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Ride Report: 2006 Moab in May
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[QUOTE="Tony Eeds, post: 1075178, member: 32023"] L+01 - Thursday, May 11, 2006 Day One . . . Whoo Hooo . . . We are in Moab and we are on VACATION The day started with breakfast at the Moab Diner, an almost traditional stop for every tourist when in Moab, the Moab Diner is always hopping. Arriving early, we tied down a corner table and ordered up some great “stick to ribs” food. During breakfast, we wrapped up discussions about the day’s ride. Check it out . . . The Moab Diner 189 South Main Moab, Utah 84532 435-259-4006 [url]http://www.moab-utah.com/diner/index.html[/url] One of my last tasks before leaving home was to copy various rides for everyone’s consideration. I lobbied for a ride into the La Sals that would bag two passes exceeding 10,000 feet in elevation. In that Moab averages about 5,000 feet, there would be a lot of climbing to be undertaken along the way. The last time I was above 7,000 feet, I realized that my BRP needed to be babied in order to keep her happy. Back at our cabins, we loaded up gear, warmed up bikes and headed off south through town. A quick stop for gas and we were soon climbing on Geyer Pass Road. An asphalt road, Geyser Pass Road connects Moab with everything south and east of Moab. Based upon the number of road bicyclists we saw, I’m guessing that the Geyser Pass Road is a “major” road bike route. Departing the asphalt at the intersection with La Sal Mountain Loop Road, we really began to climb as we zigged and zagged up Geyser Pass Road toward the sun. There was a slight chill in the air that was missing in the valley. The pig was beginning to stumble if I snapped the throttle open, so it was clear that I was at the upper edge of its operation range. My lungs were beginning to feel the elevation as well, but that would really become more apparent later. Sliding through shadows thrown on the road by the surrounding pine trees, we soon encountered seeps and finally around a corner, it appeared . . . snow . . . yep, you read me right . . . snow. Now being flatlanders, we were all excited about the possibility of seeing some, but it was all the way across the road. What’s with this . . . it is May, so snow should be something to be enjoyed from afar. Flipping through my book of ride experience extending back 35 years, I quickly tried to locate all my experience related to riding in snow. There was a problem though . . . I couldn’t find any, except one funny experience while at Moonrocks a few years ago. Well I am in the front, so here we go. Dang. This stuff is slick. Well, it doesn’t matter. Gravel is just ahead. Oops, there is more snow just past the gravel. [img]http://teeds.smugmug.com/photos/78423015-M.jpg[/img] Steve tutored us in the “art” of riding snow and we soon found ourselves floundering our way across snowbanks that appeared to be two ~ three feet deep. Every now and again one of us would fall and everyone would laugh. True to my role as the “ride clown,” I collected the majority of the laughter, not that I really cared. The altitude was really beginning to kick my butt. Filling my lungs with oxygen was beginning to become a real chore. Oh well, onward and upward . . . Roger, Tim, Gene, and Steve were having a great time as evidenced by the grins. The sun was out, so we found ourselves jockeying from shady spot to shady spot to stay on firm snow. At one point my pig laid down (died) and I had a bear of a time getting it started. The altitude was kicking my butt and now it was playing havoc with me getting the bike started. The end result was me getting to where everyone else was about the same time that Steve returned from on up the road to tell us it was time to turn around as it got no better beyond the curve. Bummed, we turned tail and heading back down the road toward lower elevations. At one point crossing a bank, I had about the funniest occurrence that I have ever experienced on any bike. My bike broke through the crust of the snow and dropped vertically until it reached the roadbed below. At this point the axles were about even with the crust and my feet rested comfortably about an inch above the pegs. Now this was funny and I have to admit I got a real laugh . . . at least I laughed until I started trying to figure out how to get the bike out of it’s “parking” space. [img]http://teeds.smugmug.com/photos/78423603-M.jpg[/img] In that a picture is worth a thousand words, I took one, because nobody but me was still around. Getting back to the gravel was a hoot. At one point Tim augured in and he almost executed a face plant, but pulled it out at the last moment. I wish I had a photo of that. Soon we were unwinding our crumb trail, heading back toward lower adventures. We agreed that the La Sal Mountains would be a great place to go, in July perhaps. Opinions for our replacement route were tossed out and we all finally bit on one Gene mentioned . . . Porcupine Rim. Not having a real clue as to what we faced, off we went. Early on we were alone on the trail, but after about a mile we encountered a jeep heading the same direction we were. Waved past, we headed farther down the trail, dropping down numerous two and three foot drops, we soon found ourselves at an overlook gazing into Castle Valley. [img]http://teeds.smugmug.com/photos/78426350-M.jpg[/img] For those that have never been to Moab, there are a lot of overlooks that are at vertical faces 1000+ feet tall (based on the topo in my GPS, the place we stopped it was 1,100+ feet tall). From our vantage point, the face appeared vertical. The view was breathtaking and we were taking it in. A group of mountain bikers stopped for a moment and we talked about the quality of the trail. One asked if we intended on going “all the way” to 128. This would not be the last time we were to hear that question. The couple in the jeep stopped and we chatted about our choices of transportation. The driver quickly told us that he used to ride bikes, but considered himself too old now. I laughed inside and I’m sure Steve did as well. Too old, yea right . . . he was our age. Porcupine Rim seemed to be a good track and we were having a blast. Swapping spaces, we chased or lead each other on downward on the trail. Clearly the trail was dropping along its journey to the Colorado River. At every encounter with mountain bikers the question was the same . . . Are y’all turning around or going through? Going through . . . Wow! How are y’all going to cross the creek? Never one to heed warnings, we plodded on. We did think about it a “bit” more after encountering a mountain biker carrying the “remains” of his bike. He had destroyed the entire swingarm assembly of his bike. Between us, we did not have enough JB Weld to do any good. After a booboo executed by you faithful scribe, we got an opportunity to modify a Honda clutch handle to work on Gene’s Yamaha. I had my feet pulled out from under me by a bush when I was pushing Gene’s bike off the side of the trail. One minute I am standing and the next I am inspecting the bushes and roots. I don’t remember, but it did happen rather quickly. Lucky for us, Roger had a hacksaw in his remaining (he had lost his tool bag earlier) bag of tricks, so a bit of carving and we were good to go. Reaching the turn around, we began to better understand the mountain biker’s comments. The trail ahead shrank to about 12 inches in width and clung to the side ov a 30 + degree slope. Off we headed, onward into the fog . . . OK, it wasn’t foggy, but I was sweating enough to fog up my goggles and 1 MPH would not clear them out. The trail deteriorated even further and we soon found ourselves clinging to the side of a hill that approached 60 + degrees in many places. One false turn to the right and the bike was not going to stop for a while . . . with or without a rider. Feeling the miles and the heat (we were on the west face of the mountain/hill/cliff), we all began to poop out (even Steve got quiet) as we struggled on toward our date with the “creek” crossing. Finally the trail appeared to flatten out. Yes, it is getting more level. Whoo Hooo . . . Wait a minute, why is everyone stopped? Why is Steve scratching his head through his helmet? Mmmmm, so THIS is the “creek” crossing. Ugghhh! Parking our bikes, we scrambled about looking for a route to the bottom. Mmmmm, ropes appear to be the only answer to this dilemma. Tying ropes to the rear of each bike, we gently (and slowly) lowered them off a majorly unridable drop off and belayed them as Steve manhandled them to the creek level. One at a time, with five ~ ten minutes of rest between, we labored. Mountain bikers kept coming by us and, at one point, one even ventured to comment that we should not be “blocking the trail.” I thought Roger was going to kick some butt for a moment. Finally at the bottom, we faced our next challenge . . . getting up the other side. Steve “saw” a line up the side of the wash (that I frankly could not see) and we maneuvered the bikes to a level spot above the creek on the far side. [img]http://teeds.smugmug.com/photos/78427301-M.jpg[/img] Remember I said I could not see the line? Steve rode my bike out of the hole and we were soon on our way. One quick stop for a lady to take a photo commemorating the “epic” ride in the parking area and we headed toward Moab on 128 along the river. We had conquered what I consider the most difficult route I have ever encountered in Moab. Clearly this was one for the record books, IMHO. Back at the cabins, we all relished in a shower before heading off to dinner. We were going to sleep well for sure! Dinner was at . . . La Hacienda 574 North Main Street Moab, Utah 84532 435-259-6319 Don’t ask me why, but the first thing a bunch of Texans look for when looking for food is Mexican food. It must be our version of “comfort food.” After dinner, Gene, not having enough riding for the day, headed off toward Chicken Corners as the sun was heading west. Returning just at dusk, he regaled us with stories of his journey. Knowing that dusk is the right time to be there, I am sure the light was fabulous. Lori and Dave arrived after a trip up from Albuquerque. Loaded down with bikes and gear, they realized they had room for one more bike, so they ran down to Albuquerque to pick up Dave’s new KTM 640. A beautiful bike for sure . . . someday, I want one. [/QUOTE]
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Ride Report: 2006 Moab in May
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