSxXqvxGdbaxe2xX1hSg-WszegOtpyktQZQbVDmtLLmjYkXtaX0JJaASyGhNs/s1600-h/Picture+022.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb47tPrhv4pMB0yOAK7BgGbex8_2gtWFktk1ulwXzw2rtx6lSB1yEGYY0jUf-xMO650nrHNO9jggK6U78MSxXqvxGdbaxe2xX1hSg-WszegOtpyktQZQbVDmtLLmjYkXtaX0JJaASyGhNs/s400/Picture+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393998507944521346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sunrise on the US-Navajo Nation border</span><br /><br />First on the docket this morning was the Moki Dugway-a prime example of the power of branding. In reality the Dugway is nothing more than a steep set of switchbacks down the side of Cedar Mesa; built again by the Uranium men, without the efforts of whom, I was convinced of by this point in the trip, Utah would have been left completely roadless.<br />But with a name like the Moki Dugway, I didn't really care if it was a drive-thru pharmacy-I wanted to experience it. Luckily, it was right down the road from Muley Point so I was able to ride down in the early-morning cool.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlf8gDFnCARkrQ3MFlfXvgobmAqMKEQtO8Sx9xY6DCRiL1rCxk6oJrEUQRrrYdo7Bf_eXZSWkTKb5gedCvNEyRa5ZfySkpnCFl-GnZESkLf05iMrCLmggwslWbCbrkl0Nn9TiUuSFCIVS/s1600-h/Picture+026.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlf8gDFnCARkrQ3MFlfXvgobmAqMKEQtO8Sx9xY6DCRiL1rCxk6oJrEUQRrrYdo7Bf_eXZSWkTKb5gedCvNEyRa5ZfySkpnCFl-GnZESkLf05iMrCLmggwslWbCbrkl0Nn9TiUuSFCIVS/s400/Picture+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394000286597184850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8b8q3zYFYpMFDd3kzjQpDc3VM7C2624UAw8FqkkXWs4dgZaxjsVumeTvQqDujzb0rsPG5Cu2Vet39K1vtf61rqgoocxWFb0CqnOxH0ca6XRbKII8B5fpNtSN1PN4GcVG8UG4mCkdWU1S/s1600-h/Picture+027.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8b8q3zYFYpMFDd3kzjQpDc3VM7C2624UAw8FqkkXWs4dgZaxjsVumeTvQqDujzb0rsPG5Cu2Vet39K1vtf61rqgoocxWFb0CqnOxH0ca6XRbKII8B5fpNtSN1PN4GcVG8UG4mCkdWU1S/s400/Picture+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394000791497270706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My astrological sign is Vertigo</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hxdzX9CHftbjH_cjnuTWOxeBNSL2CbkCaMsD5d7bkpKn1ubLNnyvs6yEsSjNY51Q9zYjPHHFxUm-ASwbcdPOotjIqxEmMPO0R1lYRRftvmT_Z0iUm3h45oJrl7sRTK80QFcN88TPxB0p/s1600-h/Picture+029.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hxdzX9CHftbjH_cjnuTWOxeBNSL2CbkCaMsD5d7bkpKn1ubLNnyvs6yEsSjNY51Q9zYjPHHFxUm-ASwbcdPOotjIqxEmMPO0R1lYRRftvmT_Z0iUm3h45oJrl7sRTK80QFcN88TPxB0p/s400/Picture+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394001695210014642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Sfgpj4pFRgYEtEhWYvw5aW8MkavxbCONhx5DFFry6YrHykHi1Fjx3DK9naYMhYUmDGEhdTvJMuZBO0K68s2D5o97LiG7ZoDy1atgLurik1czSHHFMPsoJqOEKyi0AtuG8nuJmJCzsHFd/s1600-h/Picture+030.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Sfgpj4pFRgYEtEhWYvw5aW8MkavxbCONhx5DFFry6YrHykHi1Fjx3DK9naYMhYUmDGEhdTvJMuZBO0K68s2D5o97LiG7ZoDy1atgLurik1czSHHFMPsoJqOEKyi0AtuG8nuJmJCzsHFd/s400/Picture+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394002230943526402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They dug it. I dig it.</span><br /><br />At the bottom of the Dugway is the turn-off to the Valley of the Gods scenic road, a fifteen mile gravel road through a plain populated by giant sandstone mesas that are actually, according to the Navajos, supernatural beings frozen permanently in rock. Of course, all the really important deities are frozen down the street at Monument Valley, and we on US soil are left with the second stringers.<br />Now, bench-warming Gods or not, I was at the point in this trip where I was certain that if I never saw another sandstone monolith again it would be too soon. But, the road had the added benefit of taking me fifteen miles closer to the east coast, so I happily bounced down it. And, I must admit, it was quite pleasant.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8HCtpadol9Bd88dMb3FRvEy-RobltmEdjVgc6GFBK2inTD3Xkr2STquDCsuMd-LV7Nc31YuBYQ7gCJj325UVcE0M_ZxKx7TFB4uwAQeQ4tIsnZoP0Mf93vgLJhy1dq3ct8lT6BVy0BhX/s1600-h/Picture+037.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8HCtpadol9Bd88dMb3FRvEy-RobltmEdjVgc6GFBK2inTD3Xkr2STquDCsuMd-LV7Nc31YuBYQ7gCJj325UVcE0M_ZxKx7TFB4uwAQeQ4tIsnZoP0Mf93vgLJhy1dq3ct8lT6BVy0BhX/s400/Picture+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394009110704869266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7woXqgyRy2HAODBoSazgUkd6JX_2NXDt8yjrzEsFI-WYOjSWIizSFpdUGaD4QT6By6heQgfCmjjmRmcGD9PsFV2pd-TGpEdPEBb_H5DeszjSPo0PR-akD7Zx3z1xqgPiqQ3NWDgn_CDb/s1600-h/Picture+036.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7woXqgyRy2HAODBoSazgUkd6JX_2NXDt8yjrzEsFI-WYOjSWIizSFpdUGaD4QT6By6heQgfCmjjmRmcGD9PsFV2pd-TGpEdPEBb_H5DeszjSPo0PR-akD7Zx3z1xqgPiqQ3NWDgn_CDb/s400/Picture+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394008889966148418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Patron Saint of Classroom Participation</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiqcpDNP3gNAXkLjSBOAaFAoTYC-vzDjB3ayhER3H3YyANVRcejlqgZoIXgKmV1gWHJJRL2jeniXMfMa_j0_eIF_b01UMZzTUZeB7JcGv6OX82JS7Jiua3pJkUlr8BrLjTPxTeejl0Opi/s1600-h/Picture+034.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiqcpDNP3gNAXkLjSBOAaFAoTYC-vzDjB3ayhER3H3YyANVRcejlqgZoIXgKmV1gWHJJRL2jeniXMfMa_j0_eIF_b01UMZzTUZeB7JcGv6OX82JS7Jiua3pJkUlr8BrLjTPxTeejl0Opi/s400/Picture+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394008752654582242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Put us in coach, we're ready to play!</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Well, there you have it folks, Mormon Trail Redux. It was now time to go home. I had been riding around, chain-drinking coffee, looking around at things and sleeping in odd places for 21 days now. "But Tom," you say, "That's almost identical to your routine at home." Well, I cant argue with you there, peanut gallery; but nevertheless, I still yearned for the comforts of home that can't be quantified, like the option of sitting down on something besides a sticky, four-inch wide vinyl seat, for instance. Or the freedom to pass two hours without a gas station being involved. Additionally, my brain had taken advantage of my copious sleep the day before to inform me in a vivid dream that it was no longer going to be able to accept any new scenery until the existing stockpile had either been organized or thrown away. I had been to the mountaintop as they say, had seen everything I had wanted to see and more, and all of it was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. All I could do now was take to heart the immortal words of Horace Greeley; who, with a simple declaration spurred an entire generation to relative inactivity:<br />Go rest, young man.<br /><br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVNuMeCPJe3a8c01VKwe2h8073z-UxG3BsCk4noNPi2HEy4U1ohMFhNwA-M2ZViqRGPdwv_B9BN5lwW6dUVAD10q3imLNn5-DtRTT9AWcH7QRlz-ZfaoA41VWMNyCxON3wNyQIVOorNIE/s1600-h/Picture+035.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVNuMeCPJe3a8c01VKwe2h8073z-UxG3BsCk4noNPi2HEy4U1ohMFhNwA-M2ZViqRGPdwv_B9BN5lwW6dUVAD10q3imLNn5-DtRTT9AWcH7QRlz-ZfaoA41VWMNyCxON3wNyQIVOorNIE/s400/Picture+035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394008826150610594" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-11420461384515075422009-10-15T13:30:00.000-07:002011-10-25T15:21:28.176-07:00Falling Down the Grand StaircaseAfter leaving Horseshoe Canyon I was at a bit of a loss regarding what to do with myself. The majority of my planning had focused on the Canyonlands portion of the trip, and beyond that I only had a mental checklist of places in the general area that I wanted to check out.<br />The next day was my personal Y2K, as everything in my charge that had the potential to break broke- all at once. While giving my bike the morning once-over, I snapped the head off of a chintzy plastic bolt on my radiator while attempting to tighten it. I patched the hole with epoxy and was feeling pretty smug about my quick fix until I passed the city limits sign, the radiator got up to pressure, and a scalding stream of antifreeze burst through the patch and out onto my left knee. This time I went by the directions supplied with the glue, cleaned the hole with alcohol and sanded it clean before repatching it and this time, it held. Thanks QuikSteel! (The Quickest Steel in the West, all rights reserved)<br />And then I noticed that my phone didn't work anymore. Now, I don't want to be labeled a nutcase here ( as if that didn't already happen ten years ago), but the phone's demise started directly after I left the Great Gallery pictographs in Horseshoe Canyon. I took it apart and everything inside seemed to be in " Ship shape and Bristol fashion" as mariners sometimes say- it was just mysteriously fried, even though it had stood up to years of greater abuse, so I have to attribute it to those ghostly gazes staring at me down across time. Its only logical.<br />Well at least I still had Twitter if I got in a jam. I imagined my final tweet:<br /><br />Me and the bike are having a relaxed afternoon getting to know<br />my new broken pelvis. Please, for the love of God, if you are<br />reading this please send help to the following locatio...<br />[SORRY, CHARACTER LIMIT EXCEEDED]<br /><br />So, a bit demoralized, I pulled into a gas station in Torrey, Utah, sat down at a picnic table with a large coffee and hoped that someone would come by and give me further instructions.<br />And they did!<br />A middle aged guy pulled up, the back of his truck holding a mean looking earth-saw (my new favorite term for a dirt bike) He ambled over and struck up a conversation about my trip. The winds of time have stolen his name from me, but I do remember his motorcycling pseudonym: "Dakar Dad". I told him I was planning to ride Highway 12 to Boulder but he had better things in mind for me:<br />"Look, I can't in good conscience tell you <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> to ride Route 12, because it truly is beautiful. But, everyone and their mother on a Harley rides it and if you want to do something different, put another notch on your pistol, so to speak, you should ride the Notom Road to Boulder."<br />He told me that the Notom road was a dirt route down the east side of Capitol Reef National Park with beautiful scenery and that I could then catch the Burr Trail road over Capitol Reef and into Boulder. It would take a little longer than Route 12 but would be much cooler.<br />Agreed. Unfortunately, Dakar Dad had to take off back to his "job" and "commitiments" so he couldn't ride with me, but like a true gentleman, he offered to give me his Utah state atlas, which showed the location of every road, mesa, trail, napping rancher and elk carcass in the state. Thanks again for your help and generosity if you're out there, DD!<br />Feeling like I had been born again, what with my new marching orders and all, I double backed to Capitol Reef and found the entrance to the Notom Road. Now, for those among you who didn't learn about Capitol Reef in <span style="font-weight: bold;">American History 235: More Giant Rocks That blocked Mormon Progress</span>, here's the rundown. Capitol Reef is a really long, to the tune of 150 miles, fault in the earth's crust, just like the San Andreas in California, except much taller, wider and more colorful.<br />The problem with the park is that it is best viewed from an airplane, where you can see the pattern of alternating and contrasting rock layers marching off to the horizon. On the ground you can't really discern the overall pattern, and it just seems like you're in, well, Utah. But of course by this point in the trip I was a bit jaded, and if I had gone directly to Capitol Reef upon arriving in Utah I probably would have been blown away.<br />"Quit talking, Tom, you windbag, and show us some damn pictures"<br /><br />"Certainly":<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9jgRpxXgtQamTREmoGaYofVDiHsldYTuQw_X7feI1g1izLVbEUmjHEXS5xPsWkSpNXYboMrlZXIyt44WsFzMhQAZsYn85j1cQKBd8sFvQ23gmtXG5Dw9k7twDD-n5zwp4QDXIqAkj56Z/s1600-h/Picture+003.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9jgRpxXgtQamTREmoGaYofVDiHsldYTuQw_X7feI1g1izLVbEUmjHEXS5xPsWkSpNXYboMrlZXIyt44WsFzMhQAZsYn85j1cQKBd8sFvQ23gmtXG5Dw9k7twDD-n5zwp4QDXIqAkj56Z/s400/Picture+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392943316538367282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">You can say that again!</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFx_Gj9xi3gfAiQaZ5C8D1eARbU09tE0EtVnu43OOojFweh-WcEkbjbTebLP-wG56YN3K5Fq6IVbrShl3fVGND9er1Jq6uSxbyjCot66fO7j5gBf1Iy436SrzgHS_kuMvpn90H3XmuLci/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFx_Gj9xi3gfAiQaZ5C8D1eARbU09tE0EtVnu43OOojFweh-WcEkbjbTebLP-wG56YN3K5Fq6IVbrShl3fVGND9er1Jq6uSxbyjCot66fO7j5gBf1Iy436SrzgHS_kuMvpn90H3XmuLci/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392943166973825762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I think its coming towards us, Pa!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiq4zgrszE40hILRQFi7SW64xfmxeEzZ4su9S36sHnZFM71cEf8bgx6m4QKd9iSIbKteYhlLFlu1oYeLd6gCxcMT_ylJ02aMOYGI4ZX45W7mnSGc-S61XvuAwOp57QcD1KibukNyU0rx2/s1600-h/Picture+008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiq4zgrszE40hILRQFi7SW64xfmxeEzZ4su9S36sHnZFM71cEf8bgx6m4QKd9iSIbKteYhlLFlu1oYeLd6gCxcMT_ylJ02aMOYGI4ZX45W7mnSGc-S61XvuAwOp57QcD1KibukNyU0rx2/s400/Picture+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392944247643157186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHek0tyejP_R14pVms9dEbiFoyoYKlrX5o1cqBVltIremvpEyyNAWuBWWKdPWYAMPhkyZJ1JV7xPEVrKEll_nR1xRPkrxCRBrgc1V5xAehxexjndh5LRsRXwaXcahV6Xn7G-AAdzKivuyc/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHek0tyejP_R14pVms9dEbiFoyoYKlrX5o1cqBVltIremvpEyyNAWuBWWKdPWYAMPhkyZJ1JV7xPEVrKEll_nR1xRPkrxCRBrgc1V5xAehxexjndh5LRsRXwaXcahV6Xn7G-AAdzKivuyc/s400/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392944364479930338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My favorite pic of the trip, I think</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWrL-GjiC0woD5VFsAq2lDEDb55RfrdTPWfLKwf5RawomMXUPD9VRWp3fK2-S2_25VfKvOz2DPOyklqio36Op-r9t3CnwYcfP_6oIbS9r-FRI6lXpH19nAFk0Lur9sIHRh7EdF3vc8E_5/s1600-h/Picture+007.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWrL-GjiC0woD5VFsAq2lDEDb55RfrdTPWfLKwf5RawomMXUPD9VRWp3fK2-S2_25VfKvOz2DPOyklqio36Op-r9t3CnwYcfP_6oIbS9r-FRI6lXpH19nAFk0Lur9sIHRh7EdF3vc8E_5/s400/Picture+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392944162700099330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9hT9Ls0UWz3y376nxVPu1wBlFB_PEUgcKPwxztnQ6FfIIi-76KtBYBHNcbArOunuaGWznClBYDehBoKVTaoPseXGI0PbetjBCs36-SRN0DD85kCsAwyIigdWEjc01PyRBfoKiXceF1t_/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9hT9Ls0UWz3y376nxVPu1wBlFB_PEUgcKPwxztnQ6FfIIi-76KtBYBHNcbArOunuaGWznClBYDehBoKVTaoPseXGI0PbetjBCs36-SRN0DD85kCsAwyIigdWEjc01PyRBfoKiXceF1t_/s400/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392944061958400706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvJjvW8y_RQxd30XxQLKu0Aj1QiT7ZWpysJQn4U4tOzLJi_oav5xBw6CLfQv2u1qosABsx_uioHD3uZFJ1CJODRYZooVGti0fkT86QJCGIgmmf6O4OXSlh7CAaR72ErtsjZDieWxxtuRN/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvJjvW8y_RQxd30XxQLKu0Aj1QiT7ZWpysJQn4U4tOzLJi_oav5xBw6CLfQv2u1qosABsx_uioHD3uZFJ1CJODRYZooVGti0fkT86QJCGIgmmf6O4OXSlh7CAaR72ErtsjZDieWxxtuRN/s400/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392943913081405266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">My lens cover got stuck on this one so take it or leave it</span></span><br /><br /><br />Late in the day I finally arrived in Boulder, a burg which the more hyperbole-minded among us call the Paris of the Aquarius Plateau. This tiny place holds the distinction of being the last town in the lower forty eight to be reached by the gallant men and women of the US Postal Service. It is quite the little high-altitude Shargra-La, with several rustic looking restaurants that apparently boast world class chefs. The ten people who live here appeared to be cooler and more with it than the majority of the US population. While enjoying a dinner of salt-and-vinegar chips with a side of coffee (the fifth of the day) in a gas station parking lot, I realized that it would be a shame if I didn't visit Bryce Canyon, as it was only one hundred miles away and in addition to its close proximity it also resided at the tail end of Route 12, considered to be one of the most scenic highways in America. I made a deal with the Devil at this particular crossroads that I would go to Bryce but no further, as I didn't want to find myself in Long Beach on the Sunday night before I was supposed to be back at work.<br />Anyway, if you've been prodigal enough with your precious time here on earth to have read this entire blog, you know by now what happens when Tom strikes upon a notion; so in typical fashion and again with a totally inappropriate meal for the expected conditions ahead in my stomach, I saddled up and headed off across the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument towards Bryce. In order to best understand the National Monument phenomenon, imagine this conversation occurring in a DC boardroom filled with cigar smoke, c1956:<br />"Well, Jones, the farmers can't make heads or tails of it?<br />"No, sir."<br />"What about minerals? Have we had our people look into oil, aluminium?"<br />"Nothing there, Senator Johnson."<br />"Well, surely senators, there's Indians we can relocate."<br />"With all due respect, sir, we've already relocated them all."<br />"Gentleman and members of the committee, it looks like we have a National Monument on our hands."<br /><br />But just because an area is useless to the Intelligent Ape doesn't mean it isn't beautiful, and in most cases the opposite is true, and the Grand Staircase was no exception. Right out of Boulder, route 12 soars out above the pearl-white canyons of the Escalante River, winding along the top of a narrow rock spine with great chasms on either side. The few roadside pullouts were filled with painters at their easels, capturing the canyon country in the late afternoon light. For the next twenty miles or so the road is cut directly into the sandstone canyon walls:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb86rEXNOakEkCwqsULk-o8lhI3mklvY0qWiNZVDArKIntrL2QRRJtAKDvEgzS6ELLqwOMYJdgTdytNwsAOPXnkTL-ni6s7amu8A7T3m5RomVJRR4cib2TpaH7Xfqi2BrzTagEWo1vr1zL/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb86rEXNOakEkCwqsULk-o8lhI3mklvY0qWiNZVDArKIntrL2QRRJtAKDvEgzS6ELLqwOMYJdgTdytNwsAOPXnkTL-ni6s7amu8A7T3m5RomVJRR4cib2TpaH7Xfqi2BrzTagEWo1vr1zL/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393567057016269394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgBmgmnb-SmS_achKnSKTYxiuLaYgh6o3CWlcoajW5X4FHM1E5-jVGXcrSj-p772vbOrGVIZkJNt43YC6wjKmvS0OTQPOv6UwRmuVccCKI-1FlIzIrFR-zuHVrUK8KIQAkOhmx2P3DDlV/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgBmgmnb-SmS_achKnSKTYxiuLaYgh6o3CWlcoajW5X4FHM1E5-jVGXcrSj-p772vbOrGVIZkJNt43YC6wjKmvS0OTQPOv6UwRmuVccCKI-1FlIzIrFR-zuHVrUK8KIQAkOhmx2P3DDlV/s400/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393567263939222450" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The country in these here' parts was much more inviting than the canyonlands. The pinkish white rock here had a more rounded and soft contour, and looking at it didn't immediately scorch my retinas like the surface-of-Mars stuff at Canyonlands. It felt Fall-like at this higher elevation and I could taste a little moisture in the air. I even detected a slight scent of decaying leaves, though I didn't want to believe it after not having had seen a proper tree in weeks.<br />As the evening descended on our Rank Stranger, some higher force enticed me to keep pushing on, even though I knew that riding at dusk is pretty unsafe and can quickly devolve into "cartwheeling like a rag doll through the rocks and underbrush at dusk". However, my reservations were quickly forgotten as I hurtled on into a twilight fantasy world, the scenery becoming more and more unbelievable with every passing mile. Deciding to go to Bryce on the spur of the moment, I had no idea what was in this part of Utah or what type of country I was riding through, so everything around me was pouring into my mind label-free. Route 12 wound through a lush valley filled with grazing cows, hemmed in by hillside forests of dark evergreens, reminding me of Western North Carolina, except for the fact that the forests were capped high above by white sandstone mesas. As I flew along at 60, it began to get progressively colder, seeming like it was dropping into the forties, and I began to shiver intermittently. Now that the fading light had hidden the horizon and the equilibrium it provides and only the orb of my headlight beam remained, all my available brain power was diverted to properly leaning the bike around the turns and through the on-rushing ether, and my mind was just dumping everything else, including the surrounding scenery into my awareness without any processing. The first thing I saw were the tops of the mesas: Over in the Alps they have alpenglow, when the mountain tops remain unnaturally illuminated after sunset by conditions in the atmosphere. This was beginning to happen to the white mesas around me, and they were now glowing in the dark almost as if I was looking at them through infrared goggles. Up above the incandescent mesa tops, there was a sunset gradient of almost unnatural colors going from purple to orange, reminding me of Popsicle-box graphics from the 1980's. A minute later I looked over my other shoulder and there was a bloated crescent moon, seeming so nearby that I could have sworn that I saw a mountain <span style="font-style: italic;">behind</span> it. The whole scene seemed completely unreal, like the curtain had just risen on an evening stage set from Oklahoma!. Flying through clouds of sweet alfalfa scent, between fits of shivering, I remember saying to myself (and this is not poetic license here), that "This is too beautiful for a human mind to handle". I began to think that maybe Bryce Canyon wasn't famous for its rocks after all, but more for the magical light that falls on them in this part of the world. Just then, a giant elk, easily the size of a moose, plodded across the road a hundred yards in front of me. As soon as its rear hoofs stepped off the road I roared through the space it had been occupying a second earlier and found myself, white-knuckled, coming into the town of Tropic. By now it was 9:30 at night, my brain was fried, it was about 45 degrees out, and the main drag of town was completely surrounded by a dome of inky darkness filled with jay-walking ungulates. I knew I couldn't go any further and just then, down the strip I saw a lone "Vacancy" light shining among a sea of tour buses, and was forced as a captive audience in freezing Tropic to pay a room rate for the night that still to this day makes me wake up in a cold sweat.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">At Canyonlands People Carry Water Jugs and Maps. At Bryce Canyon They Carry Diet Cokes and Fudge</span></span><br /><br />The next morning I realized to my delight that I was only two miles from Bryce Canyon. Upon arriving at the park I quickly sensed that I was not going to be that into it. As beautiful as Bryce is, the entire place is no larger than a baseball stadium, and seems as if it could have been built by any suitably motivated group of people with access to industrial quantities of colored foam. The whole place has a saccharine feel to it, and the short trails down among the rock spires are so well traveled that they reminded me of queues at Disney World. After a short hike I quickly hightailed it out of the park. But here's some pictures I got before my camera greedily consumed batteries #16 through 20 of the trip:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIsp2qEkDOOmqDqGTT9tzuT6lPm4a7Ik0aokQnI_-tXU6jjZujJAxvA-3LWUKRHzQ7mW5jDRcTWbOmToSYGYmZcVOJvjDv75FJVz6Eno2jPWozEFevw_oLNsnS8fb5Fjk2reFT4EEDcXp/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIsp2qEkDOOmqDqGTT9tzuT6lPm4a7Ik0aokQnI_-tXU6jjZujJAxvA-3LWUKRHzQ7mW5jDRcTWbOmToSYGYmZcVOJvjDv75FJVz6Eno2jPWozEFevw_oLNsnS8fb5Fjk2reFT4EEDcXp/s400/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393577098859861154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhC29pwufuFEzWa18uejp-zZE8YyfKuAOGme6xQFKlW-39qONt8rsjpgFwE5gGaEC7SgtA0Veu5BZyBp39FODQE2mlNcOztQ8bFLK3Io8TIIyK-URegquw0LaRJa0wSKppn-sJZUbGKfl/s1600-h/Picture+007.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhC29pwufuFEzWa18uejp-zZE8YyfKuAOGme6xQFKlW-39qONt8rsjpgFwE5gGaEC7SgtA0Veu5BZyBp39FODQE2mlNcOztQ8bFLK3Io8TIIyK-URegquw0LaRJa0wSKppn-sJZUbGKfl/s400/Picture+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393577215384661714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After paying a Summer of 2008 price for a tank of gas at "<span style="font-weight: bold;">Bryce Village Delicatessen, Indian Trading Post, Fudge Liquidators and RV Axle Repair Center</span>" I retraced my steps back down Route 12, and upon arriving in the little town of Escalante, I stopped in for a visit to the famous "Desert Doctor", a one-man savior to the motorcycle tribe who runs the "only shop within 200 miles" out of a tiny garage behind a purple-trimmed brick bungalow on an Escalante side street. The shop is surrounded by several eight-foot tall stacks of used tires that the doctor has changed out over the years for riders, and on each tire he has painted the home nation of the tire's owner:<br /><br />Germany<br />Canada<br />Guatemala<br />The Netherlands<br />Australia<br />Maryland<br /><br />Taking advantage of the temperate climate, the Doctor does most of his work at a sturdy workbench out in the driveway, Venice Beach weight-lifters style. The day I visited he was tinkering around in greasy jeans and a tank top which revealed scores of tattoos from his biker days back in his native Windy City. The Doctor had a great bedside manner, so to speak, and quickly made me feel right at home as he recounted stories of his path to Escalante:<br /><br />"I was riding through on my Harley with some friends back in the seventies, when Escalante was a pretty unfriendly place and<span style="font-style: italic;"> really</span> out in the middle of nowhere. My primary drive broke outside of town, and I couldn't get a new part even for a million dollars..."<br /><br />So the Doctor did what any free-spirited biker would do: He bought a cheap fixer-upper, had all his tools shipped out, and set up shop. Now, being a former metal worker, I have some appreciation for the tools of the trade, and the Doctor's one-car-garage shop had the most densely packed and bad-ass assemblage of tools that I have ever seen in my life. Every surface was covered with boxes of bolts, parts catalogs, tap-and-die sets for every imaginable fastener, nut or combination thereof; welders, torches, grinders, polishing wheels, metal lathes and various projects-in progress, including a beautiful old Harley that he was in the process of resurrecting for a client. He told me that if he couldn't get a part for someone he could probably fabricate it from scratch. He then showed me his wintertime project: An arsenal of fantastic prop weapons that he had won the contract to build for a remake of Mad Max that was being filmed in the area.<br />Getting down to brass tacks, I asked him if he could sell me a can of chain lube as my chain was as dry as my mouth and only slightly less dirty, but instead he let me oil my chain with his shop can, free of charge while he gave my bike a quick once-over. I thanked him profusely and he only asked me to spread the word about his shop. Thanks Dr. Desert!<br /><br />After leaving Escalante I rode back to Boulder, and picked up the Burr Trail again heading south towards Lake Powell.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It took me through a beautiful red rock canyon outside of Boulder...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgft062sZ34M398jBqp_mFRTGvJNDoMxz21Xm6O09SZv8bfKgbGZXW1KJvtX8nnYv9r-DVCmsbFmGepTCIrHwmH6ChbEqnCUKacwdCSv6SAvZo0YUPHC_aqIG9dSOqWBYGe_Q7GCYoAxUwT/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgft062sZ34M398jBqp_mFRTGvJNDoMxz21Xm6O09SZv8bfKgbGZXW1KJvtX8nnYv9r-DVCmsbFmGepTCIrHwmH6ChbEqnCUKacwdCSv6SAvZo0YUPHC_aqIG9dSOqWBYGe_Q7GCYoAxUwT/s400/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393623669538779858" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">...then over the spine of Capitol Reef, with views of upthrust layers of red rock and the isolated Henry Mountains beyond:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUFtYx_H8vog9E-k4aicaKl_jAwLI3_3l949cV1AJOZBmuCiOL9QcYPZyJQABer37aQbFyRm9f45XpPXOIst0OVXeoxZ2C2kxTCl2wtGgFmVjYsZSEKh-bhDDPdlTR4XCwmo2ajMx26ks/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUFtYx_H8vog9E-k4aicaKl_jAwLI3_3l949cV1AJOZBmuCiOL9QcYPZyJQABer37aQbFyRm9f45XpPXOIst0OVXeoxZ2C2kxTCl2wtGgFmVjYsZSEKh-bhDDPdlTR4XCwmo2ajMx26ks/s400/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393624218574229986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEPSjJARMgm9lNJWFKtZvs5DpMrDaVDtB9ezu27hPeGzRTJQdLAtai1yas5R1Y57n5nnQau3ONAL6dkA31cTOPsMHO0b0Yfx7xN56Jq9y8MhHxn4UZlVFz_QFX5G-yDFaL2Mu8LLaRZP7/s1600-h/Picture+003.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEPSjJARMgm9lNJWFKtZvs5DpMrDaVDtB9ezu27hPeGzRTJQdLAtai1yas5R1Y57n5nnQau3ONAL6dkA31cTOPsMHO0b0Yfx7xN56Jq9y8MhHxn4UZlVFz_QFX5G-yDFaL2Mu8LLaRZP7/s400/Picture+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393624421192220850" border="0" /></a><br /><br />.<span style="font-weight: bold;">..then down off the Reef and across thirty miles or so of arid and lunar-like terrain between Capitol Reef and Lake Powell:</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4drqcQNMYcMv2xw891iCf_aD5Q0FZvhWK24EwqxzAdwzRNrspklvocUryVc8WS2wEtLYiHKso-YUKDp6_RdWKgmbmZeg_1LK95-YxLpeiSQ9TbRDdR0j5bC2GGX8FUPjSQmgUQCWKsw-D/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4drqcQNMYcMv2xw891iCf_aD5Q0FZvhWK24EwqxzAdwzRNrspklvocUryVc8WS2wEtLYiHKso-YUKDp6_RdWKgmbmZeg_1LK95-YxLpeiSQ9TbRDdR0j5bC2GGX8FUPjSQmgUQCWKsw-D/s400/Picture+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393625640980333154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56mv1iZDVSOUAzMi6RvuvAbitERMGFrlt_kPtHaamkUb-_oKvBu4k7JpmzbjYm8PLl4CZgF0tTcOkWfjBxzBRUIbxHLCkAjcebqD1VBnuerYbYL2sBkdhVMhIxUFcvzOA3Vu-qyJoyc0a/s1600-h/Picture+007.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56mv1iZDVSOUAzMi6RvuvAbitERMGFrlt_kPtHaamkUb-_oKvBu4k7JpmzbjYm8PLl4CZgF0tTcOkWfjBxzBRUIbxHLCkAjcebqD1VBnuerYbYL2sBkdhVMhIxUFcvzOA3Vu-qyJoyc0a/s400/Picture+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393626271343536674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAKVUkLttFQCNbj2sEOkSI0Hlj1oMK9OTi_0Eb5XwUQsnGQATLLqmNt2pMu7aPJqrA0G8f5-sRbcinkdygd89SjlRw3dwTMrxvX7UXt_5lJvrXfFSzxvgLGQWb3fNGxwNkQ1yYDRDwe7c/s1600-h/Picture+008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAKVUkLttFQCNbj2sEOkSI0Hlj1oMK9OTi_0Eb5XwUQsnGQATLLqmNt2pMu7aPJqrA0G8f5-sRbcinkdygd89SjlRw3dwTMrxvX7UXt_5lJvrXfFSzxvgLGQWb3fNGxwNkQ1yYDRDwe7c/s400/Picture+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393625850625289186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnZ0O5bDyY8ys8c3SRPr-9OCGSUsIFs2oySyzVhJ5C_2IsR0iePewJ0FTFdFZKuLOUH3NyiV-ofVsPsH6VIwkefrST-69q49qae0qlzI0Lh1xKJNgSnZ47s43Tf0LYP7nIAUeGv9_VY4B/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnZ0O5bDyY8ys8c3SRPr-9OCGSUsIFs2oySyzVhJ5C_2IsR0iePewJ0FTFdFZKuLOUH3NyiV-ofVsPsH6VIwkefrST-69q49qae0qlzI0Lh1xKJNgSnZ47s43Tf0LYP7nIAUeGv9_VY4B/s400/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393626084538449202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0-dBUt6Q0g-yw4yMd_qmkj2TSjvKJxN6UpxcRjCzXA-XD7AaUa28tUdJa1KgRGxUB0Nge7g0EW5CvLVc8sSUcJDJlD3ezMRWA1zHkLwwrAF3ujToWW2lHay6ynQbrkwdhD_Hv5ZLddQQ/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0-dBUt6Q0g-yw4yMd_qmkj2TSjvKJxN6UpxcRjCzXA-XD7AaUa28tUdJa1KgRGxUB0Nge7g0EW5CvLVc8sSUcJDJlD3ezMRWA1zHkLwwrAF3ujToWW2lHay6ynQbrkwdhD_Hv5ZLddQQ/s400/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393625954917770786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">...and finally through some more red rock country along the shores of Lake Powell...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsMUaZGmWNRqaOgtMdLn6XplmI5ABmT6z5XPs6bG1XLwWB_rc64g8PhUbjwLZR4pzxoWsMeyblPqJBvmK5UBKjzRq6LaY5HKIbwYq_UAB_2zhlCbGhMBtrowu4j1pHZtqIjcfwfwVrlwM/s1600-h/Picture+014.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsMUaZGmWNRqaOgtMdLn6XplmI5ABmT6z5XPs6bG1XLwWB_rc64g8PhUbjwLZR4pzxoWsMeyblPqJBvmK5UBKjzRq6LaY5HKIbwYq_UAB_2zhlCbGhMBtrowu4j1pHZtqIjcfwfwVrlwM/s400/Picture+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393626957177786546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BSKwZ6K1-jC-GMzhyj890n_vxIv7NMcFeUXWYojFn4x0QrwZRd5pOYbHcpZp2jZs7X9O2k1NKGeNadS6BqXSL7CokGqotXt_KfIlf8Kug8-sfbhM7bqUMzd_XNnfPhrvODRgqDOAn2kE/s1600-h/Picture+010.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BSKwZ6K1-jC-GMzhyj890n_vxIv7NMcFeUXWYojFn4x0QrwZRd5pOYbHcpZp2jZs7X9O2k1NKGeNadS6BqXSL7CokGqotXt_KfIlf8Kug8-sfbhM7bqUMzd_XNnfPhrvODRgqDOAn2kE/s400/Picture+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393627315870294146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVwZ1z43s1om6KOvu8isyed9AgvNrMHvCW628D3clnAM-oTsu6E9tzmAKOxO1TtgCFa_TGPStMWSDEBiHJaWvYg7OZ4WifS2Qpn9aC6oVL2a30V9KOLyIZCA-Y4mMHlSC1EyCvUveRizh/s1600-h/Picture+015.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVwZ1z43s1om6KOvu8isyed9AgvNrMHvCW628D3clnAM-oTsu6E9tzmAKOxO1TtgCFa_TGPStMWSDEBiHJaWvYg7OZ4WifS2Qpn9aC6oVL2a30V9KOLyIZCA-Y4mMHlSC1EyCvUveRizh/s400/Picture+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393627056126428594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTUOej2qgDWB2pStF8mXQxo49feaIMA10Z1eM5sF8o5vn_cXwIQl9cv3gUBgkURBXaA58dt6KKzp9dP_udXU8OYao_i-6QLenC9YOxgLmAwB6Ij8nJ8dDki7fIlPoNnqtHG8zhMPQHE3H/s1600-h/Picture+013.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTUOej2qgDWB2pStF8mXQxo49feaIMA10Z1eM5sF8o5vn_cXwIQl9cv3gUBgkURBXaA58dt6KKzp9dP_udXU8OYao_i-6QLenC9YOxgLmAwB6Ij8nJ8dDki7fIlPoNnqtHG8zhMPQHE3H/s400/Picture+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393627153301602130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OvecpoKrlIPFkafSfvJJI9wKM6XUv4-YGHqZxKVy1osOJNAzrhxhajVxhXCplg6RLg-be0eyScx_L3CFDtSUeMV5X2yRF7VKlhWpfPrqrs8ViaOCYxed3l4xN81T9zdB3iN_tsuvF-ss/s1600-h/Picture+017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OvecpoKrlIPFkafSfvJJI9wKM6XUv4-YGHqZxKVy1osOJNAzrhxhajVxhXCplg6RLg-be0eyScx_L3CFDtSUeMV5X2yRF7VKlhWpfPrqrs8ViaOCYxed3l4xN81T9zdB3iN_tsuvF-ss/s400/Picture+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393627434521128818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It had been a long day, with Bryce now 150 miles away with a Desert Doctor thrown in for good measure, so I settled down at the oasis of Lake Powell and relaxed before the final leg of this comedy of errors...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-4724439172808252102009-10-10T09:28:00.000-07:002009-10-17T09:18:44.553-07:00Horseshoe Canyon: Where Adventurers Lose Limbs and The Pictographs Dont Have Any to Begin With<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0mrknfML41oEod2265Xq6ofdO8ka8VOpuuMA39L1R0eSs_8xmp_OlX8mTuV88Pt6STu6yQPJHnOB5IqkKG5CwxrVI24DQsVtyY9wbdJsgNLr-4djqMWiA5uRY8Thfvakt_DJyLl_3qKe/s1600-h/Picture+220.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0mrknfML41oEod2265Xq6ofdO8ka8VOpuuMA39L1R0eSs_8xmp_OlX8mTuV88Pt6STu6yQPJHnOB5IqkKG5CwxrVI24DQsVtyY9wbdJsgNLr-4djqMWiA5uRY8Thfvakt_DJyLl_3qKe/s400/Picture+220.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391012653831866258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Down through history it has been proven time and time again that a wayfaring stranger can't live by rocks alone, and indeed, my rough itinerary, scrawled on a piece of wallet-bound loose leaf, informed me that it was now time for old caliche-dusted Tom to be exposed to a little culture, in the form of the spectacular, ancient art preserved within a jagged tear in the surface of the desert miles from nowhere known as Horseshoe Canyon.<br />Getting to Horseshoe is a bit of a jaunt by any standards, but to add to my anxiety, I was informed by Connecticut's leading authority on the outdoors-my mom, that Horseshoe was also the place where Aron Ralston, author of the 2002 bestseller "I Left My Arm at Wounded Knee" (don't quote me on that title) was forced to cut off his forearm with a Swiss Army knife after it became trapped beneath a giant boulder while he was canyoneering alone. After promising to hike with my hands in my pockets like a good boy, I set off for the canyon. Here's how to get there in style:<br />Head north out of Moab on route 191, past Arches National Park and out across the white, hard-pan expanse north of town. After a while the towering and empty Book Cliffs will began to dominate the horizon, and one will begin to make out trucks on I-70 running along their base. But don't get too exited yet, as it will still take a quarter of an hour at 65 mph to cover the distance to the interstate. Once there, head west for twenty minutes to the desert oasis of Green River, and if you have time to spare once you arrive, spend the well-worth-it 4 dollars to poke around the John Wesley Powell museum and learn how <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> men toured this region. Spend some time ruminating about the reality of traveling 400 miles through unknown country in a tiny boat filled with scarce and moldy provisions as you fill up your own water jugs in the museum's bathroom. Afterwords, head into the center of town and pick up a Jerusalem melon, the agricultural specialty here and stow it away somewhere. You will very happy you did fifty miles down the road. After that its advisable to head over to Ray's Tavern (The Place for Everyone), belly up to the bar, order a giant burger (only dwarfed in comparison to the hair of the waitress serving it) and down a couple of watery drafts, held to 3.2% alcohol throughout Utah by Mormon decree.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55rGx3Mv99yklXdU98RTgPIutjDdOQXjccR-9wE_VKfwEY64vEeU39FFCMm186-pfhZxMyDFfsaX5y2RYVXyGBhoKr9h6qPiRDKC1dl2jSy53ZdGt0iTnAHdybPeJ7n2r3vAmlUe6PPw/s1600-h/Picture+183.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55rGx3Mv99yklXdU98RTgPIutjDdOQXjccR-9wE_VKfwEY64vEeU39FFCMm186-pfhZxMyDFfsaX5y2RYVXyGBhoKr9h6qPiRDKC1dl2jSy53ZdGt0iTnAHdybPeJ7n2r3vAmlUe6PPw/s400/Picture+183.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391023015797780722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Why did there have to be a minivan in this picture?</span><br /><br />There is no better time for tackling 50 miles of brutally wash boarded sand track through the San Rafael desert than at high noon, right after stuffing yourself with 2500 calories worth of thirst-inducing fat, salt and alcohol. With that in mind, head south out of town along the Airport Road, where you will find every inch of the steep surrounding hillsides covered with the graceful, crisscrossing tire arcs of dirt bikes and ATVs. While you head towards the airport, meditate on why it had to be built ten miles out of town when there appears to be no shortage of flat and empty spots even fifty yards from City Hall. Directly after the deserted airfield, bear left onto the dirt and head out into the emptiness:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDL9AfzpzYspgaTWKKd6dSB7qK3harSB3ap52WR6a0ZaAmzHoL5dYTI_0HhhHGrNzKA726mD7r3XqI9IsG5Oz-yTonssBrSYlqXkzzvD4ljlKjI4dSb35Jr9BjZDn1BzH01rcUsYPqqI9/s1600-h/Picture+184.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDL9AfzpzYspgaTWKKd6dSB7qK3harSB3ap52WR6a0ZaAmzHoL5dYTI_0HhhHGrNzKA726mD7r3XqI9IsG5Oz-yTonssBrSYlqXkzzvD4ljlKjI4dSb35Jr9BjZDn1BzH01rcUsYPqqI9/s400/Picture+184.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391027800739549922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">On the way to Horseshoe the traveler will pass the only stream in Utah graced with water</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVVPyxCAzMYKnvCdMQNLI35Al26bcVnmYBEWtrOPFaweK2P96D4IkZsSHJa_WKFbwtliZ6nWgBA5hvMjhHcXPiAldl1kJDSLaJt7KPL5qVkkgAeEk_Hh_8t6qKOwxom5Ppp5j7onGFPhL/s1600-h/Picture+186.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVVPyxCAzMYKnvCdMQNLI35Al26bcVnmYBEWtrOPFaweK2P96D4IkZsSHJa_WKFbwtliZ6nWgBA5hvMjhHcXPiAldl1kJDSLaJt7KPL5qVkkgAeEk_Hh_8t6qKOwxom5Ppp5j7onGFPhL/s400/Picture+186.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391028569294658482" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Japanese engineers, please don't fail me now</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEJpHpA2h7DEjM8z1B5Wz-fdOGW9wE8rWIw_pIChfp3N2Z-xBBm5HPuGKzgtXdaMcFt04eau4ITEN0oi2L-cXmzP6Yyl7jAsUpsJO5-NNJRBvz6wkkdJBcMo1vfIDFXna8AyIiO8Qcjnn/s1600-h/Picture+187.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEJpHpA2h7DEjM8z1B5Wz-fdOGW9wE8rWIw_pIChfp3N2Z-xBBm5HPuGKzgtXdaMcFt04eau4ITEN0oi2L-cXmzP6Yyl7jAsUpsJO5-NNJRBvz6wkkdJBcMo1vfIDFXna8AyIiO8Qcjnn/s400/Picture+187.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391029344812316562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Don't give up yet...</span><br /><br />After arriving at the surprisingly bustling canyon rim about two hours after lunch at Ray's I realized two things: One, the so-called campground here consisted of the unused portions of the dirt parking lot, and therefore provided absolutely no shade or protection from the constant and gusty wind. Secondly, I hadn't completely filled up my water bag back in Green River, so I couldn't really afford to romp around in the afternoon sun if I wanted to have enough water to hike into the canyon the following day. So I quickly set up my tent and filled it with rocks to prevent it with me inside from being blown down into the chasm. I then crawled inside and did what was quickly becoming a tradition on this trip: the high-desert afternoon nap.<br />Once the sun had dropped into the desert I emerged and did a little exploring:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY1Y6JPI_FA9RK6xSojXXAEmjKr9OouSQqmc0Vl4oQUEbB7-X4rpUka5eSAwqie46BQWBsKlGyaVQ-o7QwlbT8twMuyvOBZ-oNNksE8fKwf6JfXnzvKI_nsh4HLgi9-ju7x1URqcN3__3/s1600-h/Picture+192.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY1Y6JPI_FA9RK6xSojXXAEmjKr9OouSQqmc0Vl4oQUEbB7-X4rpUka5eSAwqie46BQWBsKlGyaVQ-o7QwlbT8twMuyvOBZ-oNNksE8fKwf6JfXnzvKI_nsh4HLgi9-ju7x1URqcN3__3/s400/Picture+192.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391033065693209074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Horseshoe canyon</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0PVxN1pwzt2rG9oOHdT0d0SoL7bMhpaM1lUYWscIcEzAIy25UasldsnLs5mKGGwhCllyEoqTjuocOs893lGAGGoXl2uveOy2GONUgXdQ9b0ZwIMZCvrqYMvRkWFx8RopLdUej6s8w0yJ/s1600-h/Picture+188.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0PVxN1pwzt2rG9oOHdT0d0SoL7bMhpaM1lUYWscIcEzAIy25UasldsnLs5mKGGwhCllyEoqTjuocOs893lGAGGoXl2uveOy2GONUgXdQ9b0ZwIMZCvrqYMvRkWFx8RopLdUej6s8w0yJ/s400/Picture+188.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391033660188074802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dusk falls on the few remaining possessions of mine that haven't been blown into Nevada</span><br /><br />The next morning, as the sun just began to light the backside of the distant La Sal mountains, I threw on my pack and headed down into the dark canyon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHoBi2SfbRoeCv7K_2WwSs8j0KWmu1CJtuyAL-lcwAiM6YTGX_MfjPq4R9jV9EkHjoLPXqemmZEF8mwgjjgvsL41oopSS6N_gHqhuQBBBT_ScQvj70MIUW55G75cT4Xucg5PPW63GIne5/s1600-h/Picture+195.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHoBi2SfbRoeCv7K_2WwSs8j0KWmu1CJtuyAL-lcwAiM6YTGX_MfjPq4R9jV9EkHjoLPXqemmZEF8mwgjjgvsL41oopSS6N_gHqhuQBBBT_ScQvj70MIUW55G75cT4Xucg5PPW63GIne5/s400/Picture+195.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391039137761120098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1gfpvHQ00I15Kbvr4Ue3kdUqs9pCjskqRn_E9PraRjUJN5GkfZ0pk9yxiQq7z6odgKKi7Ef9On6KwGFKmSAL94DWgt1KL5zPkk7WexKi8EdSugkPA_FD0r8tiQOBqVLvqxrGogvyOWfL/s1600-h/Picture+199.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1gfpvHQ00I15Kbvr4Ue3kdUqs9pCjskqRn_E9PraRjUJN5GkfZ0pk9yxiQq7z6odgKKi7Ef9On6KwGFKmSAL94DWgt1KL5zPkk7WexKi8EdSugkPA_FD0r8tiQOBqVLvqxrGogvyOWfL/s400/Picture+199.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391040511839884098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The canyon bottom at daybreak</span><br /><br />I had the place totally to myself at this time, besides a few mule deer walking along the sandy canyon bottom. Soon I spotted the first panel of pictographs, high on a crumbly ledge:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbdDYkXsgBoRhasnxP55_mjItpe2Xo_Z1Rr1LBHpJI1tk-Wqj0C0dWzVZe1YrRidev6DRIhLM0bBfjZknzkF61obVP6GQGm-zXpU97739e1HkX95g3AN0xNW4-F-zthI4mvu3td30KKHzc/s1600-h/Picture+200.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbdDYkXsgBoRhasnxP55_mjItpe2Xo_Z1Rr1LBHpJI1tk-Wqj0C0dWzVZe1YrRidev6DRIhLM0bBfjZknzkF61obVP6GQGm-zXpU97739e1HkX95g3AN0xNW4-F-zthI4mvu3td30KKHzc/s400/Picture+200.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391042114566731602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1lPYegZn1CWAjM-wNacdbf5PWg8OyjXAN-4IvDYV4qMIlOavc0NnIFPBW02NZrK-2BroRr1bm1izKUpJFulxLICuOQWPdNH1JoAr_4eCghqw3UUtZ7ECMRyPs6g5zhl5DkrquU8Anomo/s1600-h/Picture+202.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1lPYegZn1CWAjM-wNacdbf5PWg8OyjXAN-4IvDYV4qMIlOavc0NnIFPBW02NZrK-2BroRr1bm1izKUpJFulxLICuOQWPdNH1JoAr_4eCghqw3UUtZ7ECMRyPs6g5zhl5DkrquU8Anomo/s400/Picture+202.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391042561381335762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I then came upon a breathtaking alcove in the canyon wall, easily the size of an upended Wal-Mart, carved out of solid rock by a constant stream of windblown grit and the occasional flood over a span of time incomprehensible to man.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpgnNGj_knPPEaEBvZPzeF5zRoHZoYwRXPJmhUMN2Wi-bMaUqU3ojuBaP-XxC1JRnRi-n_EotaJkE3liL0jRrTA7NOC00BW5qoMKMoGEdo7lytuM1pCh0tF-QTYMFgnUMhtPeTSxOLX_y/s1600-h/Picture+023.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpgnNGj_knPPEaEBvZPzeF5zRoHZoYwRXPJmhUMN2Wi-bMaUqU3ojuBaP-XxC1JRnRi-n_EotaJkE3liL0jRrTA7NOC00BW5qoMKMoGEdo7lytuM1pCh0tF-QTYMFgnUMhtPeTSxOLX_y/s400/Picture+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391407319532113922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Inside was more rock art:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PAhXFvS8k84MkEPwf7Wq2iLRx7ql2vECBFMfTyEx6-tvrT84BdjVvdV3cX3hO1BkBsgtUZSwJTONN0FRA8rZ5qsJe3VRhZrEjPtOy_8FyYPsfphQIORASZFtIvKKNqeSyOPTI6CwuPf1/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PAhXFvS8k84MkEPwf7Wq2iLRx7ql2vECBFMfTyEx6-tvrT84BdjVvdV3cX3hO1BkBsgtUZSwJTONN0FRA8rZ5qsJe3VRhZrEjPtOy_8FyYPsfphQIORASZFtIvKKNqeSyOPTI6CwuPf1/s400/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391408124272667346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEKVVu70RpDCxqnURZq8KPGaMWbOn255gSid1E87ccaGEesPqeId4y3L0p8LEsA0BV_vWxByjqob6fEDkGM2UfCI5kUHnedKSeWWojDUiZ3Js_5RTrKv-c9JcfKpuALOG_rdtlkvz0GR5/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEKVVu70RpDCxqnURZq8KPGaMWbOn255gSid1E87ccaGEesPqeId4y3L0p8LEsA0BV_vWxByjqob6fEDkGM2UfCI5kUHnedKSeWWojDUiZ3Js_5RTrKv-c9JcfKpuALOG_rdtlkvz0GR5/s400/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391408503725375170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrKYBoXM8TYU7e-hYXXbdRlA9NzFf3N4wAXxEhQc2uE3_IBH-9Zip02n1wr6g6uHOWlsaLyydAjYgWCg2zmTzUTg4Fe3EeLKILiMOodLvO4ayevpa9GtpONXE0M9gNq0TCzrb1wRrSTh-Z/s1600-h/Picture+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrKYBoXM8TYU7e-hYXXbdRlA9NzFf3N4wAXxEhQc2uE3_IBH-9Zip02n1wr6g6uHOWlsaLyydAjYgWCg2zmTzUTg4Fe3EeLKILiMOodLvO4ayevpa9GtpONXE0M9gNq0TCzrb1wRrSTh-Z/s400/Picture+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391408940951847282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And then, after walking three miles down a sandy canyon bottom in the dawn silence, I came upon the Great Gallery, where life-size, featureless ghost figures float towards you across the millenia. Archaeologists call the artists of these paintings the "Archaic Culture", and believe they painted them between 2000 and 8000 years ago, but this is just grasping at straws, and the truth is that the people who put these images here were as much of a mystery to the Anasazi as the Anazazi are to us. Adding to the mystery is the question of where one finds paint that has a 8000 year warranty?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k8Tx6iwORoFyu_vrSU3zRpyhBwt0sKNFLJtQnX1RPdL3L08ADM-NPXA3sCZoMKp8pDcRikMZ_vudyE7_Ju0YsgtsxrnyMA6Z-FLEc05MBKSnbQqo4Qr1V8iKsicy2rEKFrV5FT-vJzOD/s1600-h/Picture+020.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k8Tx6iwORoFyu_vrSU3zRpyhBwt0sKNFLJtQnX1RPdL3L08ADM-NPXA3sCZoMKp8pDcRikMZ_vudyE7_Ju0YsgtsxrnyMA6Z-FLEc05MBKSnbQqo4Qr1V8iKsicy2rEKFrV5FT-vJzOD/s400/Picture+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391412599264222354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k8Tx6iwORoFyu_vrSU3zRpyhBwt0sKNFLJtQnX1RPdL3L08ADM-NPXA3sCZoMKp8pDcRikMZ_vudyE7_Ju0YsgtsxrnyMA6Z-FLEc05MBKSnbQqo4Qr1V8iKsicy2rEKFrV5FT-vJzOD/s1600-h/Picture+020.jpg"> </a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABz2QJDgb8qI2ntP0aiLZaoyjkAKh0w0FoIRKPZYv7nMVP5RZ4g4_cssE25gaQd4JUVrAKzxhLbROpGu6hmYqYY4yEQR0Ozta_n9-YxgzOUhGUg6sg5HqdVGYLJLHm1ZqPTwWvilxQRSM/s1600-h/Picture+022.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABz2QJDgb8qI2ntP0aiLZaoyjkAKh0w0FoIRKPZYv7nMVP5RZ4g4_cssE25gaQd4JUVrAKzxhLbROpGu6hmYqYY4yEQR0Ozta_n9-YxgzOUhGUg6sg5HqdVGYLJLHm1ZqPTwWvilxQRSM/s400/Picture+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391413082638500978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufvDnWsR5yaUZvGQeFZHcdln1lOQqCxovS7x__xh6vjdbCHMSS-OvDf0TXdGHJcUJ2yystUFXe4trDGEp8yJarJkR98hyUzyNFbfDdba8etdpBSy_JrQYwZ_TPoyNhb6n93dQMBg027Tf/s1600-h/Picture+014.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufvDnWsR5yaUZvGQeFZHcdln1lOQqCxovS7x__xh6vjdbCHMSS-OvDf0TXdGHJcUJ2yystUFXe4trDGEp8yJarJkR98hyUzyNFbfDdba8etdpBSy_JrQYwZ_TPoyNhb6n93dQMBg027Tf/s400/Picture+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391417285707281170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The guys above (along with other scenes from southeast Utah, and also a NASA rocket, don't ask me why) star in the opening montage of Koyaanisqatsi, a film about god-knows-what, set to strange Phillip Glass music. Watch the below (skip the rocket launch footage) and it will sum up the atmosphere in Horseshoe better than I can</span><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XrQMB_xcDSE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XrQMB_xcDSE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />While I was looking at the Great Gallery I was reminded of the below photo from National Geographic, and I could imagine how the paintings were influenced by living in a heat distorted landscape devoid of any landmarks. But more than likely they were painted by aliens who later went on to found the Federal government, so what good is my theory, anyway?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD-AkiKH_CSIA0oYU7N77YUNMhJhcYeiLLLxudoDdu_vnB9tlnZdToaVvTDFs64mpoY5i5ecKUWvQtTzi2W2ZjIcoKkO9fmJ6jhzhe8IGc5mrmFgU5H6P71qFHwb4IcmUwUXSMZDw9spg/s1600-h/bushmen.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD-AkiKH_CSIA0oYU7N77YUNMhJhcYeiLLLxudoDdu_vnB9tlnZdToaVvTDFs64mpoY5i5ecKUWvQtTzi2W2ZjIcoKkO9fmJ6jhzhe8IGc5mrmFgU5H6P71qFHwb4IcmUwUXSMZDw9spg/s400/bushmen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391424889266840866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, Horseshoe canyon was great, but I was a little anxious to hit it by this point as I was low on water, I still had fifty miles, thirty of it sand, standing between me and the nearest town, Hanksville, and my bike had been sitting on the canyon rim being sandblasted for the last 24 hours. In addition to that, my cam chain, the Achilles heel of the venerable KLX 650, had been developing a nasty rattle during the last few days, letting me know it was beginning to stretch after 2600 miles of riding. That's the noise it makes right before it derails and drops the valves into the engine, at which point the trip is <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> over. I wanted to wait until I got to Hanksville to adjust it so that in case I botched the adjustment there would be a chance of getting some assistance, so the ride out of the canyon was a little bit tense.<br /><br />Anyway, needless to say, I made it to Hanksville, pulled into the only gas station in town, which, I crap you negative, resides completely within a hollowed-out sandstone hill, and easily adjusted the chain within five minutes while parked in front of this monument to free-speech:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2CT_uLbmiVdk4IbSpiv8Ua1XQThKP82RPFrmb5d0cXNePj37tEY27GBVNNTPvRcl_A1G-fWLVMQnGz_bcANdpy1UnXkSiNtLuo5dcPYmx0YggaUSbXJJTfH9WrEsKad1q8BDPVKWwghZ/s1600-h/Picture+033.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2CT_uLbmiVdk4IbSpiv8Ua1XQThKP82RPFrmb5d0cXNePj37tEY27GBVNNTPvRcl_A1G-fWLVMQnGz_bcANdpy1UnXkSiNtLuo5dcPYmx0YggaUSbXJJTfH9WrEsKad1q8BDPVKWwghZ/s400/Picture+033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391429663818534866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Next up: Waterpocket folds, moki dugway's and Utah's fudge zone!Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-73555830918664111232009-10-10T07:24:00.000-07:002009-10-14T17:13:58.585-07:00The Needles70 miles south of Moab, behind the lunch counter at the Needles Outpost one will find three framed pictures. The largest shows a Cessna, piloted by a friend of the proprietor, flying through the center of a giant sandstone arch. Below, side by side, hang two smaller pictures. One is an aerial view of lower Manhattan, and the second is an aerial shot of the Needles district of Canyonlands. Besides the contrast between New York grey and the vibrant oranges, whites and reds of the Needles, the pictures look remarkably similar. And indeed, the best way to describe the Needles to anyone who has never been is as a life-size city of rock, with skyscrapers of Cedar Mesa sandstone towering above grand parks of barren orange slickrock. Backpacking along the sand boulevards and side streets down beneath the towers, one feels as if they are in a well-tended Japanese garden, surrounded by gatherings of lone polished rocks, yucca plants and bonzai junipers that appear to have been gently arranged on the sand just before one rounded the last corner.<br /> And just like a real city, one can reach out and touch the scenery. This is a refreshing contrast to the White Rim, where a person could walk for days before arriving at the foot of the scenery that appears to be right before them.<br /> Notice I say one <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> walk to the scenery on the White Rim, as I myself hadn't done any walking since before the fortieth parallel and consequently was beginning to feel like someone just released from a lengthy stay in a Typhoid fever ward. My planned antidote was a three day backpack through the Needles.<br /> I picked up my camping permit from a large and fairly intimidating woman ranger who was also, as she put it, Canyonland's "Czar" of Cryptobiotic Crust. This is the name given to the network of lichen that weaves its way through the top layer of desert sand and prevents it from blowing about and piling into dunes Sahara-style. But because of its delicacy and the aridity of the landscape, one misplaced human foot will set it's growth back decades. For this reason every ranger in the park is constantly talking at your face about your moral obligation as a visitor in a harsh land to stay on the trail and for the love of God, off the crust. This woman was obviously the ring-leader and as she handed me my permit she said to me in a low tone, "Crush my crust and I'll crush you."<br />"Alright," I thought as I went on my way, "I'll just chalk that one up to the plain-dealing western demeanor."<br /> Successful backpacking in the desert requires a temporary suspension of the American work ethic. If one wants to stay comfortable, one will be smart to spend a majority of their time napping under overhangs, in the crevices between large boulders and within the dark cores of juniper clumps. When the odd cloud drifts in front of the sun, you cross your arms on your chest as a natural speed governor and amble slowly towards the next available shadow.<br /> My first night's destination was Chesler Park, a giant grassland surrounded by rock pinnacles. The first miles of trail took me over, around and through what looked like the remains of a beach-side mudflat, frozen solid by millions of years of subterranean pressure and heat before resurfacing in Utah:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUMXx0qfbcgfbIb7qGPiAuTg1tu83j_c_B5t14oqXZ5k029E2O-evUirUULaHDjjI9vmFniRsjWObiFhkQLco0SRunk7YbSZnyCVxjg9pjR6h1kjmFxjhOKA-24Esl3CgvroTZwObdJp7/s1600-h/Picture+020.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUMXx0qfbcgfbIb7qGPiAuTg1tu83j_c_B5t14oqXZ5k029E2O-evUirUULaHDjjI9vmFniRsjWObiFhkQLco0SRunk7YbSZnyCVxjg9pjR6h1kjmFxjhOKA-24Esl3CgvroTZwObdJp7/s400/Picture+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390994413477848658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2-OU4-jURq6noAK_rgz6z3WQfGGt3lhrO8U13T552bgC2FXAZJYwc69kf_1EfqwOxgbR1Onb-7zF3EyhwT2CWuJrjppq2wE-yir48CaTqS2p0EpvZVFSoByzws6oJocV1WiTLZK6dGAI/s1600-h/Picture+027.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2-OU4-jURq6noAK_rgz6z3WQfGGt3lhrO8U13T552bgC2FXAZJYwc69kf_1EfqwOxgbR1Onb-7zF3EyhwT2CWuJrjppq2wE-yir48CaTqS2p0EpvZVFSoByzws6oJocV1WiTLZK6dGAI/s400/Picture+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390994814011774738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKspihRqqgqJn_vnBG3zqesqkvv2KF_c7sGDrUp0I21iNRu9PElwYNGRHRITXum31_eYlqmCE02Pgy2WylFtHbba3jFfUSblyFh3qqdqU4vAc4A3igZoUoJL9md0Yv3Q63iQ8x9CYIQ4Xf/s1600-h/Picture+048.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKspihRqqgqJn_vnBG3zqesqkvv2KF_c7sGDrUp0I21iNRu9PElwYNGRHRITXum31_eYlqmCE02Pgy2WylFtHbba3jFfUSblyFh3qqdqU4vAc4A3igZoUoJL9md0Yv3Q63iQ8x9CYIQ4Xf/s400/Picture+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390995362007797874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnztglo1-RVWNtMwB9REKthqAW4SWGxVAjy8CM4KXJtFbm8uVDo9u9fBcd6TeQg-u09eqzxP2SCd6OXE7VvmemC5jjs5TU4TtDh7H4ttDsTtZ_0UOW8wR58HkkfU57KRlsLAMaGy1zEa2/s1600-h/Picture+050.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnztglo1-RVWNtMwB9REKthqAW4SWGxVAjy8CM4KXJtFbm8uVDo9u9fBcd6TeQg-u09eqzxP2SCd6OXE7VvmemC5jjs5TU4TtDh7H4ttDsTtZ_0UOW8wR58HkkfU57KRlsLAMaGy1zEa2/s400/Picture+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390995729320514386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> The trail eventually emerged onto a cliff edge overlooking an unbelievable scene- what looked like the geological equivalent of slightly melting a candy bar and allowing it to re-harden in its new shape:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-p_z9sLeZv-JXJZSoir13_6mrgIW5g_7xJxjzf8Nhh3u6ebfc2_B9quUmAwEgDzrufX6AaVowJtbzhGqvmAnGk_gBcGvIzdcABELUCbUhyWbq2lVV2KluxqdEfNoP1I-nOguyvSMSmue/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-p_z9sLeZv-JXJZSoir13_6mrgIW5g_7xJxjzf8Nhh3u6ebfc2_B9quUmAwEgDzrufX6AaVowJtbzhGqvmAnGk_gBcGvIzdcABELUCbUhyWbq2lVV2KluxqdEfNoP1I-nOguyvSMSmue/s400/Picture+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392211144758843330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9KA4vZh5BqvptfaVk_vkaWgpsQc0lI4Kf-990dWLgUJaYpTCwI1CqpmBo1hpQhieV0_FcF10hJt4FCnwDFl7Rr6DA7GxmwnpxvzaWXr9UY-qB5rY-glvfKPk3y8kfYxLunD4B3xWu0Hk/s1600-h/Picture+058.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9KA4vZh5BqvptfaVk_vkaWgpsQc0lI4Kf-990dWLgUJaYpTCwI1CqpmBo1hpQhieV0_FcF10hJt4FCnwDFl7Rr6DA7GxmwnpxvzaWXr9UY-qB5rY-glvfKPk3y8kfYxLunD4B3xWu0Hk/s400/Picture+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391001099765653346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6ZVZn-3yGlwSRfLbmU0RFNMyZAAWwlJcVRN5Odx0cdTlfnZxlDVQKdVOrrkMvwt26FRcxQS5VGMWMP9ydsGrLgQHc0sC9kehzELB1ApAdLsVc4yviF7Wg9SNPmOyLG5PCSKPLo4pSUPv/s1600-h/Picture+061.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6ZVZn-3yGlwSRfLbmU0RFNMyZAAWwlJcVRN5Odx0cdTlfnZxlDVQKdVOrrkMvwt26FRcxQS5VGMWMP9ydsGrLgQHc0sC9kehzELB1ApAdLsVc4yviF7Wg9SNPmOyLG5PCSKPLo4pSUPv/s400/Picture+061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391003198846405682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07U4e74dv2n1JTerF8FEfw1wfEZlO3ITSHX8CXbT3AZEnYYQaHIuABMLkmXtiK1NgTPcQZsd4mlFLpFKRsr4fPf1PSMxLYMXZ1XaIjfblEKlt3Nm3ozzpNY7-SCOp7elO0ehTfxJ8yWDC/s1600-h/Picture+063.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07U4e74dv2n1JTerF8FEfw1wfEZlO3ITSHX8CXbT3AZEnYYQaHIuABMLkmXtiK1NgTPcQZsd4mlFLpFKRsr4fPf1PSMxLYMXZ1XaIjfblEKlt3Nm3ozzpNY7-SCOp7elO0ehTfxJ8yWDC/s400/Picture+063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391000721479774546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Above: Han Solo's hometown</span><br /><br /> After staring at this in abject disbelief for a while, I walked on and passed through a row of stone towers, emerging in Chesler Park:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizRzgIGv9PSh01ld3Q2_2WYVFcf1ZoOys-n-sgF34wihZaL18IUtsRw21HRA2Nvkjl-_5MBSuGs09wG2s8-TpgL4kbH2DiFm0qYIeQ10JHGn1XenyEZArmHWVVZNcIn_ArMbBra767kcK/s1600-h/Picture+011.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizRzgIGv9PSh01ld3Q2_2WYVFcf1ZoOys-n-sgF34wihZaL18IUtsRw21HRA2Nvkjl-_5MBSuGs09wG2s8-TpgL4kbH2DiFm0qYIeQ10JHGn1XenyEZArmHWVVZNcIn_ArMbBra767kcK/s400/Picture+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392211324213055346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> As I dropped my pack at my campsite, I slowly came to the realization that out of three hundred million Americans, I was going to be the only one watching the sun set and the Milky Way come out in Chesler Park tonight. I guess America's Top Model must have been on. Oh well.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_zoOa_JN-h9Jkk7w7Huqb1qZ2qlGO0mS53joQx1fhmNca_AyjtX_8gslV2uHfXtmbAOP3L58l-gL8d-T7FNeKsS5fHe9GcFccCDd2t4AjhL9F6zhGKKXV6YdRocEQxQX6K965auhCuSb/s1600-h/Picture+069.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_zoOa_JN-h9Jkk7w7Huqb1qZ2qlGO0mS53joQx1fhmNca_AyjtX_8gslV2uHfXtmbAOP3L58l-gL8d-T7FNeKsS5fHe9GcFccCDd2t4AjhL9F6zhGKKXV6YdRocEQxQX6K965auhCuSb/s400/Picture+069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391002807882872914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >My campsite was at the base of these giant towers, several of them topped with stone spheres</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZrZmp_j8b0nLv3DkcaSc4Kahu9JIXg4jDq-ne86mrzqoAl0QpquOEDNIcEk0w3W3j25-LXrjvZCN4iBUZMNYphxUFjs1L1C5rDoBD7PkPeM4UEQ0GRbDzT0XJGjMfcCYrpd3D8gNH1bN/s1600-h/Picture+070.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZrZmp_j8b0nLv3DkcaSc4Kahu9JIXg4jDq-ne86mrzqoAl0QpquOEDNIcEk0w3W3j25-LXrjvZCN4iBUZMNYphxUFjs1L1C5rDoBD7PkPeM4UEQ0GRbDzT0XJGjMfcCYrpd3D8gNH1bN/s400/Picture+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391003788226735250" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhKkmVRgEY4amyYXZ1AYXSJTkMT3YjWZIzs8JJy9J9As1nOpX8ZBAwh0FSHTNWXLv0giiohVo_j39hGepThHfkrgwboBOPOqXWLwr8WUgjlLqy5Ru8VoDMkhd7BU0RDp9iAnlBGaQH-Ty/s1600-h/Picture+087.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhKkmVRgEY4amyYXZ1AYXSJTkMT3YjWZIzs8JJy9J9As1nOpX8ZBAwh0FSHTNWXLv0giiohVo_j39hGepThHfkrgwboBOPOqXWLwr8WUgjlLqy5Ru8VoDMkhd7BU0RDp9iAnlBGaQH-Ty/s400/Picture+087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391005657422312946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRf50ChenQh2PLu8FpRMcdfjUK8V5unrKCUw8MxXT7FzZTHLphjCGpYyIVKzkJL94xQcxuwVh4edEDl5MAl3MHDS7NNsc-_q7JxQ2gJ7DprPGlnL6MhuM-Um3LLAsjZayfmwugb9yeK1fx/s1600-h/Picture+077.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRf50ChenQh2PLu8FpRMcdfjUK8V5unrKCUw8MxXT7FzZTHLphjCGpYyIVKzkJL94xQcxuwVh4edEDl5MAl3MHDS7NNsc-_q7JxQ2gJ7DprPGlnL6MhuM-Um3LLAsjZayfmwugb9yeK1fx/s400/Picture+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391004375302509474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllvMz1rkAlv2_Etxr4cPU9JnBs2VXdj3y1_VCdo0iCknVhr5pafnIE4VjMcxYJqeKA6EfVH0t_5CiXPLoSvgkkavljYyy-cBUvpl7Zsa31th7LN0mcIizMOfuQjWCEaLIqZ5jMJMf6vuU/s1600-h/Picture+083.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllvMz1rkAlv2_Etxr4cPU9JnBs2VXdj3y1_VCdo0iCknVhr5pafnIE4VjMcxYJqeKA6EfVH0t_5CiXPLoSvgkkavljYyy-cBUvpl7Zsa31th7LN0mcIizMOfuQjWCEaLIqZ5jMJMf6vuU/s400/Picture+083.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391005198231079346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> The next day I got up early as the Czar had warned me the day before that I would have a bit of a hump in front of me today if I wanted to make it to Lost Canyon by nightfall and God help you if I catch you taking a short cut across my defenseless crust.<br /> I was in the thick of things now, blogosphere: Negotiating chasms, climbing ladders and passing rocks that would have had blankets over them in the Victorian Era.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41h1gpOnyQQzIxNHjTndEzTWUbqD4kGoBSbjIn_AEDf3vTOQSyC4wtD86CFgOUxapm28ACb4K53Z1olfF5R7zX74nxCxx5RGEipnJeW-1zzlkh-vvmlfRRXhYBY9w4fy7kQ9nu7UYS0JC/s1600-h/Picture+065.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41h1gpOnyQQzIxNHjTndEzTWUbqD4kGoBSbjIn_AEDf3vTOQSyC4wtD86CFgOUxapm28ACb4K53Z1olfF5R7zX74nxCxx5RGEipnJeW-1zzlkh-vvmlfRRXhYBY9w4fy7kQ9nu7UYS0JC/s400/Picture+065.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392213291424222994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasAvS4Wv2rAjePJ6jaeIbIBqayT4jJeFr_amiB-ttR1tgmDBFGOpeTZituwv-o0FqPA42XtLoYaPykiLwKasRXKWAYyhFDLWuzCMZrGTOpRJm_LtQVAiqsszC692pAnjy3Owwb_zMyB6a/s1600-h/Picture+042.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasAvS4Wv2rAjePJ6jaeIbIBqayT4jJeFr_amiB-ttR1tgmDBFGOpeTZituwv-o0FqPA42XtLoYaPykiLwKasRXKWAYyhFDLWuzCMZrGTOpRJm_LtQVAiqsszC692pAnjy3Owwb_zMyB6a/s400/Picture+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392212381608017890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvFqzxkOenY-Ak9413ybbiB50UrgGGCB5i-puOQG_wpE95fEIczJQG-aeek7poZllRqa4dGVG6KFlfjNkakBGyEzzgd-nq5iZihIMqYWRTB4o56mMKTz_Dw3EWnxODtBmzvH7HIwQ3znw/s1600-h/Picture+041.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvFqzxkOenY-Ak9413ybbiB50UrgGGCB5i-puOQG_wpE95fEIczJQG-aeek7poZllRqa4dGVG6KFlfjNkakBGyEzzgd-nq5iZihIMqYWRTB4o56mMKTz_Dw3EWnxODtBmzvH7HIwQ3znw/s400/Picture+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392212272736777202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUh7grDfCLPTPrBg93c2dgdsOFFbvnmkIER-kkydmD6vG7nT659X8vnOGVMaQ2AJihVUuKpSLJBH3YudH958thdF5p6b83SEgLANzDDxIlmGJlGL7ZxOfY7RWIqnerHsTKIkEH5-7GhDOe/s1600-h/Picture+078.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUh7grDfCLPTPrBg93c2dgdsOFFbvnmkIER-kkydmD6vG7nT659X8vnOGVMaQ2AJihVUuKpSLJBH3YudH958thdF5p6b83SEgLANzDDxIlmGJlGL7ZxOfY7RWIqnerHsTKIkEH5-7GhDOe/s400/Picture+078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392214090006421746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QbkNv9d-sZQ_WzJoeNLGYuKSQQ20jWbEcF3g0TVGAUKMl5lLjlk8lkDBDxfgT-thucanVKmp9zjf7st7Czo1XfeDX9RKJGRsm39Bp_02XZT5flw3zHiCLSruVO7YyljhNHIia_hQ13yC/s1600-h/Picture+037.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QbkNv9d-sZQ_WzJoeNLGYuKSQQ20jWbEcF3g0TVGAUKMl5lLjlk8lkDBDxfgT-thucanVKmp9zjf7st7Czo1XfeDX9RKJGRsm39Bp_02XZT5flw3zHiCLSruVO7YyljhNHIia_hQ13yC/s400/Picture+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392212076526994114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKovAbmrF-u-P4ZBnoavOmIM_XzEakwbUqQWu_bkRtyRBh46UFNnKmkVfdz3UrmqJcrornqtvI8NoewZnRMoVuhBRlpfOBdj-JUEkM13rnebo6eMDdD0Z3dCu9Uye4F9tHZvIMctX98HU/s1600-h/Picture+048.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKovAbmrF-u-P4ZBnoavOmIM_XzEakwbUqQWu_bkRtyRBh46UFNnKmkVfdz3UrmqJcrornqtvI8NoewZnRMoVuhBRlpfOBdj-JUEkM13rnebo6eMDdD0Z3dCu9Uye4F9tHZvIMctX98HU/s400/Picture+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392212557710817394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRf50ChenQh2PLu8FpRMcdfjUK8V5unrKCUw8MxXT7FzZTHLphjCGpYyIVKzkJL94xQcxuwVh4edEDl5MAl3MHDS7NNsc-_q7JxQ2gJ7DprPGlnL6MhuM-Um3LLAsjZayfmwugb9yeK1fx/s1600-h/Picture+077.jpg"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-yGEI72SwmG_iav11mXdWa3vPi83qTuUIeOfBSmod2UmE4MWF-VxP1JPEaP3u75CzfjAVqj06pRG-5S0VF6Iyc9enHDhGK2Qv0Vfmg5WjpIFM6bdho-5FQT0bVlx991RRgETV73iPjQp/s1600-h/Picture+099.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-yGEI72SwmG_iav11mXdWa3vPi83qTuUIeOfBSmod2UmE4MWF-VxP1JPEaP3u75CzfjAVqj06pRG-5S0VF6Iyc9enHDhGK2Qv0Vfmg5WjpIFM6bdho-5FQT0bVlx991RRgETV73iPjQp/s400/Picture+099.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391007103907396642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSw0WAP-ONI4UKA-v0ub-XQUXTK6U0OB_G5OO5s0L75h4sKUl1sla2dePBRi5toK-QkFrb8OpLclhig789SvSOk2i99jEC0h1nB_4Mx6GXT-PbQ1Vx_amneI5SW-5KWPrAYEFPl9DEfoUr/s1600-h/Picture+069.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSw0WAP-ONI4UKA-v0ub-XQUXTK6U0OB_G5OO5s0L75h4sKUl1sla2dePBRi5toK-QkFrb8OpLclhig789SvSOk2i99jEC0h1nB_4Mx6GXT-PbQ1Vx_amneI5SW-5KWPrAYEFPl9DEfoUr/s400/Picture+069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392213677218071314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />At midday I stopped for a break in a cliffside grotto:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM7Pzd41REU4MyuvQswKbM5WY9AbNo2RYdCRy77REwCFFe8TWu6raUcvr2ubbfoVE-JESCcaoHswXGxJI-rW_H_MBP-1kqreSX4tjRkVTQPotwO9Nisb75jsHvGdNK8I7-9kx5phQws0P/s1600-h/Picture+059.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM7Pzd41REU4MyuvQswKbM5WY9AbNo2RYdCRy77REwCFFe8TWu6raUcvr2ubbfoVE-JESCcaoHswXGxJI-rW_H_MBP-1kqreSX4tjRkVTQPotwO9Nisb75jsHvGdNK8I7-9kx5phQws0P/s400/Picture+059.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392213078876400946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...then passed some angry plants...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFVj8UhYcSM98yZfyiHWUN8CJKxww-Z7hze4MzRcy0zGN6nDvBSnb92qOWXmyp-J2HGxMc2DRTEopSYXmxp3lyrk77_HJg0hBp2yyDnrXQK5qCyRbp18jDsZUVopKASDNUKMpov5XAkdd/s1600-h/Picture+083.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFVj8UhYcSM98yZfyiHWUN8CJKxww-Z7hze4MzRcy0zGN6nDvBSnb92qOWXmyp-J2HGxMc2DRTEopSYXmxp3lyrk77_HJg0hBp2yyDnrXQK5qCyRbp18jDsZUVopKASDNUKMpov5XAkdd/s400/Picture+083.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392214338142032898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktFbT0VcC2GP9vg536-GudCr0epND_lIs_UUkQqubWI8c8IO3y_KrhTVFwQ0ObtI6PLd-mclRdG4IxCvt-5pvHLBN9bgENa9iy1ZOT0VhkaKsBcQRYt2Bidx0sxB8mfWWayp4ghinnMir/s1600-h/Picture+066.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktFbT0VcC2GP9vg536-GudCr0epND_lIs_UUkQqubWI8c8IO3y_KrhTVFwQ0ObtI6PLd-mclRdG4IxCvt-5pvHLBN9bgENa9iy1ZOT0VhkaKsBcQRYt2Bidx0sxB8mfWWayp4ghinnMir/s400/Picture+066.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392213490237714386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopET16Dq0HRHeeOKQrW39_fOmpXuNciYwwmBMxCiqmIGUo8q9oV0q0rdi3nUOVTf-fXQ9FZ9qLLtB7X8Lbr8PkUDRnWYLqkD8fEe6qVndTlsfttR0L3anm9HiQo7a-tDN0PE1vqNn4j9A/s1600-h/Picture+125.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopET16Dq0HRHeeOKQrW39_fOmpXuNciYwwmBMxCiqmIGUo8q9oV0q0rdi3nUOVTf-fXQ9FZ9qLLtB7X8Lbr8PkUDRnWYLqkD8fEe6qVndTlsfttR0L3anm9HiQo7a-tDN0PE1vqNn4j9A/s400/Picture+125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391008030908099762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Field guide to plants that don't want to be your friend</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /> After climbing over a small but respectable mountain made of bare and burnished orange stone, Lost Canyon came into view. I picked this as my second night's destination because it's somewhat of an anomaly, very verdant despite its location.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2Z-dMp5RLfnQostFilRo2UTuOF62gltjFxyXQlh7nau23chB6sGKEVKFlMImxMNLbYY5BR6RZ3ejbuspdb7eaggCR5EV43L0dPlgBWIj3DOJE0kyruxAAHb4Qb2jcd_aOUVcEFYpQ5jd/s1600-h/Picture+074.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2Z-dMp5RLfnQostFilRo2UTuOF62gltjFxyXQlh7nau23chB6sGKEVKFlMImxMNLbYY5BR6RZ3ejbuspdb7eaggCR5EV43L0dPlgBWIj3DOJE0kyruxAAHb4Qb2jcd_aOUVcEFYpQ5jd/s400/Picture+074.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392213831287328066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Lost Canyon: A ten on the Biblical scene meter if you ask me</span><br /><br />My night in Lost Canyon was awesome, as soon as I convinced myself that I wasn't going to die of thirst. I became a little worried because I had less water left than I would have liked, but then I realized that despite all of the park service spiel about "the backcountry experience", I was really only three miles from the parking lot spigot, and if I truly needed a midnight glass of water I could just go and get it and check on my bike to boot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmzMbfaVqQ9rC2mVslgftjiOIap_LP9RFCAdJHeHThrtbyWbhJTMVzYmyrZVEeboKA8e0ADxiYgiT_k6L0Y2swZySVowruj4iok22sgS4Kq00gIyFbXeFeuyX63iySaxf7OFDPgfOEJFl/s1600-h/Picture+082.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmzMbfaVqQ9rC2mVslgftjiOIap_LP9RFCAdJHeHThrtbyWbhJTMVzYmyrZVEeboKA8e0ADxiYgiT_k6L0Y2swZySVowruj4iok22sgS4Kq00gIyFbXeFeuyX63iySaxf7OFDPgfOEJFl/s400/Picture+082.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392214242519975730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Sunset in Lost Canyon</span><br /><br /> As I fell asleep under a rock overhang, I watched as the canyon walls were intermittently lit "as bright as day" by distant lightning.<br /><br /> The next day I power walked back to the Federal water spigot and was overjoyed to find my bike right where I had left it.<br /> There it is. The Needles. I'm glad I'm done writing this as it was hard to put into words what is there and even a great writer, like Danielle Steele or even Dan Brown himself would do it disservice. So put it on your to-do list today. You could have already been ten minutes into your hike with the time you wasted reading this inane blog!Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-72679437064101109622009-10-07T14:10:00.000-07:002009-10-08T16:32:52.250-07:00White Rim Wrap-Up: More Spectacle from America's Borax Belt!I made a quick escape the next morning to avoid annoying the Park City crew all day with my incessant racket. I have to admit here that I was jealous of them on their mountain bikes. After years of cycling, off-road motorcycling felt akin to riding a mountain bike while wearing one of those sumo-wrestler Halloween suits. It's very hard to feel the grain of the trail through those giant motorcycles tires, and what is lacking in the finesse department is replaced by sheer brute force. Today I was faced with several pretty intimidating uphill climbs, technical enough that I had to walk them first to find the right line up. Once back on the bike, I pretty much had to close my eyes, peg the throttle and hope for the best. The main danger here is smashing and cracking the underside of the motor on a rock, in which case all your oil drains out onto the sand and the vultures move in. Luckily I made it up all the climbs with no problem, but in my book a well executed mountain bike climb using 0.5 horsepower is still a lot more satisfying than bullying your way up fossil-fuel style.<br />I stopped early at Whitecrack, which overlooks the again aptly named Maze district of Canyonlands, where the Park Service pretty much tells people not to go.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczQrQ1mKVkII6dsndGH8btyxll1MiLrXWoxzNgPoDbGnhyphenhyphenrozGgwsKnzjvn8xjOwuxqUMaBa1Q-5sGw_jEZQXnBdh271-bZmfCyepxGnUsfbEUbzUa8gyrW7Z_14stYHbKZssK1SZ4jNm/s1600-h/Picture+003.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczQrQ1mKVkII6dsndGH8btyxll1MiLrXWoxzNgPoDbGnhyphenhyphenrozGgwsKnzjvn8xjOwuxqUMaBa1Q-5sGw_jEZQXnBdh271-bZmfCyepxGnUsfbEUbzUa8gyrW7Z_14stYHbKZssK1SZ4jNm/s400/Picture+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390002873582478898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The Maze. Have your affairs in order.<br /><br /></span>By this point I had reached the point-of-no-return fuel wise, so when I reached the base of Hardscrabble Hill, the crux of the w</span><span style="font-size:100%;">hole trail, I was understandably a bit intimidated, as I had to do or die. Now, any veteran off-road motorcyclist reading this </span><span style="font-size:100%;">will t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">hink the fo</span><span style="font-size:100%;">llowing description exaggerated and me a pansy, but never havi</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ng really done </span><span style="font-size:100%;">this before mad</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e it a little stressful. The climb was littered with rocks (the be</span><span style="font-size:100%;">love</span><span style="font-size:100%;">d Baby</span><span style="font-size:100%;">heads of t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">h</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> mo</span><span style="font-size:100%;">untain bike glossary) that tend to deflect your wheels in unpredictable directi</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ons whe</span><span style="font-size:100%;">n you hit them. This is a little </span><span style="font-size:100%;">scary when there's a drop-off on one side, and when stopping on the hill to adjus</span><span style="font-size:100%;">t your course isn't really an option because its pretty hard to find enough t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">raction t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">o get six hundred po</span><span style="font-size:100%;">unds of mass moving again. But lo and behold, I was able to string do</span><span style="font-size:100%;">zens of semi-cont</span><span style="font-size:100%;">rolled lurches together into a successful assault of the hill.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXL4CyMYx_HYJDxE5XSyPZx44dM8H-jRIsPRycaLkkbuT5wN01l1ue6byG3OySq4tCgQKhbyZUN-zPTHILevENmECFx9yV3POkdHWow8aF8oZIQ9nGJh2peYkmxVfENcS073Op8_37wSm/s1600-h/Picture+022.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXL4CyMYx_HYJDxE5XSyPZx44dM8H-jRIsPRycaLkkbuT5wN01l1ue6byG3OySq4tCgQKhbyZUN-zPTHILevENmECFx9yV3POkdHWow8aF8oZIQ9nGJh2peYkmxVfENcS073Op8_37wSm/s400/Picture+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390006206015820434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLZuaHEG7wgJXTi3OKTeAs0cRvTP6I2Kt06AVt4g4UcZ_ULjccKfg6TiJIFb5sOoSZVlgYKBV0oO5HGeW7Vc8NXyyxYLZ6YTMgg0zwTProHPM7-qnxEUxe835NV6Fy-RRGEMk5hDL3sHD/s1600-h/Picture+021.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLZuaHEG7wgJXTi3OKTeAs0cRvTP6I2Kt06AVt4g4UcZ_ULjccKfg6TiJIFb5sOoSZVlgYKBV0oO5HGeW7Vc8NXyyxYLZ6YTMgg0zwTProHPM7-qnxEUxe835NV6Fy-RRGEMk5hDL3sHD/s400/Picture+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390006501477822882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hardscrabble Hill. I could only stop to take pics of th</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">e smooth parts.<br /><br /></span>The next miles were sprinkled with 80 million ton stone columns, the occasional collarbone-threatening sand wash, dark clouds and conversations w</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ith m</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ountain bikers.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2L569dMb1NxCQc1MGmcUcVEvWM0C2AZ40WE7Jz-ED0-EvhoS9PZrrd7mv7aAGT2FFuctxknmioVLPboCURZ3Lsiu84EcdZab4dGfh7MqeUPfCgO4Iz4VmUU7PSIU9-vDUvuXtWU-KnR4/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2L569dMb1NxCQc1MGmcUcVEvWM0C2AZ40WE7Jz-ED0-EvhoS9PZrrd7mv7aAGT2FFuctxknmioVLPboCURZ3Lsiu84EcdZab4dGfh7MqeUPfCgO4Iz4VmUU7PSIU9-vDUvuXtWU-KnR4/s400/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390008833289977106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn42LEIGKfE4tOV579JzUGGNUxHhtgpcy1IbPzVt2OpUf_wm9TexqH6FjGxyj8LhJcCMhMFvTJdU3iwxeH9D5Vb1gGG0p5KD7GAycScK_IMVEmmyWdeNxm2gRux7YTsyU8Kr7PbMkIqSK/s1600-h/Picture+019.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIn42LEIGKfE4tOV579JzUGGNUxHhtgpcy1IbPzVt2OpUf_wm9TexqH6FjGxyj8LhJcCMhMFvTJdU3iwxeH9D5Vb1gGG0p5KD7GAycScK_IMVEmmyWdeNxm2gRux7YTsyU8Kr7PbMkIqSK/s400/Picture+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390009236877779970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHDWCSoAyPsdcbn8RthVO8_zmbO8lZWeFFk0L6oY5o_kMSvH-g9wPc_rtAxZNyQ4QshMEL70mXlfBU2G8X2cSkzGOq5r-uD4gvaw7L5z5SXOwVi-H8UnwVPBO8GiXN3WuX1fhzd5hr96w/s1600-h/Picture+048.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHDWCSoAyPsdcbn8RthVO8_zmbO8lZWeFFk0L6oY5o_kMSvH-g9wPc_rtAxZNyQ4QshMEL70mXlfBU2G8X2cSkzGOq5r-uD4gvaw7L5z5SXOwVi-H8UnwVPBO8GiXN3WuX1fhzd5hr96w/s400/Picture+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390009763981990610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZcvJK7n9v67uzC6j9zM2KZwJQ8Z4cOSFaefUzw6AMngfhw4GzQ_SPgNJnCuJnwvl8nLEl-p4mSiQGVprO2WuJqqKSFfaP_4VLZYEEUPNIGx79vVq2DPy2aoNwhImhKQNr-fbAihPG0eZ/s1600-h/Picture+051.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZcvJK7n9v67uzC6j9zM2KZwJQ8Z4cOSFaefUzw6AMngfhw4GzQ_SPgNJnCuJnwvl8nLEl-p4mSiQGVprO2WuJqqKSFfaP_4VLZYEEUPNIGx79vVq2DPy2aoNwhImhKQNr-fbAihPG0eZ/s400/Picture+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390010167194619138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The dead tree that had been trailing me since VA.<br /></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Early afternoon brought the Green river into sight, and I began the descent to my second night camp spot at the river's edge.<br /></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXT8rvYPYU3VAp1YTnd6fR75U94TXAHLCL542P6l3IQuKJIj52YnZKoWMev4zdQKnUPD2gcPiGrFaq9tJmO8xphrWKu-QpeKAK86zBRB3TIde35DLVl0Xx9RoZTklQ8NaFuolVYCZJ-h1/s1600-h/Picture+041.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXT8rvYPYU3VAp1YTnd6fR75U94TXAHLCL542P6l3IQuKJIj52YnZKoWMev4zdQKnUPD2gcPiGrFaq9tJmO8xphrWKu-QpeKAK86zBRB3TIde35DLVl0Xx9RoZTklQ8NaFuolVYCZJ-h1/s400/Picture+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390011379647704674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAenfHf0OmPPDcFexhydLa99kGtR9Mpyb2rCdUxinxZTHl372vUgwVrMqykEuytggXtyOp6N6TAv75Nx07ntrtmlZN_gPwuG4hENrik-73pDCJVEB8YyS0uAkG4L1IN0tzAR4-oF0Kj1kx/s1600-h/Picture+046.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAenfHf0OmPPDcFexhydLa99kGtR9Mpyb2rCdUxinxZTHl372vUgwVrMqykEuytggXtyOp6N6TAv75Nx07ntrtmlZN_gPwuG4hENrik-73pDCJVEB8YyS0uAkG4L1IN0tzAR4-oF0Kj1kx/s400/Picture+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390011935670633490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />However, just as my campsite came into view </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Poseidon decided to drop the contents of the maelstrom in the above picture on me. My face shield immediately became opaque with wind-driven water, and the trail surface began to morph into the infamous and slippery "Utah Grease"that I had been warned about, but I managed to skid to a stop and take </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">shelter in the camp latrine and dry my camera with tax-subsidize</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">d toilet paper.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">After setting up camp, I dropped in on the just arrivi</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">ng P</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">ark City hoodlums, but they were understandably in poor form after pedaling thirty miles in the rain, so I wandered down</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> a dry stream bed down to the Green.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJvS8f0X8nBsrfOeqyGAQ09VLp9knJX0isSbgqn7MfhR65LiNhk5w3UnqQ0-6SxMkMikvLyza2k_ZmxEp0NRVVRgS8FP41lr-hmJu0Lu37M64DV54jv0V7-0can-hsOXh07lzet68lAzS/s1600-h/Picture+059.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJvS8f0X8nBsrfOeqyGAQ09VLp9knJX0isSbgqn7MfhR65LiNhk5w3UnqQ0-6SxMkMikvLyza2k_ZmxEp0NRVVRgS8FP41lr-hmJu0Lu37M64DV54jv0V7-0can-hsOXh07lzet68lAzS/s400/Picture+059.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390014175041307218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3e5DjOsN0UGIlfQxMkuEzdgccfESI4tRa3eDpuME0deLFNYZQCP4NBDXLWh5A8IJ0X9zLJVLfghw3W_kkiXLh1niTm_DZ4ajQPtsgURwnNyrDws-PvVsFyn1LEgAzQ5PnTedHBPEkigja/s1600-h/Picture+062.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3e5DjOsN0UGIlfQxMkuEzdgccfESI4tRa3eDpuME0deLFNYZQCP4NBDXLWh5A8IJ0X9zLJVLfghw3W_kkiXLh1niTm_DZ4ajQPtsgURwnNyrDws-PvVsFyn1LEgAzQ5PnTedHBPEkigja/s400/Picture+062.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390014552618642146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> green!</span><br /><br />Then it was back to camp for a wretched and lukewarm dinner of Knorr<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> Sides followed by a slow and lovely descent into slumber... tent-free and under the stars.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcCCXzbXD7MwI3IBn_e1_qQC9TEyQuR1QQ6jOZUhXmOVzoB8sT1mV0oALi3M6rOSdgZu1KZYf2jpmrsQbE7cNoJXYGKi3EtZLMdYcNxjf3P8xuu49YraVcJjiZPP48bpe47fuwQuZ-TpO/s1600-h/Picture+070.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcCCXzbXD7MwI3IBn_e1_qQC9TEyQuR1QQ6jOZUhXmOVzoB8sT1mV0oALi3M6rOSdgZu1KZYf2jpmrsQbE7cNoJXYGKi3EtZLMdYcNxjf3P8xuu49YraVcJjiZPP48bpe47fuwQuZ-TpO/s400/Picture+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390016030042529298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Day's End along the Green River</span><br /><br />At cock's crow the next morning I downed a slug of instant coffee directly from my soot-covered pot, packed my things, and was forced immediately to perform an eye-opening climb up a mesa side:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJx50dZeUxv_e0JhHKxcwa7GSHgxfjzVnVmxHurl394O34iFvZ7wvR5MEa9XcdAWlrJlAIIzNA02-ECLgoV-r5Ur0Ac-W_uHLsMHnpOLTF0nsJ7IPKVPXxrKQa3SeyVsiBfIfZfSRhi7iG/s1600-h/Picture+074.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJx50dZeUxv_e0JhHKxcwa7GSHgxfjzVnVmxHurl394O34iFvZ7wvR5MEa9XcdAWlrJlAIIzNA02-ECLgoV-r5Ur0Ac-W_uHLsMHnpOLTF0nsJ7IPKVPXxrKQa3SeyVsiBfIfZfSRhi7iG/s400/Picture+074.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390018853539159218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Not what you need to be negotiating at 7 in the morning</span><br /><br />A bit later, I parked my bike at the Fort Bottom trail and hiked the three miles to a cool Indian ruin perched on a butte above the Green:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDsXKKNFnro9hQwLEET2cky60YfCN17CqTuY4WkQrqdrIxmIlWzDwoyapzPMsSvnhR-T0gs6JHS4fX5ex1R5rHTWD_aYxlNL6N8pSu2FVIgG57rJ4tQ5O9AmZ7Hju9r7SFbBx0UP2HlOl/s1600-h/Picture+077.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDsXKKNFnro9hQwLEET2cky60YfCN17CqTuY4WkQrqdrIxmIlWzDwoyapzPMsSvnhR-T0gs6JHS4fX5ex1R5rHTWD_aYxlNL6N8pSu2FVIgG57rJ4tQ5O9AmZ7Hju9r7SFbBx0UP2HlOl/s400/Picture+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390019924635327138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiop1xLNCKe8ebcCGrsJD3cueqSlzT6CYbSTfAg0C7BlVudQoyp8KpCLsDUvcun69CG5tShOSMEh5Y7q2-VFoBD7-bPO8dDROrOnHYIFrhUZod4-4MEgNNuzm6MpJwZ1SavaNaoHXE8g3VS/s1600-h/Picture+080.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiop1xLNCKe8ebcCGrsJD3cueqSlzT6CYbSTfAg0C7BlVudQoyp8KpCLsDUvcun69CG5tShOSMEh5Y7q2-VFoBD7-bPO8dDROrOnHYIFrhUZod4-4MEgNNuzm6MpJwZ1SavaNaoHXE8g3VS/s400/Picture+080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390020263117805186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54kyCyqMU5EEtzx0SncBojjaLC9s5OpGakvzY_6GkVlm3RpNw9LNdZ7DUPntaxQwNGWFjGmRnFAzoTle8P7igdkWJZpih_aSlIYJwlvIuD0_UO9GrSV_aFW-8NlM2iJ-nvflGs9XE0Sg4/s1600-h/Picture+084.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54kyCyqMU5EEtzx0SncBojjaLC9s5OpGakvzY_6GkVlm3RpNw9LNdZ7DUPntaxQwNGWFjGmRnFAzoTle8P7igdkWJZpih_aSlIYJwlvIuD0_UO9GrSV_aFW-8NlM2iJ-nvflGs9XE0Sg4/s400/Picture+084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390020954198095122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Not only did the ancients build a stone fortress in a shadeless desert, they also built it on top of this 400 foot tall sandstone pyramid. </span><br /><br />On the way back to my bike I was treated to some awesome views of the Green, a few longboats cruising slowly in the current below:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDHz8FnLgR7FyX0GwlHtsdkkTSSsxqG-xXRUbEeFOZiwNF55j7UMDzLrhh9qMb7O2DjGnnlUVEyQaejC5A_zkU4_RdaLRfnRMtIy2Ke9J6LZUUP5aQyoXM6uF8oWUlUODQPy7vDIGgqR3/s1600-h/Picture+022.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDHz8FnLgR7FyX0GwlHtsdkkTSSsxqG-xXRUbEeFOZiwNF55j7UMDzLrhh9qMb7O2DjGnnlUVEyQaejC5A_zkU4_RdaLRfnRMtIy2Ke9J6LZUUP5aQyoXM6uF8oWUlUODQPy7vDIGgqR3/s400/Picture+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390342229863610258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Now lest you think I fabricated this whole story in Starbucks with the help of Google Images, I got some mountain bikers back at the trail head to capture some irrefutable evidence:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQJdsVrQPzy5UVTEb_RKlAYjUCYzIHR3QN9xank1hyG2p_BZ0xoNsZ2Z0gyziL_EtfJMtNZqNV25Zyz5-I-3ctnDxXXhaIZ7Xjxfc2YunNOrp2WlXMzDp5v-Uxxv-NI2feIw8o3tgjBQu/s1600-h/Picture+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQJdsVrQPzy5UVTEb_RKlAYjUCYzIHR3QN9xank1hyG2p_BZ0xoNsZ2Z0gyziL_EtfJMtNZqNV25Zyz5-I-3ctnDxXXhaIZ7Xjxfc2YunNOrp2WlXMzDp5v-Uxxv-NI2feIw8o3tgjBQu/s400/Picture+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390343886814370658" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Same SHI<span style="font-size:78%;">(r)</span>T, different day</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RcjfnnK_GjE-zicuT27APz9iwHb-zzcY77W3bojOC-FCwEId9MuTzr1I58hwoFEKwO1CrjNCwlPoL6AHFyoCvLcTFoCbTMs1QExuIZKYMJ8SBT3xtZju54FQriFIKPggjKAFtQBfYEbd/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RcjfnnK_GjE-zicuT27APz9iwHb-zzcY77W3bojOC-FCwEId9MuTzr1I58hwoFEKwO1CrjNCwlPoL6AHFyoCvLcTFoCbTMs1QExuIZKYMJ8SBT3xtZju54FQriFIKPggjKAFtQBfYEbd/s400/Picture+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390344605837090370" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Rapidly running out of smile</span><br /><br />I was in the home stretch now people, and after being forcefully enlisted by an phalanx of french soccer moms on bikes to find their errant support truck driver, I opened it up a little bit on a fun section of trail perched above the river:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3JkhNIstyH3ZmGKR2CVz_cooOebUvdNS-YsB8kWVu7XQP9l5XPSTW2kQCSp4qWP0hJrmf3GkqN0o2-ygI633CLRxscUw1UD2YfUTr4BKI8cJ0wIyBXUIYC1d4CTTpCPMBgzHXbL8mxTY/s1600-h/Picture+017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3JkhNIstyH3ZmGKR2CVz_cooOebUvdNS-YsB8kWVu7XQP9l5XPSTW2kQCSp4qWP0hJrmf3GkqN0o2-ygI633CLRxscUw1UD2YfUTr4BKI8cJ0wIyBXUIYC1d4CTTpCPMBgzHXbL8mxTY/s400/Picture+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390349661839141650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />...and then passed the Utah museum of modern art:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDI4Rb7B4ImMgsFKztxnTh1O1-HO2lzZJBDn6Bt_K1c9gRNFVLiF2DbLzn_hBe-E3J4YaJhiF3MwNnH3VYQnRpozzBR0CXSs6GlvxDd_nYATJeIjCAhQRaMJl9P1SIejHri7fN9MOMFkQ/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDI4Rb7B4ImMgsFKztxnTh1O1-HO2lzZJBDn6Bt_K1c9gRNFVLiF2DbLzn_hBe-E3J4YaJhiF3MwNnH3VYQnRpozzBR0CXSs6GlvxDd_nYATJeIjCAhQRaMJl9P1SIejHri7fN9MOMFkQ/s400/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390350572825301362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Just after elatedly crossing the boundary of the National park and the official end of the trail, I was forced to slog through a fifty-yard long soggy stream bed:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUcFixj9I6upYNcUNjxPz3DYNneFAoQldJAnPuaV0vBpHl-d0ACBYgMaWIn8ZpfPyg4P3IQwM8ejh7YpbAlDRykujEyEu3Vg___c71GBlbiizkhORxaw7zUbLBcJItDUZ3vz5kbwkC1_r/s1600-h/Picture+014.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUcFixj9I6upYNcUNjxPz3DYNneFAoQldJAnPuaV0vBpHl-d0ACBYgMaWIn8ZpfPyg4P3IQwM8ejh7YpbAlDRykujEyEu3Vg___c71GBlbiizkhORxaw7zUbLBcJItDUZ3vz5kbwkC1_r/s400/Picture+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390351425339748834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />but immediately afterwords I ran into two of the Park City Crew in high form, laying in the sand next to their truck, waiting for the bikers to catch up and sipping on some 10:30 AM cold ones. Of course I joined them, and when the bikers arrived we made an exodus as a pack up the switchbacks to the canyon rim.<br /><br />After saying our goodbyes I rode back out to the main park highway and immediately ran out of gas in front of a pack of attractive Spanish tourists. I nonchalantly struggled for ten minutes to free my extra gas can from a mass of nylon webbing, filled up my tank and headed back to my favorite Moab flophouse, on top of the world.<br /><br />The White Rim was awesome, but it was just a preamble. Tomorrow I had plans to turn up the scenery meter even further with a little backpacking trip into the Needles district, bar-none the coolest place I have ever been in my life, and that includes NewarkTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-22631394957631496792009-10-05T16:56:00.000-07:002009-10-07T14:41:31.702-07:00The White Rim<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGKA4I727xx3Kkm3QTRl1nJ4ZcPXo6cwv7OjEDxo9EjogvJM2fzMjIO8xd2FUhOQ5Lkyo_xex13PnNkrDkqh80MNwhhTP3LY7xh-xzSj5XfMHcaQWutAcsNlMgxpiNZ8x_q7_rCabp0sW/s1600-h/Picture.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389269085808025810" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGKA4I727xx3Kkm3QTRl1nJ4ZcPXo6cwv7OjEDxo9EjogvJM2fzMjIO8xd2FUhOQ5Lkyo_xex13PnNkrDkqh80MNwhhTP3LY7xh-xzSj5XfMHcaQWutAcsNlMgxpiNZ8x_q7_rCabp0sW/s400/Picture.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's one hundred and twenty miles to civilization.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I've got an extra gallon of gas, half a pack of cigarettes,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's hot out, and I'm wearing an insulated motorcycle jacket.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hit it!<br /><br />*Click on and blow up the pics for max effect.<br /><br /></span>I was awoken at first light on September 14th by the snoring of an anonymous German man in the bunk above me, and quickly began getting my affairs in order for my White Rim expedition. The hundred-plus mile trail, built by Uranium prospectors in the 1940's, follows the serpentine edge of the aptly-named Island-in-the-Sky mesa, which rises thousands of feet above the confluence of the Green and Colorado rivers. Because of its location inside Canyonlands National Park, there are no services along the trail, save for the occasional concrete outhouse, so you have to carry what you need. The park literature recommends carrying a gallon of water per person per day, because you will definitely not be getting any for free from the Federal government. Ten minutes later found me with a new understanding of the phrase "Dont drink and drive", as I swerved wildly through downtown Moab with 3 gallons, aka 24 pounds of water for my three-day-trip strapped to the rear of my bike inside an amorphous nylon bag. After further loading my bike with pop-tarts, snack-mix, sodium-laden Lipton bagged meals and other crap from the center aisles of the grocery store, as well as an extra jug of gas, I strong-armed the old hog the thirty miles or so to the Canyonlands visitor center to pick up my camping permit. After being read the lengthy park-rules riot act by a ranger, I headed for the head of the Schafer Trail, which snakes about a thousand feet down from the visitor center to the White Rim:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZXFpupF2vYoR2umjTL9U8zGTYxTs7OOtzvkEp1Cx6xjGEzLRe3ymYkTn7r3IDYT2iS1cbR27yQKZuHKORefGEOG4ghxj4icE_CjzABWWU2GMZZ9vArx6qD47Dkh4DY98WSgkynbhBWk-/s1600-h/Picture.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389609196229113506" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZXFpupF2vYoR2umjTL9U8zGTYxTs7OOtzvkEp1Cx6xjGEzLRe3ymYkTn7r3IDYT2iS1cbR27yQKZuHKORefGEOG4ghxj4icE_CjzABWWU2GMZZ9vArx6qD47Dkh4DY98WSgkynbhBWk-/s400/Picture.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Starting in style. An earnest and entirely serious ranger advised me to stick to the inside of the Schafer trail, because, "That way, if you 'beef it' you wont fall six hundred feet."</strong><br /><br /><br />After bouncing slowly down the Schafer switchbacks in neutral, the trail flattened out and began its journey along the White Rim plateau, which is named for the white sandstone which encircles this level of the mesa:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-7O22poP9k0hzHRZHUXc_HOzjgSxEWEydNphL-svZyedP77OpjrmP7LiWryVQF8XxKjD-OoEvxqDRu2zo1vEyza69BmfJmImi804BXomiABhAtth6UEwKgBoe23nZOWdQ1e9BnzE7Urp/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389613346178017890" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-7O22poP9k0hzHRZHUXc_HOzjgSxEWEydNphL-svZyedP77OpjrmP7LiWryVQF8XxKjD-OoEvxqDRu2zo1vEyza69BmfJmImi804BXomiABhAtth6UEwKgBoe23nZOWdQ1e9BnzE7Urp/s400/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />A few miles later a rain squall blew through so I used the time to walk out to an overlook of the Colorado:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQdmEkJ1L4sEqjF5bXpTQPhoS8VPyhj4Ow51pe6Kq_YseZoc3-kovPqS7YG8EUnAvdb0ldYjucPkK4LEfrhZZ7NgP6-PLAZMc2tguIBdisF4QJQThuMxJxm_LNwNiFgnfcQB1asdQEDJG/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389613860867877394" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQdmEkJ1L4sEqjF5bXpTQPhoS8VPyhj4Ow51pe6Kq_YseZoc3-kovPqS7YG8EUnAvdb0ldYjucPkK4LEfrhZZ7NgP6-PLAZMc2tguIBdisF4QJQThuMxJxm_LNwNiFgnfcQB1asdQEDJG/s400/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Please note the van-sized teetering boulder</strong>.<br /><br />Six-hundred fathoms further on was Musselman arch, across which naughty motorcyclists sometimes ride:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNnyuYPdatRl1IaL92igXMZez8-KK6hxS_fZ0i6fYNnPO9w2c3cwPspBv6QhbXH5hFpa-B0BoeQpebH6YuBJwKTUJ6XhXgbpQDeqYQjamaajYNT87aidvuvIGprdRUtKvSiA7pFm_Gu0i/s1600-h/Picture+015.jpg"><img style="width: 300px; height: 400px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389616048826728898" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNnyuYPdatRl1IaL92igXMZez8-KK6hxS_fZ0i6fYNnPO9w2c3cwPspBv6QhbXH5hFpa-B0BoeQpebH6YuBJwKTUJ6XhXgbpQDeqYQjamaajYNT87aidvuvIGprdRUtKvSiA7pFm_Gu0i/s400/Picture+015.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Around high noon, Horse With No Name's tiny auxilliary cooling fan, dormant since 1998, whirred to life, so I let her cool off and rolled out my ground pad for a siesta under a sun-blasted juniper tree:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU484YjNvcAn0JaD8E21w4vdGDHLmmcwvdeyMq4LXn7tacBLmdWjUEGfvAzYBVnJTapaSbwKjNJpNE5jE6_cRLzhka0EH-N-W1B5vuMcAcy10LVaIKujkc77Nz9vEHQK9yLAgdBqhgED1s/s1600-h/Picture+020.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389617580826219090" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU484YjNvcAn0JaD8E21w4vdGDHLmmcwvdeyMq4LXn7tacBLmdWjUEGfvAzYBVnJTapaSbwKjNJpNE5jE6_cRLzhka0EH-N-W1B5vuMcAcy10LVaIKujkc77Nz9vEHQK9yLAgdBqhgED1s/s400/Picture+020.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I was really happy at this point that I had given myself three days to see the trail. I only had to ride about twenty miles that first day to my campsite so I had plenty of time to wander around in the dead silence of the desert and look at unbelievable things:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ykSGqKjMlpEFV_HhiAVyzOjozFcPF6Xa9NkDvLI4938TkBb07RQgDz6c9eZS4B4jZyd9_klDp5KW8X-B1E5XqHsykk2sSYDVWPtuGdveDdjpjtOiyyfYqZ6rEoHHRsMOSxv5mpCo0Otz/s1600-h/Picture+010.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389619309249743298" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ykSGqKjMlpEFV_HhiAVyzOjozFcPF6Xa9NkDvLI4938TkBb07RQgDz6c9eZS4B4jZyd9_klDp5KW8X-B1E5XqHsykk2sSYDVWPtuGdveDdjpjtOiyyfYqZ6rEoHHRsMOSxv5mpCo0Otz/s400/Picture+010.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrMnAQZRKkjwZp1CqHiy5WfMKR-kSUR64e4ec_bJ6qxXdB_zJtD_Y_na8xAGxmKjD9rX3hAp8I1eEar_q08swb8m67l5pM0wkMhqpq9qFe-meEICHZD7cAYrm-PAe8PHVESOVqU8hTWq4P/s1600-h/Picture+031.jpg"><img style="width: 300px; height: 400px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389622258593798098" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrMnAQZRKkjwZp1CqHiy5WfMKR-kSUR64e4ec_bJ6qxXdB_zJtD_Y_na8xAGxmKjD9rX3hAp8I1eEar_q08swb8m67l5pM0wkMhqpq9qFe-meEICHZD7cAYrm-PAe8PHVESOVqU8hTWq4P/s400/Picture+031.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvRZEe1IRjdAcVZLVyYjBh-e3MiJLDY9kzPaoHS2ivn0mBt5VhoLANNTGIs2h6ZDabpDnwn3yw5SAQot-LlqjLnS-4RJRtCL6SDhyJSZnpCUFrwhaDoEnYq6_seisxRoglt8J8gfL8C9z/s1600-h/Picture+024.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389623259406193666" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvRZEe1IRjdAcVZLVyYjBh-e3MiJLDY9kzPaoHS2ivn0mBt5VhoLANNTGIs2h6ZDabpDnwn3yw5SAQot-LlqjLnS-4RJRtCL6SDhyJSZnpCUFrwhaDoEnYq6_seisxRoglt8J8gfL8C9z/s400/Picture+024.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDxmHw3tuiZBrZvngkxAXRTnyMUF-oga26Gu1RAZtYgMiyikpsGHyay4Xw8NYYUUDXMHxESAuRf6OlRgwxKUHPh1i11_EX8FCEBTsTUhSE6iQarbUNrKyqpJQI9F0FX2p3ohi8yaI8p6p/s1600-h/Picture+034.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389623803883237682" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDxmHw3tuiZBrZvngkxAXRTnyMUF-oga26Gu1RAZtYgMiyikpsGHyay4Xw8NYYUUDXMHxESAuRf6OlRgwxKUHPh1i11_EX8FCEBTsTUhSE6iQarbUNrKyqpJQI9F0FX2p3ohi8yaI8p6p/s400/Picture+034.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgen8b_mFoh6yzrTHoE87LMjdHEeOlDlXogc-sQ0IYUwrr6AS-FMfyMX-E1PStXF-1pUPPiQmtji885vc6HWUzlACDAuRJZywu0hAhdUA-HV06V_30Pho8vhH7olCjeZjEQ3-j-Ax37vqVj/s1600-h/Picture+003.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389625345781409378" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgen8b_mFoh6yzrTHoE87LMjdHEeOlDlXogc-sQ0IYUwrr6AS-FMfyMX-E1PStXF-1pUPPiQmtji885vc6HWUzlACDAuRJZywu0hAhdUA-HV06V_30Pho8vhH7olCjeZjEQ3-j-Ax37vqVj/s400/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div></div><div>After a while I found myself at my campsite for the first night, which, despite the 30 bucks I had spent for the permit was really just a beaten-down patch of desert ground at the foot of a solemn mesa. But the view was priceless, looking off across dozens of miles of canyons at the distant La Sal mountains, over which had gathered a forty-thousand foot tall anvil cloud, filled with flashes of lightning, the storm completely silent from this distance.<br /></div><div>By this point I was starting to get a little apprehensive about spending a night out here all alone, but when you've traveled this far, the Ones On Olympus tend to drop the occasional card out of the sky for you. This came in the form of my campsite mates for the night, a raucous, lewd and foul- mouthed group of forty-something mountain bikers from Park City, Utah. There were three married couples and the ring-leader, a shoe store owner who, ironically enough, was relegated to driving the support truck after dropping a boulder on his foot the previous night while trying to get into a hot tub. And these guys were living large. Just when I thought I was going to be cowering in my sleeping bag, digesting a meager Swanson Lonely Meal and peering out into the indifferent vacuum of space, I was invited down and promptly handed a stiff margarita in a thermos-lid, as well as the remainder of the group's beef bourginon dinner, speared onto the end of a plastic fork. A garbage-fueled fire was promptly kindled in a disposable turkey pan, and one of the guys began incessantly shining his flashlight at my reflective jacket because he said it reminded him of the movie Tron. One of the women commented on the brilliancy of the milky way, and her husband responded that "Someone up there is probably looking down at you and mentioning the same thing, except that the're saying "Kla Noork Ja Plu Iog yqa!" Well this chuckle-fest went on for quite a while, until suddenly very tired, I wandered back to my tent and fell asleep on my 20 pound water-filled pillow.</div><div></div><div>What will happen tomorrow? Will it involve staring at rocks? Probably. Will I be forced to "Do Tron!" again? I hope not. Will I inadvertently step on the "Cryptobiotic crust", causing terminal ecosystem collapse? The reader can only wait for the man behind the curtain to answer these pressing questions...</div><div></div><div></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-46161672036006290482009-10-05T15:44:00.000-07:002009-10-07T14:38:21.748-07:00Utah: The Promised Land<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-Np57Kyl3z74ZQCHdWFFbwVsntqAdewXMV0FGQO22RUh9cgPozA8zc4zwGDCtgILpARq88dlY3BoQfQq2-E3XvMIxtmMJPojGH2fjBHlNzVKjW2LYdoeg5VbByI3Lsm5D0fbHSaPB1sc/s1600-h/Picture+032.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-Np57Kyl3z74ZQCHdWFFbwVsntqAdewXMV0FGQO22RUh9cgPozA8zc4zwGDCtgILpARq88dlY3BoQfQq2-E3XvMIxtmMJPojGH2fjBHlNzVKjW2LYdoeg5VbByI3Lsm5D0fbHSaPB1sc/s400/Picture+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389251329488781698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Let's get to the meat and potatoes of this little escapade. As much as I enjoyed having my kidneys slowly shaken free from their various ducts by the fruits of Shozo Kawasaki's evil engineers for 2500 miles, the actual purpose of this trip was to dive headfirst into the heart of the Colorado plateau, America's outback. And if that's your fancy, then Utah is your destination. After dropping off the backside of the Rockies, the terrain started to get real arid right around Grand Junction, and I made an ill-advised detour onto a back road to avoid the majority of I-70 into Utah. And after all this effort, this was the greeting I received:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIFNhkm1PdspioFKzXKfdAsKPN5y4vfGlOon7Xo5_F2Hh4AvvkzIRuw-OB2euAe7CaRAmWcTaIYILCgrAFUYxcxq1KMYnQDfSVU5nXbchuSPJ8XQqYU8H1YEoIk6_-C-yYM6III4vh3ID/s1600-h/Picture+030.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIFNhkm1PdspioFKzXKfdAsKPN5y4vfGlOon7Xo5_F2Hh4AvvkzIRuw-OB2euAe7CaRAmWcTaIYILCgrAFUYxcxq1KMYnQDfSVU5nXbchuSPJ8XQqYU8H1YEoIk6_-C-yYM6III4vh3ID/s400/Picture+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389263117017737426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Utah Welcome Center.</span><br /><br />Eventually I was forced onto terryifying, windswept, no-holds-barred 75mph speed limit I-70, where every exit is called "Ranch Exit" and is appendixed by a "No Services" sign. My tachometer crept towards the red zone and my front fender began shuddering and acting like a crude airplane wing. But it was worth it as I was finally dumped onto super scenic highway 128, which snakes down the Colorado through sandstone canyons and into Moab:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqzxZkW7KgVn364k73mU1lrGKIGWfIz8p_NFLuFJJyTSK2B4VY82b6EbDfp_8WO_hEvZzy7kpM1LgaV2Rr46-M3FROm87Jz4yuOycFVtxQtEpc02K0brqRxdIKvxRmhY9dRJH2kbHblo2/s1600-h/Picture+034.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEqzxZkW7KgVn364k73mU1lrGKIGWfIz8p_NFLuFJJyTSK2B4VY82b6EbDfp_8WO_hEvZzy7kpM1LgaV2Rr46-M3FROm87Jz4yuOycFVtxQtEpc02K0brqRxdIKvxRmhY9dRJH2kbHblo2/s400/Picture+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389261592951648578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IrJ5Gd9mq5vphg4G3CsREJefm9ZZaJeYvp9hg07Fip_lFaQMFJWCHn0e6I90nlZad6Nbmmn251H5pw7rmH58SgGvIa27WBpzS54b8Pgkn2bKDT9C12GVjNz_M8mDBx8Nzna2D3M3TAGU/s1600-h/Picture+033.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IrJ5Gd9mq5vphg4G3CsREJefm9ZZaJeYvp9hg07Fip_lFaQMFJWCHn0e6I90nlZad6Nbmmn251H5pw7rmH58SgGvIa27WBpzS54b8Pgkn2bKDT9C12GVjNz_M8mDBx8Nzna2D3M3TAGU/s400/Picture+033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389261793266689714" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">...before I became jaded by such things.</span><br /><br />Moab is a pretty touristy little town, and it was a godsend to find the Lazy Lizard Hostel. For just 9 frogskins a night, you get a warm bed, access to east-coast style indoor plumbing and a living room/kitchen area filled with enthusiastic europeans comparing notes on their travels and talking about their six-month long tours of the states with out a hint of underlying guilt at abandoning their jobs for such a long time period. I highly recommend it!<br />But I had to hit the hay as I had a date the next day with the White Rim Trail, a 100 plus mile dirt- track rollercoaster through the heart of the Canyonlands!Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-60201203477086383802009-10-04T12:54:00.000-07:002009-10-05T15:27:39.998-07:00Colorado: The nosebleed section.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOn1_fg42zhm7CnrMeCWvoukW7frkml9eo6qv-zEII3-Au40Xtgd0PJ52W3Ai1WlHASRSDby-b_G3gyYKr9CeaI5Pdc6ASIrIhrsurhyphenhyphenpKQrQK_ll8Gs_ZTj3Pvdf3iYyYKx1Ztz0XdKy/s1600-h/Picture+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOn1_fg42zhm7CnrMeCWvoukW7frkml9eo6qv-zEII3-Au40Xtgd0PJ52W3Ai1WlHASRSDby-b_G3gyYKr9CeaI5Pdc6ASIrIhrsurhyphenhyphenpKQrQK_ll8Gs_ZTj3Pvdf3iYyYKx1Ztz0XdKy/s400/Picture+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389239394313982162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4000 ft: Rockies, Ho! (And there's a forest fire too, if you look closely)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCYX0TWj3Iky2DU9TMjZFLexJMAajfHViR_b4UIvZnhQKr5vYvjSiYTpH8QpVTCPGCEU6NCU_ltKfQzNO83OX4HVbKtestHLZ2PuHEQXMCELTPlIAOCXOCn1U0gXVNHGWVWN1GW0GfhU3/s1600-h/Picture+027.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCYX0TWj3Iky2DU9TMjZFLexJMAajfHViR_b4UIvZnhQKr5vYvjSiYTpH8QpVTCPGCEU6NCU_ltKfQzNO83OX4HVbKtestHLZ2PuHEQXMCELTPlIAOCXOCn1U0gXVNHGWVWN1GW0GfhU3/s400/Picture+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389240381582497634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5000 ft: The Arkansas River carries me into the mountains.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6w0oRCbegCzh7VW405MmK1XCZZdpUKT5wBA17zE0dF2qtsMo3a3Mw0-0l2nI_1oVhTESSlzFWNINbtC_PjBf8Yuz-4mMd7e1mAddG3aJiBciJCZSRwTLc4kS6dHfmpjaoMrqMOkppVV0k/s1600-h/Picture+017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6w0oRCbegCzh7VW405MmK1XCZZdpUKT5wBA17zE0dF2qtsMo3a3Mw0-0l2nI_1oVhTESSlzFWNINbtC_PjBf8Yuz-4mMd7e1mAddG3aJiBciJCZSRwTLc4kS6dHfmpjaoMrqMOkppVV0k/s400/Picture+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389239876797953090" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6000 ft: It's official: Were out west</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbqATXp4n-zViBk5NWCGmPLl3qLsFCafX0kY15IQq8vNKtCUJBduQclYRAOUv2SbcEzimlhhoGe9SH6BPICwxIz-gZKy0tbjEwnh2l6YS1Fdypt-wv0GntQPHFznZrWQySytADw_Qhwdb/s1600-h/Picture+023.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbqATXp4n-zViBk5NWCGmPLl3qLsFCafX0kY15IQq8vNKtCUJBduQclYRAOUv2SbcEzimlhhoGe9SH6BPICwxIz-gZKy0tbjEwnh2l6YS1Fdypt-wv0GntQPHFznZrWQySytADw_Qhwdb/s400/Picture+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389242064245850722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7000 ft: Some lake I drove by. Whatever.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5m-3ZqQvEh5uPOl9HEExwvt17aDJzWJWrIzO8B4cqBTDleVpYtwQPyndpg1zM5V5rDwCuN1s9hLbYqDxzUcEpRSjY0zZKvZXizaXVcpZZEGcvH88bJA0K-tIwCGOKPCGwmtm3uV7XNtN9/s1600-h/Picture+013.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5m-3ZqQvEh5uPOl9HEExwvt17aDJzWJWrIzO8B4cqBTDleVpYtwQPyndpg1zM5V5rDwCuN1s9hLbYqDxzUcEpRSjY0zZKvZXizaXVcpZZEGcvH88bJA0K-tIwCGOKPCGwmtm3uV7XNtN9/s400/Picture+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389241111275801490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8000 ft: Enough with the damn clouds, already!</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUtGa5FEOngQMl_zl-7Bcg4dZynyHxK919AJRdWkmJM330ScLRRY61n_80iHODAgEJsDXj6mc0jLtHAhfdEGeVZgUbSewcl-ULTVakEh7RJHCtr-RVQd5eCWF9WZJTyykSxc8p7LKdveJ/s1600-h/Picture+025.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUtGa5FEOngQMl_zl-7Bcg4dZynyHxK919AJRdWkmJM330ScLRRY61n_80iHODAgEJsDXj6mc0jLtHAhfdEGeVZgUbSewcl-ULTVakEh7RJHCtr-RVQd5eCWF9WZJTyykSxc8p7LKdveJ/s400/Picture+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389241503607491138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9000 ft: I can't breath. And I think I see John Denver.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwEOd_ApOFDCmZ9s87kqTGTZgjtYAcrO4aIV7RaNugcch1qjjBqAV1-IcU9i7uYGQlntQr6qf-eT8qL7oTFZqQvXQCyyBlcJjWRtMuDhrI10UT9t8wlPIXNvN9hQh2lDGvQ7LJ2D3dD-D/s1600-h/Picture+024.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwEOd_ApOFDCmZ9s87kqTGTZgjtYAcrO4aIV7RaNugcch1qjjBqAV1-IcU9i7uYGQlntQr6qf-eT8qL7oTFZqQvXQCyyBlcJjWRtMuDhrI10UT9t8wlPIXNvN9hQh2lDGvQ7LJ2D3dD-D/s400/Picture+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389242618518229906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11,312 ft: May I have some air with that gas? Old faithful steamrolls over the top.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The pictures below are from the San Juan Skyway, which is like the Blue Ridge Parkway of the Rockies, only with more cinnamon buns available. I actually rode this on the way home, but you don't know that!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1CcE8aRDEJdKBUfZB1Xm9xLPx8g8lDUUrFjuW_IVsDryzoAZdZeeHaMAZK3LvcHqJyEnVTxQbVe_4Dv-AsSHUh_jf2OQryPAX7GYvO0IKhAWGHjkEBYFYYpux44QoQMuvcj7tjbJisMr/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1CcE8aRDEJdKBUfZB1Xm9xLPx8g8lDUUrFjuW_IVsDryzoAZdZeeHaMAZK3LvcHqJyEnVTxQbVe_4Dv-AsSHUh_jf2OQryPAX7GYvO0IKhAWGHjkEBYFYYpux44QoQMuvcj7tjbJisMr/s400/Picture+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389237402203893122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChv4fWDnpkUKL2YCxl7NGp7s8xsHQECfDBjSLG2bROjPiFQeVgFBPzHAF2gtz-n3LvSLMMMJjWU-fbLjrCXtk9k41E9Tp-obXDgIYSLEBEcv7DmBxLzOEuVgIeaFr66mCfkM96BKl4TVD/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChv4fWDnpkUKL2YCxl7NGp7s8xsHQECfDBjSLG2bROjPiFQeVgFBPzHAF2gtz-n3LvSLMMMJjWU-fbLjrCXtk9k41E9Tp-obXDgIYSLEBEcv7DmBxLzOEuVgIeaFr66mCfkM96BKl4TVD/s400/Picture+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389244211736337090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVX6AoxJPV7rxPjtSvarJBaBK_wi_UXVPewaG2cHdSd2eqhi2lEHdlxD78AdNpQEiDNO2sMTYKJFQMpmilyWpIrF3tTUIxbiFUNcsepGB3wEpa493rgckxL1Cg7dCn8yDxeDcZWedIBG1/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVX6AoxJPV7rxPjtSvarJBaBK_wi_UXVPewaG2cHdSd2eqhi2lEHdlxD78AdNpQEiDNO2sMTYKJFQMpmilyWpIrF3tTUIxbiFUNcsepGB3wEpa493rgckxL1Cg7dCn8yDxeDcZWedIBG1/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389237274545575506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjLVFFAREKgbRtcu7XEuCEnAEF1gODBNsYyiWa0c1W3GfzDY58f2hAf-dCAWjnjB_YrcR1zM1FyhR_ttZWEf4bxFggi68Dhy1pyO5mNIMaVIHPPGkuE2IluxPbAgY9qHoD-AUoWbvpzZm/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjLVFFAREKgbRtcu7XEuCEnAEF1gODBNsYyiWa0c1W3GfzDY58f2hAf-dCAWjnjB_YrcR1zM1FyhR_ttZWEf4bxFggi68Dhy1pyO5mNIMaVIHPPGkuE2IluxPbAgY9qHoD-AUoWbvpzZm/s400/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389236695285637586" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-34963095013909943242009-10-03T12:49:00.000-07:002009-10-04T12:34:37.276-07:00Kansas: Outlaw Territory<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVwOe-9kel0xcjRrhuBohDQ642uQ2OkjEAphVidTcaGPETQxw5MHpSQ3i8O3R8XERX6ff2Ufx27nDQ82QHCifrTFMWxHHzvZdqHiJPnCySN2YcpyuL5q4v5gMJeqCaY-qYz9S2yVzMpwj/s1600-h/image_resize-41-php.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVwOe-9kel0xcjRrhuBohDQ642uQ2OkjEAphVidTcaGPETQxw5MHpSQ3i8O3R8XERX6ff2Ufx27nDQ82QHCifrTFMWxHHzvZdqHiJPnCySN2YcpyuL5q4v5gMJeqCaY-qYz9S2yVzMpwj/s400/image_resize-41-php.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388465879194072658" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kansas hospitality</span><br /><br />So here's what happened in Kansas, in rough chronological order:<br /><br />A yellow jacket slammed stinger-first into my neck at 70 mph, causing a huge swollen mass that almost caused me to be denied service at Subway.<br /><br />I befriended a former oil-refinery electrician/Hell's Angel at a motel who filled me in on the the drug habits of the guys who ran the crude-oil cracking tower as well as what happens if one happens to spill hydroflouric acid on themselves.<br /><br />I caused a stir among the Independence, KS Walmart staff by changing my oil in the parking lot, spilling a majority of it on the pavement and then handing the still-warm remainder in an oily soda bottle to the prim woman in charge of the Lube department.<br /><br />I motored through a Dodge City friday night, the whole town steeped in an ammonia haze from the giant US BEEF plant in the center of town.<br /><br />I happily left for Colorado.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhvQ3JQshkbUXttbRwH3zu6EG1d9dVcuXGWE6QuirDcgi_3jdh3dim9WJKf6pnrZ3b_Nw6av9d-ARBlkYcM6X5Xn4MGFafX7mk7NqjUu2AbLLAKTveYjXT5fM3qJ_CAQqIaJbEIDkNiRO/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhvQ3JQshkbUXttbRwH3zu6EG1d9dVcuXGWE6QuirDcgi_3jdh3dim9WJKf6pnrZ3b_Nw6av9d-ARBlkYcM6X5Xn4MGFafX7mk7NqjUu2AbLLAKTveYjXT5fM3qJ_CAQqIaJbEIDkNiRO/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388829889064550722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bury me on the lone prairie.</span>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-36849553417805953662009-10-03T12:17:00.000-07:002009-10-04T12:02:19.004-07:00Across Big Muddy and "Aux Arkansas"My hopes of catching a glimpse of a blind bluesman puffing on a corncob along the banks of the Mississippi were in vain as the Mississippi is a very elusive river. There aren't any towns or roads within ten miles of the river because of the flood hazard and the only roads across are interstates which allow no place to pull over for a look. After blasting across I found myself in Carruthersville, Missouri, the first town I had been to with a truly midwestern-sounding name. From there it was straight into the Ozarks, a weird, hilly area filled with a reverse-engineered version of appalachian culture very far from the actual appalachians. Suffice it to say that the per-capita stockcar ownership rate is as high here as it is anywhere. I laughed at the truth of Ozark stereotypes when I was passed by a pick-up with a bloated cow carcass hanging out the back. I laughed even more when I was passed by a second truck with the same load. I got stuck for an hour behind a tow truck laboriously pulling a just broken-down school bus out of the hills. The roads however were awesome:tight, twisty, with plenty of stomach-dropping rises and falls.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozXu1EgUxrNtQ9GuJP1qLq54GFpgtQNAhvDPKAHrbrwETl5mKPMAMFdnSVZtN5FT-VYpFfIqxEEqlOKinHEwEEI0hTUpAH8eSao3ofidauu30sDqnHb0U6z13ExI6or7vhOFHWdsklNmZ/s1600-h/start+031.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozXu1EgUxrNtQ9GuJP1qLq54GFpgtQNAhvDPKAHrbrwETl5mKPMAMFdnSVZtN5FT-VYpFfIqxEEqlOKinHEwEEI0hTUpAH8eSao3ofidauu30sDqnHb0U6z13ExI6or7vhOFHWdsklNmZ/s400/start+031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388459899632079570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Y'all heard about that gun giveaway down at LeGra</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">nd?"<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtF6RRNke69KDRTf8F8xhbK9y374ZbKBfxwepLpCfML6bCEtatfnk87ivtJnwTdlKqVm1j0PL_NO8_fxHVfvAvOWj_kQ8J5RKdjJuxT2LgPEBkO4bXJYajGAQMQuvKtW2PxHIh0zZ5Pj2/s1600-h/start+040.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtF6RRNke69KDRTf8F8xhbK9y374ZbKBfxwepLpCfML6bCEtatfnk87ivtJnwTdlKqVm1j0PL_NO8_fxHVfvAvOWj_kQ8J5RKdjJuxT2LgPEBkO4bXJYajGAQMQuvKtW2PxHIh0zZ5Pj2/s400/start+040.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388460683892247378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRQVuMHK_H4szf_kw309mz97_VDtlfuFrfUgbKF5P1vqEdAu9m0pLsGF75xPv8ZDRhAVAI3liFbapGf5UezK3XIDY6OSVQdZAJ6KrEPTtNwy1w7EYyXaDqMhx788Z9AVhJYqzNV2RyRCJ/s1600-h/start+032.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRQVuMHK_H4szf_kw309mz97_VDtlfuFrfUgbKF5P1vqEdAu9m0pLsGF75xPv8ZDRhAVAI3liFbapGf5UezK3XIDY6OSVQdZAJ6KrEPTtNwy1w7EYyXaDqMhx788Z9AVhJYqzNV2RyRCJ/s400/start+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388461047657210226" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-10854760520306724722009-10-03T10:45:00.000-07:002009-10-07T14:36:34.388-07:00Tennessee Stud<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7kHQR_z_XgDrg6TLylzL-cmg-AAIHg_PEu1SFnM86DKiYrStq56n8Y7F8_uNs7D6nToL1Xs5BNFbPSQpBemhoa43lM2WIA-L6vyeqN0rg2tQTvOHrPkhmw-kZyll_WDArSGdDxZ4lDAT/s1600-h/start+030.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7kHQR_z_XgDrg6TLylzL-cmg-AAIHg_PEu1SFnM86DKiYrStq56n8Y7F8_uNs7D6nToL1Xs5BNFbPSQpBemhoa43lM2WIA-L6vyeqN0rg2tQTvOHrPkhmw-kZyll_WDArSGdDxZ4lDAT/s400/start+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388439122992820354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">That's Amore.</span><br /><br /><br />"Daddy got a job with the TVA,<br />We bought a washing machine<br />and then a Chevrolet"<br /> -Alabama<br /><br />East Tennessee is TVA country which is illogical because the Tennessee river isn't in this part of the state. Go figure. Every valley bottom is filled with impounded water which makes motorcycling sort of inconvenient. Due to this lack of dry, flat spots, all wayfarers within a one hundred mile radius are funneled through downtown Chattanooga regardless of their final destination. I tried to make a policy of not riding through cities but this looked unavoidable. I steeled myself and found comfort in the words of Grandpa Jones, Lomax-era Bard of the Blue ridge:<br />"Knoxville is a pretty place,<br />Memphis is a beauty,<br />But if you wanna find them pretty girls,<br />Then hop to Chattanoogee"<br /><br />Anyway, this stanza did nothing to alleviate the wafting engine heat that drenched me with sweat as I sat downtown at a red light on MLK boulevard for ten minutes because the traffic light sensor failed to recognize my presence.<br />After Chattanooga I entered central Tennessee, populated primarily, as far as I can tell by groups of snow-white haired old ladies that congregate each morning at McDonalds only to stare disapprovingly at my grease-stained pants.<br />Just when I thought their couldn't possibly be anymore of this freakin' state I entered the missisippi delta, a hundred miles of wide open, flat, hazy, sodden farm land. Here's some TN pics:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tobacco Row.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymWfqIsWr9aWz8hTiEUvCWpeB-pK3aaqxhp5UDHOyTb9PS6ZU5hjwIWDdHpHqR2Y5uzMSfFZ0KfuFuWA6-cPp7KEtod12RnpUmiGuvAchS-NSBf2-TAOfyKtGRRpeb-sxcdh1FUOV_hyk/s1600-h/start+027.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymWfqIsWr9aWz8hTiEUvCWpeB-pK3aaqxhp5UDHOyTb9PS6ZU5hjwIWDdHpHqR2Y5uzMSfFZ0KfuFuWA6-cPp7KEtod12RnpUmiGuvAchS-NSBf2-TAOfyKtGRRpeb-sxcdh1FUOV_hyk/s400/start+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388439602188857202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwnkrGWJBItIIsHH-5Bh-A_r5KdFHVVbBJeDXW5bjEAes0inhOiXV0I9Dh3H9brEJMYCiM8HQY9ZTiFVHW128S7tg0ywxH859_R1ndT4pqe8W2f3ApFyW7QTNvl6cXLnPEWnVu2nPxINq/s1600-h/start+026.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwnkrGWJBItIIsHH-5Bh-A_r5KdFHVVbBJeDXW5bjEAes0inhOiXV0I9Dh3H9brEJMYCiM8HQY9ZTiFVHW128S7tg0ywxH859_R1ndT4pqe8W2f3ApFyW7QTNvl6cXLnPEWnVu2nPxINq/s400/start+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388441289057121666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Tennessee River. Right across from Arby's.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZpxmoN_z9qnxHFgTr1HB0VEcnDGFqjezzGBK8rHyo8d1hOZkcjxLQ7A7c3J3wCUYAkYvTM8PLXQNMCDG4YZ7F1ZXAduxVzWB0tXxVwJtS3l7tVZB0N-qFjLpJrFOSHgzAZDneXQgCbFp/s1600-h/start+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZpxmoN_z9qnxHFgTr1HB0VEcnDGFqjezzGBK8rHyo8d1hOZkcjxLQ7A7c3J3wCUYAkYvTM8PLXQNMCDG4YZ7F1ZXAduxVzWB0tXxVwJtS3l7tVZB0N-qFjLpJrFOSHgzAZDneXQgCbFp/s400/start+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388440285703517490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Delta Blues.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGr6lexPynXprjieItzaG60wQZZQb-kd58OJE9CNmPFXqcOgKHcSQ5c32v6D7OR4MjuJ1c7lygy7PHnNpyu9kf9rs840-To1H5Tqr0-sTknhhTtFRTYopK5kFw9NvfXwI1j-7EzNeloLmQ/s1600-h/start+017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGr6lexPynXprjieItzaG60wQZZQb-kd58OJE9CNmPFXqcOgKHcSQ5c32v6D7OR4MjuJ1c7lygy7PHnNpyu9kf9rs840-To1H5Tqr0-sTknhhTtFRTYopK5kFw9NvfXwI1j-7EzNeloLmQ/s400/start+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388442684007247794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgKEgaf_AXpiu-hQ775EyS6UjR39V_2kTb5BulpeHgDY6jWy9qvhaFTKQ-cNPkzv88B99H8CF4cYjQKZev9qBMepr4aoeUDfJnvi0h36beKmmmgWbDm2N4_lrbikj3H0AMwjEwapRyVW2/s1600-h/start+013.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgKEgaf_AXpiu-hQ775EyS6UjR39V_2kTb5BulpeHgDY6jWy9qvhaFTKQ-cNPkzv88B99H8CF4cYjQKZev9qBMepr4aoeUDfJnvi0h36beKmmmgWbDm2N4_lrbikj3H0AMwjEwapRyVW2/s400/start+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388440698874310034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4TN9vwfgv4N5zvKBKKiha3vdAm8KGomGf1aE9ULuMxzU8IMegKLbP17mnjxF6QCMld3sk5jGBp-YVrbPDr-Jw3RRsCYEQahHldrOFSp0AiC-xtRx2H7sseQag44q_wtRzSnfGIIJu62_/s1600-h/start+020.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4TN9vwfgv4N5zvKBKKiha3vdAm8KGomGf1aE9ULuMxzU8IMegKLbP17mnjxF6QCMld3sk5jGBp-YVrbPDr-Jw3RRsCYEQahHldrOFSp0AiC-xtRx2H7sseQag44q_wtRzSnfGIIJu62_/s400/start+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388443160573080050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCotT-RaXb1dVAj1sxzbhHYVHjxHQDd_sMFOG77CbcWfC4-xH29_5sbfL3m4XG90hMyE3AjUGuOe4Y6NTsAW7nnjEc0vddWhMhGQcc0ldvrkA94epZNOKT2nmUpGWMKgZG6YrL4bTkumJ/s1600-h/start+024.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCotT-RaXb1dVAj1sxzbhHYVHjxHQDd_sMFOG77CbcWfC4-xH29_5sbfL3m4XG90hMyE3AjUGuOe4Y6NTsAW7nnjEc0vddWhMhGQcc0ldvrkA94epZNOKT2nmUpGWMKgZG6YrL4bTkumJ/s400/start+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388442324361386866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNagMYXtIoEsFObIo30-lzfsbB6pJYO6PDTd627R_oczbZ0pOlsrfQZXlsnuNGXfr9iUI_mGz6L7oD4DF-E-Zk34cfhPb1YYl4CsXZPL_ainsVByVLm7be7dBNj7Gx38dnKraoeztvqwAj/s1600-h/start+014.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNagMYXtIoEsFObIo30-lzfsbB6pJYO6PDTd627R_oczbZ0pOlsrfQZXlsnuNGXfr9iUI_mGz6L7oD4DF-E-Zk34cfhPb1YYl4CsXZPL_ainsVByVLm7be7dBNj7Gx38dnKraoeztvqwAj/s400/start+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388441962825389570" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-55973207073514198222009-10-03T08:46:00.000-07:002009-10-07T14:33:10.858-07:00D-DayEvery great story needs a great villian, and ours is the misguided youth and/or forty year old man who stole my helmet the night before I was supposed to leave for a month. Picture this: I<br />wake up on day 1 exited as a schoolgirl on Christmas morning, go through the ten minute process of doning all my riding gear, pack up the final items and even start up the bike and lock the front door when I realize that the one object that I absolutely can not do without was gone. I couldn't even ride to get a new helmet because I didn't have a helmet to ride with!. Not only that, but the next day was Labor Day, so it seemed like I would be grounded for at least forty-eight hours until stores opened again. I was supposed to be shredding America and delving into french cuisine (I promised!) but it looked like I was going to be watching Judge Judy and eating grilled cheeses in bed until Tuesday.<br />I put in a last ditch call to Gabe: Landlord, friend and Guy Who Knows How to Make Things Happen. He had just finished a grueling 100 mile bicycle ride but nevertheless was able to get a line on a Regan-era skid lid from Sid, the connsumate rennaissance man. Well, needless to say they saved the day. Thanks again guys!<br />By this point Sunday was already halfway gone so I postponed departure, devoting the time to sharpening the knife I carry in a holster on my right calf. Standard biker protocol.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzP4FCHIchSJwuj6S3Rs8xfnK-_ADgnAKCw4eSlesU56zkhvBOpOTvQME5tWYWz79hSXBqcNitch-pQtdqiFjpOYWLVCy98gM4geGFnwUs8dBfcs2MokpbyCazIjZSxs1MEArQ9HZTsro5/s1600-h/start+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzP4FCHIchSJwuj6S3Rs8xfnK-_ADgnAKCw4eSlesU56zkhvBOpOTvQME5tWYWz79hSXBqcNitch-pQtdqiFjpOYWLVCy98gM4geGFnwUs8dBfcs2MokpbyCazIjZSxs1MEArQ9HZTsro5/s320/start+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388406198437679170" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ole' sway back on day zero: Tired, overburdened and still in the driveway.</span><br /><br />So anyway, I woke up the next morning overjoyed that no one had stolen the blanket off of me during the night, put on my new helmet and quickly got out of town before anyone could unbolt my engine.<br />I motored out of the horse-and-hound infested V-A red clay and up-up-up into the Blue ridge mountains. As soon as I reached the storied heights of Afton Mountain and the Blue Ridge Parkway I was swallowed by a fifty-foot-visibility fog bank that wouldn't clear until hours later, and then only to reveal ominous grey clouds that would stay with me until I reached Utah.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eMhQN5ZA3U1S4NcAcX4K5CuFFVCQw9N8_jstGMm7MZaBDYk0_4Ol7HboD9hMGupYWslFxqa0eXxmWxCtyIQ_FuDSqb0dUBpy6AtvDDArDMpXKIK6kA445yNV-yeU3g439LA87EzfguP9/s1600-h/start+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eMhQN5ZA3U1S4NcAcX4K5CuFFVCQw9N8_jstGMm7MZaBDYk0_4Ol7HboD9hMGupYWslFxqa0eXxmWxCtyIQ_FuDSqb0dUBpy6AtvDDArDMpXKIK6kA445yNV-yeU3g439LA87EzfguP9/s320/start+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388409757882848722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My descent into the "Gnarled Tree as Art" school of photography begins immediately.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1IHg4YqWdJ2JQhkUzMAf5Okx3ukQXk4pSDvwiyOJZCz5h3Qh0zoIN7Oz2mu8VRBxMTdThqht3MbB-9CrODuhIFpuF9dP_ues2lMXe3_JCh-1gPdUxbzBWIxIr_8oaoLEtqhDHXZiQ86q/s1600-h/start+004.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1IHg4YqWdJ2JQhkUzMAf5Okx3ukQXk4pSDvwiyOJZCz5h3Qh0zoIN7Oz2mu8VRBxMTdThqht3MbB-9CrODuhIFpuF9dP_ues2lMXe3_JCh-1gPdUxbzBWIxIr_8oaoLEtqhDHXZiQ86q/s320/start+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388410410700687634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The subsistence farm I hewed out of the wilderness on my first night.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxepErDyXMBY1DrGqQtWAM7AjhuO8cARx3VJUW-4KlX-od2tAUzqUCIGgIhOOOc1YFAlFqUZMgMuusgplmwL9FhxdV8vC_DFO37bd_LlU-4cDJVHGY2rJq7nRCU9k2oVUB61iR4o8yClt/s1600-h/start+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxepErDyXMBY1DrGqQtWAM7AjhuO8cARx3VJUW-4KlX-od2tAUzqUCIGgIhOOOc1YFAlFqUZMgMuusgplmwL9FhxdV8vC_DFO37bd_LlU-4cDJVHGY2rJq7nRCU9k2oVUB61iR4o8yClt/s320/start+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388413734676464978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NC rainbow gathering.</span><br /><br />The Blue Ridge Parkway is considered holy ground to many motorcyclists, given it's flawless pavement and banked turns, and indeed on Labor day when I rode it it seemed like a really long private driveway between Charlottesville and Asheville. But I still find it kind of sterile, as it lacks any human component. No ten commandments posted at intervals along farm fences, no old man at the grocery store telling you about the Suzuki 125 he used to own in 1965, and nowhere to impulsively buy donuts and coffee, which happened a lot during this trip, I promise you.<br />My first night destination was Asheville, NC: Mountain paradise, home of my beloved alma mater WARren wilsON COLLEGE as well as the few remaining friends who have not yet managed to pull themselves free of the powerful energy vorticies here. However, the downside of having a goon squad of friends is that they can be slightly unreliable. I couldn't get a hold of anyone so I bedded down at Motel 6 #345 , Swannanoa, NC for the night.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3v0sXRRDdl4Wy5yeqUqzhBMrr6qzK6rBwXRIOU6JfwzhX4CIybiYib8u-zV2A6r2cCeOP6ehTxEf7wE-DnNcZdsmwNxWm1BBzl3LTBr6UT6q551QHhJ7Ly49rthgMsEWdI0QtABVbSNp/s1600-h/start.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3v0sXRRDdl4Wy5yeqUqzhBMrr6qzK6rBwXRIOU6JfwzhX4CIybiYib8u-zV2A6r2cCeOP6ehTxEf7wE-DnNcZdsmwNxWm1BBzl3LTBr6UT6q551QHhJ7Ly49rthgMsEWdI0QtABVbSNp/s320/start.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388418567945381586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The mandatory bike in motel room shot.</span><br /><br />The next morning I continued west on the parkway, slowly climbing up and above the valley fog. Realizing that my legs were going to get zero exercise on this trip the way things were going , I opted for a little hike up Mount Pisgah, but only after my bike had brought me to within a hundred feet of the summit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3-6W3bFPk_oysyFcrvyHQiMM91zMRtIuJVf41NG7oGfAspsYMYQBr4_MKbp6bAg1sdB9GGUedcH8hii0aEWCxUr_BmMzwKL8fnLwJ_1Wuyv5E8r660t8O2Tg2Hg-j2lwWePwHIystO_l/s1600-h/start+010.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3-6W3bFPk_oysyFcrvyHQiMM91zMRtIuJVf41NG7oGfAspsYMYQBr4_MKbp6bAg1sdB9GGUedcH8hii0aEWCxUr_BmMzwKL8fnLwJ_1Wuyv5E8r660t8O2Tg2Hg-j2lwWePwHIystO_l/s320/start+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388421220635288514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Smokies were not named in honor of Donald R. Smoky.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqLb0cVnKuUp1hC9wajNedmTGM_PkMLCXax8tr7CnPGXrKLD5F6tj1ZHHDtOWE4IMfwxHgVjnRYYqgKwdItj5YLzvehZJblmkiuEgaxLHCsFIX9HRtjfGIEJUlqzIdEawsu2o7QoePxr_/s1600-h/Picture.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqLb0cVnKuUp1hC9wajNedmTGM_PkMLCXax8tr7CnPGXrKLD5F6tj1ZHHDtOWE4IMfwxHgVjnRYYqgKwdItj5YLzvehZJblmkiuEgaxLHCsFIX9HRtjfGIEJUlqzIdEawsu2o7QoePxr_/s400/Picture.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388816617372242338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Asheville Good Vibes transmitter #1</span><br /><br />After I headed off my developing bed sores at the pass, I continued on through Cherokee, NC, where the casinos are always full, and all the signs are in Sylabbary, invented by my man Sequoyah:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Gw3A2s9nDVoWt_llAtNP2KG8J4W4kpgT49YJdouUtefE2H9w1bGybuSdMq7wDfJsTxy-yMU2bbbwaGRKuecKE1Odw9qBIiquLG7ma7OUhpjZPd8sgaC7-4ZDamH_iOT5AAAT5AmqxDBa/s1600-h/Sequoyah_commons_image.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Gw3A2s9nDVoWt_llAtNP2KG8J4W4kpgT49YJdouUtefE2H9w1bGybuSdMq7wDfJsTxy-yMU2bbbwaGRKuecKE1Odw9qBIiquLG7ma7OUhpjZPd8sgaC7-4ZDamH_iOT5AAAT5AmqxDBa/s320/Sequoyah_commons_image.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388424365890515858" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Getting directions to Knoxville from the man himself!</span><br /><br />Western NC truly is a special place. There isn't a flat spot anywhere and due to the rain and heat the vegetation here is truly out of control. Moisture laden limbs hang down into the road and every inch of road shoulder, right into the travel lanes is covered with Kudzu. But before I knew it I blasted involuntarily into the Volunteer State, the subjectively longest state in America. Stay tuned!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-10263928877399477462009-10-03T08:10:00.000-07:002009-10-04T11:19:01.660-07:00Back to the Grind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMttr-iOMi91WVbxEQ1tENf4Ag7OagKy4O7UdcjemRTdoYICya7MkdeVL2m3ahqZpB60WR4xUYI2VBc9XHxwt4sP3vUbP2Z8xstgOnRebGiiOKUhAuAMPS75SKOAKRdxuiGWcskxLy2eP/s1600-h/start+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMttr-iOMi91WVbxEQ1tENf4Ag7OagKy4O7UdcjemRTdoYICya7MkdeVL2m3ahqZpB60WR4xUYI2VBc9XHxwt4sP3vUbP2Z8xstgOnRebGiiOKUhAuAMPS75SKOAKRdxuiGWcskxLy2eP/s320/start+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388397234970116914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well I've made it safely home to America's #1 city (Fodors, 1989) , heeding the advice of armchair euphemisers I met along the way to keep my bike "rubber side down" as well as "between the ditches". I cruised triumphantly through the heart of a stylish Charlottesville Friday night , 6000 more miles on the odometer, camchain rattling violently, every surface of clothing and bike covered with insect corpses, and in possesion of a debit card now worth only the Chinese plastic it's printed on. I'm dirty and broke, but at least I'm not a statistic!<br /><br />Now, the beauty of a blog lies in the fact that friends, associates, bored office workers with no relationship to the writer and internet predators that live along your route can follow your exploits on a daily basis. Unfortunately I was not able to post daily as I was faced with the choice of either taking a laptop or taking pants, therefore you the reader are going to have to be happy with the lump sum option. To hold your interest, know beforehand that in addition to the motorcycle aspect of this trip I also recreated a recipe from Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking" each night in camp. Now for the trip!Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-60218050884464962602009-09-03T14:25:00.000-07:002009-09-05T08:33:59.664-07:00Preparations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOx3-DNzf7_533gO4RcV7CE-zesP_zWb4idWvD0-ts3rw_RcFRn5qqoDT56K6tB_t3tWnze_TR7p-iR1Uf7qHoP-6NiZlkLMaOIRU7gxC4ZjamRvJPEW__zuZlYLS_gEsHoOAsCY9aBr1/s1600-h/image_resize-19-php.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 215px; float: left; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377709028448111234" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOx3-DNzf7_533gO4RcV7CE-zesP_zWb4idWvD0-ts3rw_RcFRn5qqoDT56K6tB_t3tWnze_TR7p-iR1Uf7qHoP-6NiZlkLMaOIRU7gxC4ZjamRvJPEW__zuZlYLS_gEsHoOAsCY9aBr1/s320/image_resize-19-php.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, as if on cue September 1st has brought crisp temperatures, and the distant Blue Ridge have come into crystalline autumnal focus from my lofty position at the top of the corporate ladder (literally-I work construction). Smells long held to the earth by the summer heat, the kinds that makes one think of plaids and tasteful scarfs have risen into the air. Its generally a faux pas among outlaw bikers to think about fall fashions, however, so my thoughts have turned to getting myself and "Big Black" ready for my trip.<br />For all you gear heads out there (a small subset of the droves that will be reading this blog daily) here's a rundown of my bike preparation. People constantly set off on long car journeys with their check engine lights burning bright, but motorcyclists are a bit more vigilant. Something about having four gallons of gas and hundreds of metal pieces moving at supersonic speeds between one's upper thighs, I guess.<br /><strong>Tires</strong>- After four days spent in a steadily deepening catatonic stupor researching tires on the web I ended up slapping on some Mefo Explorers, the finest tires that calculating, coldly efficient German engineering have thus far produced. These are used in the infamous Paris-Dakar Rally so I assume they can get my overfed self across Middle America.<br /><strong>New Chain and Sprockets</strong>- Old motorcycle chains eventually break apart at 70 mph, first smashing through your engine case and/or fibia and then becoming tangled in your rear wheel, so I figured this was money well spent.<br /><strong>Spark plug check-up</strong>-They say that the eyes are the window into the soul and similarly, sparkplugs are the window into the condition of your sooty, souless engine. An old timer mechanic could take one look at the tip of your sparkplug and tell you everything you needed to know about the condition of your bike's motor. My sparkplug told me I should spend less time peering down tiny orfices at piston crowns and more time working on personal hygiene as well as streamlining my five-year plan. This not being what I wanted to hear, I promptly shoved sparkys ugly little snout back in the motor so I didn't have to listen to any more of his harrangue. But not before brushing him off and re-gapping him.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Valve Clearance</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Check</span>-Because motorcycle valves expand as they heat up, there is a tiny clearance between valve parts to allow for this. A tiny clearance being the thickness of two human hairs. Anything less than one human hair and your poor valves will gradually begin glowing red , finally becoming molten blobs on the DesMoines Beltway. <br /><strong>Real Oil-</strong> After spending millions of years deep within the earth's mantle, you would assume your average motor oil would be able to withstand a couple 'thou in a motorcycle engine. Not the case. Hence Rotella T Sythetic Tractor Trailer Engine oil. This stuff is usually bought in 50 gallon drums by trucking companies and is expected to last 50,000 miles between oil changes in tractor-trailer engines. It has more detergent in a quart than I've used on laundry in the last decade so it also keeps the inside of your motor sparkling clean.<br /><strong>Bolt check</strong>-I thought checking the tightness of every bolt on my bike would be pure drudgery, but it was actually one of the most satisfying things I've done to get ready. It feels great afterwards to know that your eyes have been over every inch of the bike and any noise you here is one that's supposed to be there.<br /><br />Ill spare the details of packing for myself as it mostly revolved around the age-old split-end versus conditioning formula conundrum.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6554907380115757837.post-74296356042992583252009-08-29T08:24:00.000-07:002009-08-29T08:48:07.421-07:00ProlougeMotivations? Inspirations? Aspirations for the trip? This should explain everything:<br /><object width="540" height="444"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lgLVpampOMQ&rel=0"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lgLVpampOMQ&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="540" height="444"></embed></object><br />via <a href="http://www.videosift.com/video/Raising-Arizona-The-Lone-Biker-of-the-Apocalypse" title="Raising Arizona - The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse">videosift.com</a><br />Anyway, one day about eight months ago while eating lunch on overturned buckets in a light drizzle my fellow weary-boned workmate and instigator-extrodinaire Jesse informed me he was getting his motorcycle license and convinced me to sign up for the class with him. I was happy to oblige, as joining the Brotherhood of the Crossed Pistons had been on the back burner of my to-do list for many years now. After two days of circling a highschool parking lot in second gear tight formation with fifteen other similarly perplexed students the state of Virginia saw fit to grant us are licences. The next day found me posing in front of the DMV camera in my leather vest with a smoldering cigarette dangling from my lower lip. The rest is historyTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18257711401724109555noreply@blogger.com0