It’s been less than a year since I told my friend Dylan I could give it all up. I could stop climbing. I can’t stand behind that idea now, but an hour into the approach to the North Six Shooter, half way up a blood red scree field, it seemed to make sense. Yeah, whatever, I can do without this, I thought. The glossy, pocket-sized topo we bought in Moab was mostly for show at this point. We paused in the middle of the crypto-biotic field, looked at the dotted line weaving through the blank space on the map, then continued our terrible game of hopscotch from one cow hoof-print to another.

I imagined what this approach must have felt like in 1979. Thirty-some years later it still feels like a heroic quest. Climbing in the desert distinguishes itself from other styles with the feeling of inadequacy it gives you. It never really feels easy, at least for me. And sure, it feels good to surprise yourself with success sometimes, but the vast majority of days spent climbing in the desert can be summed up in the idea that everyone who came before you was bolder and stronger than you’ll ever be.

We thought the first pitch, an ever-widening finger crack, would be the crux of the route. I think that’s what the topo said, anyway. Dylan started us off in good style, climbing quickly and silently. I sat among the fallen boulders waiting for Dylan to put me on belay and obsessively adjusted my tape gloves. I need a new hobby, I thought. I should have been born a bird. I should start baking. Maybe I could go to grad school? Yeah, I could quit this sport.

Within minutes, I was hanging next to Dylan, reluctantly taking the gear off his harness for the next pitch. After an eternity of hesitating, chalking up and complaining, I relented to pull on some gear. Should have stayed at the Philly rock gym. I climbed through the crux section in a hybrid style climbers call “french free”, a term used to describe the moment when you’ve given up on good style.

Upon arrival at the belay, Dylan was quick to tell me he was scared for the next pitch. I nodded. Fuckingofcourse you are, I thought.

“It’s all good, dude. You can do, like, a bunch of pull-ups.”

At least there were no other parties behind us. We’d surely be holding them up. Afternoon thunderheads swelled above the Abajo Mountains. The third pitch followed a left-trending arch to a sheltered alcove overlooking the previous 300 feet. After a few moments of futzing around, Dylan climbed up to the alcove. From this spot, he called out to me to watch closely. His feet left the perch, swung out towards the canyon, and with a hurried sort of grace, Dylan pulled over the lip toward the last belay.

The relative security of the final squeeze chimney gave me a rekindled confidence. I stormed toward the summit, pausing before I pulled over the edge to howl down at Dylan in utter ecstasy.

I used to think about the immensity of outer space. When I passed people on the sidewalk, I’d wonder how often they consider the boundless universe above their heads. It would frustrate me that no one bothered to acknowledge this mystery. But here, in the desert, taking time to worry about the universe feels unnecessary. Around each bend of the canyon, yet another red canyon, each with it’s own vertical sandstone walls. And each cliff presents a new human-sized crack, purpose-built to test your composure. From our perspective atop the North Six Shooter, the desert stretched on endlessly. We were sitting in the middle of a sandstone fractal.

While the thunderheads ballooned upward, I told Dylan it was true: I could quit climbing, because that’s not the part of this that keeps me coming back. I’m not one to try to wrap the spectrum of emotion we were feeling into one trite summary, but what matters to me is having a sense of scale in this world. It’s easy to narrow your field of vision in every day life, to shrink what matters until it fits onto your hard drive. It’s not as easy to feel small. I’ll keep coming back to climbing because I need the balance of perspective.

Fall is my favorite time to visit Moab and the desert!  Go out and ride!

]]> http://spreadstoke.com/bike/mountain-biking-in-moab-utah/feed/ 0 http://spreadstoke.com/lifestyle/damper-in-the-desert-keri-herman/ http://spreadstoke.com/lifestyle/damper-in-the-desert-keri-herman/#comments Fri, 22 May 2015 16:33:32 +0000 http://spreadstoke.com/?p=5229 Learn how to make an Australian camp bread called “Damper” from free ski legend Keri Herman.]]>

Learn how to make an Australian camp bread called “Damper” from free ski legend Keri Herman.

2014 has been an amazing year for Moab Trail Mix, with the addition of tons of new trails in Moab. After a brilliant Saturday of Take a Kid Mountain Biking Day, perusing the simpler trails in the Klondike Trail System of Moab, loving the fact that a new footpath has opened so the non-biking family members could enjoy access from a single parking lot in the backcountry, you have to shout, “Hail! Moab Trail Mix!”

The volunteer organization Moab Trail Mix has been busy constructing lots of new bike trails. Keep in mind that the agencies of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the National Forest Service, the National Park Service, the City, and local bike businesses and riders, all sit at one table and collaborate. The BLM used National Public Lands Day to encourage volunteers to shape a pedestrian path to the Dinosaur Stomping Grounds. It’s in an area that received tremendous press in August 2014. It is a trail that parallels the Mega Steps mountain bike trail in the Klondike Bike Trail System to an expanse of trace fossils. Close by is the Copper Ridge Track Site, and both areas have tracks that are from the Jurassic Period in the fluvial Morrison formation deposit.

The Agate and Chilkoot Pass trails are the right areas for younger children that are new to single track. The success of this trail was measured by the need to get off and walk the bike. Looking for similar rides that have beginner riders in mind? Check out Raven Roll in Dead Horse Point State Park or Rusty Spur in the Moab Brand trails, which are proven to be a hit with younger riders.

MOAB BLM has determined this year that motor assist bicycles (electric or fueled) are motorized vehicles, therefore, motor assisted bicycles are NOT allowed on non-motorized trails. The Moab Travel Council posted a terrific Motorcycle Trail Ride page in September 2014: Moab Area Motorcycle Trail Riding

Now, onward to the New Trails!

In the La Sal Mountains, standing regal to the east of Moab, the Forest Service completed the Geyser to Burro singletrack trail and Jimmy Keen Flat trail. Get a little respite from the summer heat and pedal these trails in the warmer summer months. La Sal Loop / Moab Front

Back in the canyons below, there is this tally of new mileage:

HyMasa Trail is 2.7 miles of singletrack in the Amasa Back riding area. It is moderately strenuous and requires technical skill, which is the case with the Amasa trails in general. Hymasa is an alternative to get off the brutal jeep route comprised of gruesome ledges. A pit toilet was installed in the Amasa parking lot this year too.

The Klondikes have had the Miner’s Loop completed near the southern parking lot. It is an advanced 1.8 mile loop over a lot of slickrock with twisty turns through pinon-junipers, sweeping by an old mining area. A beginner, one mile loop named Chilkoot Pass was also added. Chilkoot is located off of the Klondike northern parking lot.

The KLONZO II trail system has carnival themed trail names. These 11.3 miles of trail have been added to Moab’s inventory in 2014. It has good beginner, intermediate and intermediate/advanced  pedaling options from a single parking lot. This area is unique: Roller Coaster and Red Hot is intended to be a ‘progressive skills trail’, where the bumps can be rolled or jumped or even avoided altogether.

• Hotdog – .7 miles
• Topspin – 1.2 miles
• Midway – .9 miles
• Zoltar – .6 miles
• Houdini – 1.8 miles
• Red Hot – .5 miles
• Roller Coaster – .6 miles
• Carousel – 1 mile
• Wizard – .2 miles
• Magician .3 miles
• Gypsy – .2 miles
• The Edge – .6 miles
• Gravitron – 2.7 miles

Navajo Rocks has lept into existence with the completion of 4.4 convoluted miles called Rocky Tops and 3.2 miles of undulating dirt track and sandstone outcrops called Ramblin’. Three more sections are slated for future builds, and will be known as Big Mesa, Big Lonely, and Coney Island trails. This set is situated off of State Road (S.R.) 313.

Dead Horse Point State Park installed the first 8 miles of the Intrepid Trails in 2009. Another 8.1 miles were completed at Thanksgiving 2013. The newest loops lay to the west of S.R. 313 in Dead Horse Point State Park, and have been ridden often by travelers in 2014. The park also built three yurts that are now online for reservations. Each sleeps up to six people and is another camping opportunity to add to the tent and RV camping already established within the state park. Plan a mountain bike trip from the yurts!

Transit Hub officially opened, providing parking at the crossroads of the S.R. 128 bike path and the northerly stretching Moab Canyon Pathway to S.R. 313. The hub is also one of the bus stops in Moab for Elevated Transit, a daily bus service connecting Salt Lake City to Moab and farther south to Blanding, Utah.

Finally, a Moab Trails app was released in early spring. Go to the iPhone or Android app store and type in “Moab Trails”. You can also download trail maps from the website DiscoverMoab.com or purchase area maps from local Moab bike shops for $2 for each focus area. The money goes straight to the treasury of the Moab Trail Mix, the volunteer organization building and maintaining many of these bike opportunities in Moab.

Just in: http://www.outerbike.com has two new 2015 events! Outerbike will have a Spring Moab event, and they are also taking OuterBike to Whistler Canada!

Had a nice Fall weekend in Moab, Utah and wanted to share some pictures from the trip.  Started things off with the Intrepid Trails at Dead Horse Point State Park!

Mountain Bike Adventures in Moab, Utah

After a good warm up day we were ready to tackle the Whole Enchilada. Probably one of the most epic mountain bike rides in the USA!  26 miles of downhill starting at 11, 200ft Burro Pass and ending at 4,000ft at the Colorado River.  Even though it is mainly downhill, you still pedal a ton!  I have been riding in Moab, Utah since 1994, however I have never been able to do the Whole Enchilada until this past October.  In Spring there is too much snow, come summer I am off to other adventures and I avoid the desert heat.  Come fall there is usually an early snowstorm shutting down the starting point on Burro Pass.  This year things aligned for me.

Ended the weekend with a Mag 7 ride!

Ever since laying my hands on Chris Davenport’s Fifty Classic Ski Descents in North America, I have been dying to ski-mountaineer in the La Sals. With the Wasatch snowpack being a sugary heap of facets, my dad and I decided it was the perfect time to chase down some 12k peaks in the La Sals and get in some climbing at the same time.

Winter in Moab is the greatest kept state secret. Rather than dodging RVs full of big-bellied heartland-ers and heavily-accented Euros in 100+ degree weather, we found ourselves utterly alone at Wall Street, Moab’s most popular climbing crag. Classic trad-cracks and inventive sport climbs that usually have teams queued up at the bottom, were empty and eager to take my gear. While it was far from balmy, sandstone retains heat well and with the sun on the rock, my hands felt good in-between red blocks of stone. Looking out, the La Sals beckoned and my heart traipsed about, happy at the prospect of skin-assisted exploration.

On our first morning, I woke up to an extremely ill-timed and nasty bout of Strep but was determined to head into the La Sals even if it was just for a short tour. While the weather was clear in Moab proper, as we began our ascent to Geyser Pass, the sky overhead became blanketed with shifting cumulous clouds. We watched in astonishment as the car thermostat dropped to 0 degrees. At the well-used parking lot, we layered-up aggressively against the sharp cold and vicious wind. Despite the less-than-bluebird conditions and my rapidly diminishing health, we toured up to some promising looking open trees on the North-west banks of Mt. Mellenthin. At the end of our ascent, we looked down upon the red bluffs below. The juxtaposition of the harsh mountain environment and the dessert landscape below was shocking. On the descent we were gratified with some surprisingly good snow and playful tree turns.

While I had only been in the range for a few hours, already I was impressed by the wildness and dramatic setting of the la Sals. While Backcountry Skiing in Utah and a few other sources (including moutainman extraordinaire, Alex Quitiquit) had provided decent beta, we hadn’t expected to meet such challenging conditions in this odd-ball grouping of outcast peaks. I couldn’t believe the potential of the place. I spent the rest of the day urging my immune system to pick up the fight while hiking about an eerily empty Arches National Park.

The next morning, I felt quite a bit stronger and my dad and I decided to head in the direction of Mellenthin and Laurel Peaks on the off-chance that the weather and snowpack would support a summit attempt. While the skies were clear and the wind seemed to have died down significantly, it was much colder than the previous day.

The local avalanche report gave the current temperature on the top of Pre-Laurel Peak (which was on our route) at a balmy -9 degrees. We were not deterred. Heck, I go ice climbing which is always MISERABLY cold. So, we packed like yetis and began the steady ascent up the “Laurel Highway” climbing trail. While the climb was forgiving and gradual, the temperature in shaded tree areas dropped to around -20. Frozen in the extremities, we continued to climb until we broke tree line.

On the unprotected ridgeline, gusts of powerfully pissed-off cold air tried their best to push us off the mountain. Determined to at least get on top of something before the clouds blew in again, we pushed on to the summit of Laurel (12,271 ft). We debated continuing but upon looking down the connecting ridgeline to Mellenthin, we determined that the peaks had been blown bare to the point where boot-packing would be our only mode of travel…for the next several miles.

Yeah, we left that experience for the spring and more stable avalanche conditions.

After reaching our lack-luster peak, we quickly pulled skin and enjoyed excellent snow down through the “North Woods.” With white noses and foggy heads, we bundled into the car feeling sobered. The La Sals were no joke! The skiing was straightforward but the conditions were truly alpine. Naturally, I was psyched! Who knew?! Southern Utah!

In the spring, this place will be paradise.

The next day, we had a good breakfast and headed back to Arches, keen on wandering around an momentarily empty park. After an excellent hike to Tower Arch combined with some stellar bouldering en route (Note: if dancing up inflated pebbles is your thing-check this place out! Huge potential), we headed to Baker slabs for some techy friction climbing at the back end of the park.

Tired and still coughing, I spent the drive back to Park City going over maps trying to piece together a route that would allow for a traverse of all of the major La Sal summits. Come spring-It’s happening. For now, keep praying for more snow.

Cold, parched, and aching. Processing the tempo of my raging headache, I could easily accept that I was in for an apocalyptic hangover.  This time – contrary to the ones past – this self-inflicted illness is not the effect of too much hard drinking, although whiskey was involved, but the combination of a festering cold, a defiant cough, and the two-thumbs-up-redbull-in-your-coffee kind of psyche we had been fueling off of.

The desert, as distinct and defined an environment, must be, by the loosest sense the most relaxing place on the planet for me.  Taken from the city, stripped of the wrong perspectives, and surrounded by opportunities born from the territory – the chances of escape are endless.

The red sand stains, not like wine on a bedsheet, but it find its way into the cracks, creases and crevices of everything foreign.  I awoke, eyes sealed lightly from the dry wind, I awoke to a blanket of red and chapped lips. And how the water tastes and feels!  When I was younger, I had read stories of alpinists and climbers far off on a perch too alien to imagine, with only a cup of tea clasped between their hands and feeling the life literally pull back into them.  Maybe it’s overdone, but the dehydration and insurmountable beating of my head was enough to be imaginative to the desperate.

Lam was clearly fairing much better than I. He looked fresh, as always, with a shit-eating stoked grin on his face. Could I blame him?

We had arrived in the desert outside Moab, UT – to tick the classics, visit places new, and get the blood pumping.  Amidst the federal government shutdown, we sought rowdiness and long desired adventure.

We were awoken by our friends, Andrew and Emma, and we decided to wander up Castleton Tower, a first for both Lam and Andrew.  Given our party size and level of skill, we decided on the North Chimney (5.8+, 4 pitches). After the relatively easy approach up the talus cone, we joined other climbers from far and wide, looking to get up the tower.  The sun was out, the wind was low, and the day was young.  Some strangers displayed attitudes, but we dismissed this, and were on route.

The first pitch, arguably the best 5.8 in Castle Valley, climbs dual hand/fist cracks to a bulgy crux.  The second pitch starts with a short offwidth to fun tower-chimney climbing past loose looking blocks. The 3^rd pitch finishes the chimney and involves an airy step over. The summit pitch climbs juggy features and slippery but positive calcite feet to the top.

We summited under an hour. Yet we spent the day atop the island in the sky.  As the first team up, we waited for our friends.  Unbeknownst to us, they were slow getting on route and climbed behind a party ahead who were making progress, slow but positive progress.

We met others as they summited.  There were Germans, Canadians, and many from close by.  All seem to be climbing the tower for the first time, and their wide smiles admitted it.  We talked shit with our new Canadian friends about French fries, gravy, syrup and socialism- we got off easy with some sharp jabs on US foreign policy. Yet they all seemed to rappel as quickly as they came.

We took a summit photo for everyone.  We listened to the stories told only in places where our reach extends ever so much closer to the sky. We waited; the sun scrolled its rays over the desert landscape, and before we were shrouded in darkness, we were greeted by our friends, and, yes, they were smiling too.

After a short battle with Mexican food in town, we drove the trucks out into the night, into the flanks of Canyonlands National Park.  Excusing ourselves to an impromptu campsite at the correct mile marker, we sat beneath the autumn sky, bathed in moonlight, and watched the stars spin round.

Even with the lunar light cascading shadows, it appeared as if the stars, the Milky Way, and darkness of the night were just within reach.  Maybe this is why we go up. Why we climb into the sky, as to see if we can reach out and touch the celestial bodies, to be part of the grander you, the better of us.

The following morning, after a bit of a later start, we wandered out into the desert.  Guided by a rough estimate derived from a vague search on Google Earth and some random forum posts online, we went looking for our next objective.  After about 2 miles we stumbled upon the Fruit Bowl – a highlining paradise.  The sandstone chasm cuts into the flat plateau landscape and drops away 100’s of feet to the canyon floor.  On either side of this naturally formed “bowl”, anchors have been bolted into the stone to allow the rigging of our highline kit.  After much redundant checking and tensioning, we walked.

Highlining is such a distinctly vitalizing sport. The moments seem to stand a little more still, and every movement is so much more reactionary, with the fear and consequences looming.

My first chance at the walk ended in a full length whipping fall on my leash. I thought the line was tensioned a little too much and was too stiff.  Lam went next.  He managed only slightly better, but caught the line with his hands.

The confidence in the rig was now much higher, and we were psyched.  Andrew tried next – took a few steps and swung – catching the line barely in his hands.

Emma hesitated, but no one blamed her.  She eventually made numerous attempts, each ending in a full length whipping fall – bold!

I leashed up again – took a few steps unto the line and corrected my balance. Out on the line, it seems that all senses become significantly acute.  The cold air drafting up from the chasm feels refreshing cool.  The line tension can be manipulated with only the slightest adjustment of body positioning.  My gaze is fixed – on the end of the line – on the objective.

Each step became independent from the last and the dynamic realization of each action became apparent.  As I stepped off the line, I let the air out of my lungs.

We spent the remainder of the day enjoying the solitude, a good bottle of wine, and a few crack climbs closer to town. Andrew and Emma left that night to be back at work in the morning, the slog of the weekend warrior. 

That night, Lam and I camped out near the trailhead of Millcreek Canyon. Millcreek, a sport climber’s paradise, sits inset in the foothills of the La Sal Mountain Range east of the town of Moab. For those that haven’t enjoyed this area – be warned -  it’s a bit runout at times, the climbing often sandbagged and finding it seems to be a crux in itself.

We spent the frigid morning climbing routes, Lam onsighting a few harder routes, and appreciating some of the best stone both of us have ever laid our hands on.  By mid-morning, the cold I have been fighting off for the week had set in.  Coughing fits led to brewed coffee and the decision to head somewhere with more exposure to the sun.

During the fall season, the town of Moab turns into a bustling hub of outdoor crushing.  With all the psych abound, comes the hordes of people.  It is often a struggle to find good camping while cruising from place to place.  After leaving the chilly slopes of the La Sals we settled for a day of light drinking and pebble wrestling at Big Bend Boulders.

We dabbled, sent, flailed, and shared libations with those who were around.  We spent that night drinking corn whiskey with some new friends while sandbagging them into trying Ancient Art. I love the people you meet in places like the desert. They share your sentiment, they have been places where you wish to go and their experiences only enrich the journey we find ourselves on.

The next day, the last day of our trip, we drank our coffee black.

Lamwise the Brave – the nickname I’ve given him for his fearless efforts and strength on the sharp end – was psyched. I had mentioned earlier in the week that we should try a route up on the Lighthouse tower, “Lonely Vigil, 5.10”, a tower classic that climbs a variety of pitches to a hoodoo summit.

We swung leads – in which we take turns leading – I started up the first 5.10 pitch, pulled through the slightly overhanging fist crack and swam my way through awesome handjams to the belay ledge.  Lam followed, cursed a bit at his small hand size, but cruised through.  Lam racked and started up the stellar third pitch with some great liebacking and some funky technical stemming.  He crushed the pitch, made it look easy to be honest.  I followed him up, finding different beta at times, but remarking the brilliant climbing as I made my way to the belay.  One more pitch led us to the base of the Hoodoo summit.  We hesitated and glanced at one another wondering how to surmount the overhanging boulder perched 500 feet high above the canyon floor with no anchor to be seen.  I tied in and made some moves to the summit block; I tagged the summit, turned around and laughed.  Lam smiled.

Back on the ground we threw our packs into the truck and sat on the tailgate.  I pulled out the bottle of whiskey – we both took a hardy pull.

My experiences seem to be ever more defined by the moments of spontaneity, commitment, and good company.  My expectations have only been limited by a lack of effort but with good friends there has never been a moment of disparage.  There never seems to be a lack in the energy of going forth and designing an adventure, as minor or as grand, into the places unknown with confidence and that ever present shit-eating-grin.

This past spring I enrolled in the BAIT program, a week-long endeavor in the middle of the desert where one’s limits are pushed and skills tested.  BAIT, known as Bad-Ass in Training, is not a legitimate program nor did I have to sign up.  It was an acronym given to me while camping with my two guy buddies in Moab this past spring.

In a moment’s notice (how I prefer to start adventures) I hopped into ‘El Toro’ with Andrew Muse and headed to Moab to climb, hike, bike, and play extreme boccie ball.  ‘El Toro’ is Andrew’s van that he lives out of with a massive bull skull on the front.  Once in Moab, we met our buddy Jake and for the rest of the week we all pushed ourselves into challenging climbs.  I am a novice at rock climbing, but am starting to grasp the amazing potential this sport has to offer.  I learned a great deal down in Moab, and really got to test my skills as an athlete in crack climbing, bouldering, and slot canyons.

In addition to my own bad-ass training, I got to watch my two buddies sleigh a world renowned climb, Ancient Arts.  The two guys spent all week mentally and physically preparing for what would be the most challenging rock climb they have ever down.  Needless to say, they conquered it and waved to me from the top with the biggest grins.

Jake Ward and myself climbing Ancient Art in Fisher Towers in Moab, Utah. Unfortunately my GoPro dies on the last pitch, but had an amazing day none-the-less. Music thanks to Nostalgia 77, Seven Nation Army. A big thanks to ToasterShades, SnowSnobs and TheFirstChair.

The other night, as I was snuggled in my sleeping bag underneath Southern Utah’s stars, the two words fear and confidence were shuffling throughout my consciousness.  The definitions of the words seemed so different, yet somehow were so intertwined when it came to thinking of my own capabilities.  It seemed that confidence was only going to progress my abilities, however, I still couldn’t let go the fact that fear was a major driving force of engaging in the activities in the first place.  I am sure everyone is different, but I think a combination of fear and confidence allows me to set and pursue my goals.

Alright, enough with the philosophizing… I had one crazy and enticing week in Southern Utah!

The past two months, my boyfriend and I have been planning a bike en devour that would start in St. George, where we would ride Gooseberry Mesa, and then spectate at Redbull’s Rampage Mountain Bike Comp.  After, we would head to Moab to conquer the Slick Rock Trail and the infamous Whole Enchilada.  We would wrap it up with biking in Fruita, and return to Park City as better bikers and tanned for the winter.

Like all my other travels, things didn’t go as planned…

Maybe ya’ll know this, but I highly recommend checking online motel reviews before booking!  When Matt (the boyfriend) asked me to book a cheap motel for the first night, I followed the request as asked and found the cheapest room I could. I happened to find the one with the most bed bugs and toxic meth smells in the country.  Need less to say, we got in late and made the best of our drug dealer-esque abode.  The next morning, we set out to find a pristine camping ground on Gooseberry Mesa.  Once settled with a spectacular view of Redbull’s Rampage event site below us, we suited up to ride the much talked about slick rock.  Ten minutes into our ride, I realized the terrain was more challenging and unpredictable than I thought!

The South Rim Trail is not only physically demanding, but also requires much mental thought on how to maneuver such technical features.  As I stated above, this was one of the moments fear and confidence melted into one emotion of fast-paced heartbeats and intense focus.  I came up to a steep rock garden that ended in a 3 foot drop, and without enough hesitation, I was sending it. I did not ‘send’ as in stomped the beast of a run like a pro, but more like ‘sent’ into a pile of rocks via face.  I was a bloody mess with a very fat lip.

I hobbled back to the tent and cleaned up thinking how fortunate I was to just walk away with scrapes and bruises.  Lots of neosporin, whisky pulls, and ton of gauze later, I passed out early to wake up for the WAY gnarly Redbull Rampage!

Redbull Rampage is a downhill mountain bike competition in Virgin, Utah where the world’s best riders come to huck their meat off 50 foot cliffs and establish lines in terrain no one in their right mind would imagine is ride-able.  Two days of watching pro-athletes stomp tricks, and some not so much, was exhilarating!!! I didn’t mind the nasty, pussy wounds on my face because every now and then I would get a look from one of the pros and geek out.  Hopefully they were thinking ‘Daaaaamn!’ and not ‘maybe you should stick too shopping’.

From there, my personal  junk show continued, as if melting skin off my face the previous day weren’t enough! Sometime during the event, I slipped off my bike into a thorn bush.  Seconds later, I had a stick that was an inch buried in the center of my palm.  Matt yanked it out, and I soon lost all functionality in my right hand. And then, as if losing feeling in one of my hands wasn’t enough, I made the mistake of slicing my left hand’s finger with a knife trying to open the Oral Gel I bought for my scorpion incident.

But – I wasn’t going to give up that easy!

After Redbull Rampage wrapped up, we trekked to Moab as planned and found a nice place to camp with our friend Fletcher who had come down to meet us.  Somehow, biking was the only thing that didn’t hurt.  After conquering (which involves walking my bike) Slick Rock, we all pumped ourselves up for the Whole Enchilada.  The three of us rented 6 inch travel bikes and set out early to ride one of the hardest trails in the country.

I am not sure if it was the 6 in Davinchi Dixen bike that gave us a sense of invincibility or the previous days of watching the best riders in the world slay the impossible, but Matt and I’s confidence may have gotten to the best of us.  Several miles from the Porcupine Rim, Matt attempted a 5 foot drop and unfortunately went over the handle bars.  The result was a broken wrist that swelled up to a big purple blob within seconds.  If you know the Whole Enchilada trail, than you know there are no outs.  It was a ten mile hike out on rigid and narrow terrain, taking us a total of 2 and half hours.  The adrenaline, along with a high pain tolerance from previous injuries, kept Matt pushing his bike along the mesa’s rim.  When we got to the bottom, the ambulance we had called for was not there.  So, we hitch-hiked to the hospital where they reset Matt’s wrist and pumped him with pain killers.  We then left Moab at 10 pm and drove back to Salt Lake City, while chugging massive amounts of caffeine.  I pulled into the University of Utah’s emergency room at 3 am and dropped the poor guy off to get more medical attention.

As if the day wasn’t stressful enough, when I pulled into the parking garage, I was brutally reminded I had the bikes on top of the roof still and I heard a big and heart breaking CLUNK.  A full day of exhausting riding, hiking out of the desert with an injured boyfriend, spending hours in a Moab hospital, and then driving through the night, smashing our bikes into a cement wall was the last straw. I must have woke the whole hospital with my shrills and uncontrollable swearing. What an unbelievable day!

Fortunately the bikes had minimal damage and it was my psyche that took most of the beating.

Matt went for wrist surgery at 10 am and came out with a new plate and 7 screws apart of his arm.  Everything went smooth and he should have a solid recovery!

The two of us have put our bikes always for the season and downloaded a plethora of ski movies to get us stoked for the new season. Moab, you win this time. But come Spring, and we’ll be back for more!

In the meantime, cheers to snow!