Utah - The Artist
I had struggled to write about Utah, unable to form my words that would accurately portray its magic. It is a place that is every bit of striking, unpredictable, at times infuriating, and provides a type of wanderlust that draws you deeper into it, keeping you guessing and wondering what will it provide next? Travelling on a bike, you also experience it’s nasty side. But, it’s natural beauty is like Mother Nature said, I want to get as creative with abstract art using geologic events and watering coloring that leaves the art lover spellbound.
I’ve had a long-time infatuation with Utah from the very first moment I arrived here many years ago. I vividly remember landing at the Salt Lake City airport, stepping on that tarmac and being surrounded by snow white covered mountains all around.
Since then, I had spent quite a bit of time in Utah, playing on the many mountains with light fluffy snow that provides an amazing experience for winter sport lovers. It was in Utah I had switched from snowboarding, after nearly 20 years, to skiing 8 years ago. I have been coming to Utah every winter for over a decade now. But the first time I experienced other parts, and a different season was in July of 2020, when I took a road trip visiting the many natural wonders it provides, including Zion, Bryce Canyon and few other national parks. Of course, at the time I had four wheels and an engine under me, providing a considerable different experience.
But this art show did come with a price of admission. This was hard cycling. It combined all the characteristics of Colorado’s high altitude climbing, with Missouri’s steep grades, and Kansas’ long uphill grinds, mixed with unpredictable weather patterns that would require several wardrobe changes throughout a ride. The roads along Utah were also not incredibly biker friendly. Close to 80% of my biking experience were on roads with very little to no shoulder, biking along the busy state highways full of semi-trucks and convoy of RVs, with drivers driving under its spell.
The road to Utah started off with a slight detour that was appropriate given the fluid nature of my plans for the first couple of days going through Glen Canyon National Park. I had imagined this would’ve been the place where I would camp, but those plans had quickly evaporated in the canyon’s desert heat, as the only general store within a 130 mile stretch through the national park had been closed for the season. So, the only alternative would be to bike the entire stretch while carrying enough water and food to get through it.
I had spoken to my friends Jim and Mallory about camping together a while back, but prior to Colorado, I was oscillating on the idea of having anyone join me. After seeing Greg, with Jim and Mallory joining us for the evening in Salida, those thoughts were now long gone. Jim and I conferred on a high-level plan as I got closer to Utah, and the plan started with being rescued 15 miles from our meeting spot in Dolores, CO, due to a bike mechanical problem. We drove to Durango to get the bike fixed and spend the night in their lovely property. A delicious home-cooked dinner, followed by an appropriately timed hot-springs visit, and amazingly comfortable bed later, I was feeling energized and ready to go. It felt good to spend the night at their home away from roadside hotels, restaurants, and that feeling of being transient.
Although, I had been biking at this point for close to 2600 miles, I am not what they would call an outdoorsy individual. I love outdoor activities when they include coming back to a hot shower, good food and a comfortable bed to sleep on. And my two days of “camping” in Glen Canyon would meet that side of me. Jim would be traveling with a 26-foot RV, with a two-day list of breakfast and dinner menu prepared, while I would bike the days towards an agreed landmark.
We set out in the morning in the RV back towards Dolores where I would start from as per my route plan. The stretch between Dolores and Blanding would be along the plains between Colorado and Utah, providing me with a moment of reflection about my journey thus far and the road that was ahead of me. The closer I was getting back to home, more my thoughts begin drifting toward the future. I would be in and out of these thoughts, as I still had quite of bit of riding and writing to do, and experiences to have.
90 miles into the day’s ride, I would arrive at Glen Canyon. There would be a rapid transition from the flat plains to gentle subtle uplift of the terrain with yellow colored rock formation, filled with desert plants and trees that gave me a playful feeling. As I went deeper into the canyon, there would be gradual changes to the landscape, with the uplift of the terrain ever so increasing, transitioning from the sand yellow to red and white perpendicular striped mesas that would get taller with each mile.
At mile 100, I arrived at the meet up spot with Jim, and a potential camping site. Jim and I quickly agreed that it did not feel right… We wanted to be higher up for the sunset, but he also wanted to make sure after 100 miles of biking, I still had legs to continue the climb we were staring at. We talked about a secluded campsite about 5 miles up the hill he had discovered on his reconnaissance while I was cycling towards. We also entertained the idea of me jumping in the RV to get up there and then backtracking in the morning so I can do the climb on fresher legs. I responded with “I’ll see you in about 5 miles.” I was tired, but the playfulness I experienced coming into the park was a boost of energy that kept me moving. And 5 miles and 1200 feet of climbing later, Jim greeted me on the side of the road, and we made our way to the campsite. Having an RV opens your options considerably, as you’re not dependent on finding a developed campsite for necessary utilities. You can explore the primitive lands and truly be off the grid, so to speak.
The evening would be close to as perfect as I had imagined a camping experience to be. I would have post-ride snacks and a beer waiting for me. I took an outdoor shower starring at the stunning vista. Then a multiple-course dinner with a bottle of Pinot Noir that made this a very regular camping experience in my mind. We watched the sunset with the sky colored with a few pink and purple clouds - flamenco music provided the soundtrack to this moment. Now with dark skies with no interference from human lights, I just leaned back and gazed up at the stars without any thoughts littering the moment other than I was just happy to be there. I had biked through and seen quite a bit, but it seemed this moment was what I imagined my connection with nature, the environment would feel like. A lightness…
I woke up just shy of the sunrise and what a wonderful experience it was to simply turnaround the seat I had sat in the night before to face east now. It is amazing how these simple details make such memorable moments. I will always remember being in a location where I experienced the beauty of a day ending and another beginning with such effortlessness.
The second part of the canyon would provide even a more dramatic change. From a distance, all I would see was an endless mesa with smooth walls colored in deep red, black and yellow, peppered with green vegetation growing prosperously all around. But the closer I would get at any point along, I would see the damage and weathered beauty of individual rock formations that made up these steep walls, along with cracks of the valley floor leading up to them. Geology really fascinates me. It’s about time along with the environment that constantly shapes it as it never stops evolving with all the elements it lives with. But what was so interesting were the unique erosion patterns from one part to another in the same vicinity that gave each section such individuality, such character.
Second day of camping would be on a vastly different landscape. We were on the flattest ground we could find, fully exposed to the sun’s blazing heat, but still surrounded by fascinating rock formation that keeps you engaged with the land. I still had a bit of a playfulness in me, and the past two days of camping would incorporate my other love of music back into my life. It is amazing how much it was missing from the journey ever since my moment with Melody Gardot overlooking that beautiful, peaceful meadow in Kentucky. But part of this journey was about being present. That said, music was a great partner to the moment, and I would dance around the campsite to U2’s Joshua Tree, with the Eagles providing that peaceful easy feeling as the sun set on us ending another memorable day. Towards the end of the night, I went a bit internal. Once the overly engaged mind starts settling down, thoughts and reflections start entering in. I thought about how fortunate I had been having friends like Jim and Greg on this ride understanding the delicate balance that had to be achieved for me to keep experiencing the journey; the connection with the environment and myself, while enhancing other parts of the day. The next morning, I would say goodbye to Jim and Glen Canyon.
The remaining 350 miles I had with Utah would leave me with conflicting emotions, thoughts and memories. In one hand, the ever-changing landscape would keep me motivated to explore and curious to see what else Utah would present with me. On the other hand, I began mentally struggling, with an internal narrative growing louder of how much I wanted to be done with the journey. The playfulness I had experienced in the first part of Utah began to disappear on the stretch between Hanskville and Torrey. I was going through a harsh land, made up of dunes of dry soil. There was a sadness and trauma to it like it had suffered a violent past. Not from nature’s doing, but from humans as the perfectly blasted and smoothed out of walls of the dunes would leave this place looking inorganic and out of place in an area where mother nature had done some of her finest work. The dark clouds over the horizon that would be bringing in rain later on was providing the perfect backdrop to this melancholic state I had found myself in. And just as I was succumbing to this moment of despair, Utah would remind me that sometimes life and the roads force you to bike through places of sadness, trauma that eventually will lead you back in the beautiful part of the road. And then I entered Capital Reef National Park. Certain places cannot be described. It can only be experienced.
The rain that had started the day before had picked up between Torrey and Escalante, finally breaking me while climbing over Boulder Mountain. By the time I had reached the 10,000 foot summit, I had been biking in torrential downpour for over 3 hours. As I climbed over the clouds, a dense fog would take over. When the fog would give in, rain would pick up where it had left off. And when that was not enough, the winds would blow through my wet clothes, sending shivers down my entire body. And at one point, I became angry with Mother Nature. I started yelling “Enough is enough! Have I not suffered enough already? Just give me a break!!” It was a Razzie Award worthy performance, I must say. I may even had a couple of tears mixed in with my rain drop covered face. But what was I expecting this experience to be like? Just a casual 4000 mile stroll through the peaks and valleys of this country? No one had forced me to go on this journey, and I had to accept what it was presenting me with. I may have not liked it, but I was having to live with my decision to be here. I mean this entire experience was really about my relationship with everything around me, including myself; decisions I was making in life that comes with its intended benefits and unintended consequences.
That’s one of the very interesting conundrums of it all. In the face of adversity, the opportunity to just call it quits is very little. It’s not like I could just get off my bike and be done with it all. And deep down inside, I knew I would never quit on it. I had to go down the steep mountain, reaching 40+ mph speeds that would that would sting against my entire body to a point my hands and feet begin to go numb. The mantra I have been telling myself throughout this time is the perpetual physical pain, soreness I am experiencing will be a fleeting thought in the overall memory of seeing this country on a bicycle.
The rain that had been accompanying me into Escalante for the past two days would continue into the night. In Escalante, I would stay at a lovely property called Escalante Yonder, filled with individual cabins and Airstreams for accommodations. I sat around the fireplace, having wonderful conversations with other occupants about variety of topics. I truly appreciate these moments, when complete strangers can come together with a level of honesty and vulnerability.
I woke up to a cool sunny September morning and after eating a delicious breakfast, began biking with a clearer mind about why I was here. I would have one more big day ahead of me, climbing over Brian Head Mountain, putting me back over 10,000 feet, on my way to a rest day in Cedar City. There was a part of me that was ready to be done with Utah. But more so, I wanted to get closer to home.
The climb up to Brian Head would be littered with little surprises that made the challenge palatable, at times enjoyable. Half way up, I would be presented with a serene lake, with one side with the face of the mountain covered in dense forest, and the other with a low sandstone mesa. As I made my way to the top, free range cows and sheep would keep me company along the middle of the road. And as I summited, beautiful fall colors would announce the change in season was around the corner. I would have a very long downhill into Cedar City, physically and mentally ready for a rest day, but with many stops to capture the amazing views that stretched as the eye could see.
I really struggled to write about Utah. It threw everything at me: beauty, playfulness, challenges, and struggles. I had seen some of nature’s most beautiful art, but this art was meant to be experienced and not just seen. And I felt through my time here that I was a tourist just taking pictures without understanding the art, the artist. But the nature of my journey this time around did not allow that. It was about going deep within myself, with the environment being guide and not the subject.
I was leaving the magical Red Canyon, when an expansive green valley floor suddenly appeared as I rounded the corner. There was no gradual change to how these two opposites converged. As I looked to my right, I notice a point where these two landscapes merged; a moment when two environments had a breathtakingly clear transition from one to another. And I wondered… how did she do that?
-Troy
Ride Stats (as of this post)
Days on the Road: 53 days (5 days off)
Distance Covered: 3,610 miles
Total Ascent: 179,283 feet
Flats: 3
Mechanical issues: 1 (new chain installed was too short)
Bike Traveler Sightings: 20
Reflections: Too many to count
Nervous breakdowns: 2