Moab, Utah is home to the greatest mountain biking on the planet! The Moab Mountain Bike Association recently tested out the newest network of singletrack called Navajo Rocks.

Socializing with the Monitor and the Merrimac in the background.

Shot upon the Ramblin’ Trail.

Happy peddlers

Navajo Rocks trail is about 4.4 miles long and is considered “a solid intermediate ride” with an average 6% grade. Short steep climbs exceed a 15% grade with the high point of the trail being about 5,300 feet and the low point about 5000 feet. Fun and Flowy! For full trail information, click here.

The Moab Travel Council also printed this newest map: Moab Area Mountain Biking and Road Cycling Map. It is also available free at the Moab Information Center in the heart of downtown Moab or print it from the link.

Images from the Moab Chapter ride of IMBA (International Mountain Bike Association)

There are days that I find myself craving the winding, rolling, hairpin traverses of the single track.  I am a runner, but I am not the type of runner who trains on a schedule or races towards goals.  Ney. I am a runner that loves the freedom I feel when I am zipping past overgrown meadows, or swinging Tarzan style on low lying branches, or launching myself to do side kicks off some rollies (must be the skier in me).  I run to be free.  I have no training schedule, no timers, no watches, and no idea of how far I am going to run that day.  Just running for hours. Well mostly running.

When I get to a trailhead, my regimen usually consists of lacing up my kicks, turning on that perfect playlist and then hitting the dirt.  Here is my dirty little secret: I find myself being pulled into the music and the trail so much I break out and start dancing.  Yeah, that’s right.  Dancing.  Even for a few seconds just to drop the beat and then I am pounding the dirt again.  It has become an addiction.  I find myself doing handstands, popping off tree stumps, using trees as imaginary dance partners; you name it.  By the time I know it, a few hours have gone by and I feel glorious! It’s as if the trail has a story to tell and I am its evolution witnessing the changing scenery and discovering what’s just around that corner.  I am celebrating the journey.  It is here that I have found my happy place.

It hasn’t always been this way.  I used to run on a training schedule, with watches to measure my pace and with a goal in mind.  Rarely, did I finish a run with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. It felt like work.  Lately, that smile is guaranteed and instead of work it feels like play. The craving I get is not a craving for the physical act of running. It’s a craving for the experience, the feeling I get when I am in that mode, in that place, getting lost in the magic of the trail.

When I first came to Brule, Alberta, I was profoundly excited at all the mountain biking potential it so quietly held.  I imagined there was a world of trails waiting, wanting to be discovered. Sitting in the yard, I would look at the mountain for hours. It was a strange combination of hoping and knowing there was an epic trail on her, waiting to see the love of a mountain bike.

Slowly, bit by bit, I am familiarizing myself with this place. Talking with locals and neighbors to get every little bit of information on what exists out here. However, with so much high quality riding in Hinton, Jasper and just outside of Brule, it has taken me a few years to find the riding right here in town. Knowing that if it didn’t already exist, this place was ripe, and perfect for building it… or maybe just restoring it. Brule sits right on the Jasper National Park boundary, and the area is full of nearly 100 year old mining roads, old prospect trails, and ruins.

Yesterday was a throwback. I ventured out and up to the Brule graveyard. A final resting place for many of the Groat family, among others, who helped make this region, and this province what it is today. I only meant to ride up there to see it, as I had not previously taken the opportunity.  Too busy riding the well known trails around our community pasture, nordic centre and Hinton, I began falling into the belief that nothing lay on that mountain but bramble and bear shit. I longed for single track.

I wasn’t prepared for a big ride. There was a half litre of water in my pack, 15% battery in my phone, and I had no idea what I was about to find. No camera, no tracking the ride, a raglan t-shit, no knowledge of what lay in front of me. I only knew these three things.

1. There were trails leading off the road.
2. When the mountain was on my right, I was headed toward Ogre canyon,  and when on the left back towards Brule.
3. All my hopes were about to be confirmed. The best feeling ever!

The bugs were bad. There was bear shit on the trail. It was over grown in many places. I ran out of water and filled up at the creek. I have no idea how far I went, or how much vertical I covered.  I kept riding this old single track as it wandered up and down and back up along the hillside below the mountain. Flowing S turns took me from a climb into a descent,  switching back into a climb. Every time I thought it petered out, I would come across an intersection.

This was the throwback. It was like falling in love with this sport all over again.

I couldn’t ride every trail I saw. I never rode the same trail twice, and I was able to do a complete loop back to the graveyard road (which is 52 st. oddly enough, in a town with only three streets!). This region has so much hidden potential to be a world class destination for our beloved sport. In many ways it already is. But I can’t help feeling there is a piece of that puzzle, waiting to be dusted off and joined with the rest.

I was in full pursuit of a dream, atop a bicycle, our noblest invention (thank you Stance films for “Life Cycles”).

It felt like a quest, a noble cause.

This summer, pursue your dreams and fly by the seat of your pants once in a while. Seek out the adventurer within.

Spread stoke, go far, and BE in the Mountains.

Whether you’re shuttling up or making the climb, the Pinecone Ridge trail atop Park City Mountain Resort is simply a shit-eating-grin-of-good-time kind of trail. It’s fast, flowy, and smooth. Here’s a quickie edit of Kevin enjoying some of Park City’s finest single track …