(need to format pix, will include in the future. Your feedback is welcome-its a bit lengthy, but damn was it a good trip...)

By: Lightning Dreyfus & Tucker Bretton (porn star names have been substituted)

Tucker’s Story

“Pisces (Feb. 19 – March 20) One thing you can be dead sure of: You don’t have a clue what is going on right now. You probably think you do. And you definitely want everyone else to think you do. You are probably all fired up professionally, determined to kick some butt and hot to make a dent …If only you knew what was going down behind the scenes. But you don’t. In fact, you can’t even be certain what is happening in your own mind at this point. As motivated as you may think you are, theres a strange voice in the back of your head that won’t shut up. It keeps whispering “Give up. Run away.” What to do?”
Well that was a fine how-do-you-do. Now I believe in horoscopes, fate, and the stars as much as the next cynical gen-X’er, but this seemed a little too on the money for me to ignore. I had just put in my time at a fine 4-year college, and had been lucky to both graduate and somehow land a job with a late start date. The future was looking pretty rosy, but I still had the lingering questions that most of us probably have at this stage in life: what should I do now? Live to work or work to live? Why is the sky blue? What is the riding like in Vancouver and Fruita?
So I followed the strange voice in the back of my head and decided to find out the answer to the last question. I got a car; not just any old jalopy but a true road chariot, an electric blue 2002 Subaru WRX wagon (aka the Blue Poo). My old friend Lightning and I had been talking about a road trip for some time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to run away….

Lightning’s Story

Yo! That’s me! Some like to call me the salty seamen. But that’s just all my landlubber friends who don’t understand the siren call of the sea. For those of you who mountain bike or backpack, or enjoy the backcountry/wilderness, or just the solitude of being away and in the clutches of raw nature then you will understand. It’s all the same…
So my story starts as everyone else’s, growing up in a town that we can’t help to resent, but can’t help from calling home. I met Tucker after a particularly extraordinary camping trip our senior year in high school. The year was 1997. The trip was about rebelling and partying. Much of which no one really remembers, but a damn good time nonetheless. We found that we both liked to skimboard and play in the surf and the rest is history. I would like to say that our friendship has evolved to land where we enjoy the modern invention of the wheel and have discovered mountain biking. The following is the story of another one of our misadventures. …

Day 1 - 8/2 – Davis, CA
Our lack of preparation was horrendous. Lightning’s email had some technical issues, so leading up to departure we hadn’t communicated in over 3 weeks, and hadn’t even looked at a U.S. map in over 2 months. We had a vague idea of cities and trails we wanted to hit, but no idea of how we would do it. However, as Lightning would later say, “we can’t be late because we have no agenda.”. This is the kind of logic that justified our laziness and would somehow carry us through over two weeks of asphalt-blazin’, state-terrorizin’, hellbent roadtrippin’. Yikes.
We were working with two time limitations – Tucker had to be in Phoenix on the 12th to participate in a “high performance driving” class at Bob Bondurant’s school of fine driving (more on this later), and Lightning was going to be starting real classes on the 21st in California. After looking over the continent, we knew this would be a challenge. We had seen the pictures and videos of riding in British Columbia, and although it was about as North as possible, and Phoenix about as South, we decided BC deserved to be one of the destinations, with Mt. Ashland, Bend, Corvalis, Portland, and Seattle along the way.
That afternoon Lightning made the trip to Chico to get some work done on his Specialized, while Tucker trucked it to San Jose to see some friends. It soon became obvious that our original plan of leaving early was not gonna happen. By the time we had the Subie packed and ready to go, it was around 9pm. Into the twilight…

Day 2 - 8/3 – Ashland, OR.

Somehow we made it to the border in our first night, and rolled out the sleeping bags at Emigrant Lake State Park. We cleared out early, and after breakfast in the Albertson’s parking lot, found Rogue Valley Cycle Sport (info@roguecycle.com), who helped with maps and trail suggestions. Full of energy and excitement, we took off in search of a monster loop, but the lack of trail markings made it a little tough. Basically we did a 2.5 hour climb that consisted of loose gravel and some hardpack granite above Lithia Park to one of the Horn Gaps (#1, 2 or 3? Who knows!), where we found a narrow descent that led to some of the sweetest single track of our lives. The section was fairly short, but we were definitely rewarded for our efforts. The trail was tight, with swooping bumps that weaved in between trees…great stuff. On the way we also made a few runs at a cool step-down jump and a high berm that provided some smiles.
To recover from the ride and prepare for the next one, we set up shop on Rogue Valley Cycle Sport’s comfortable lawn, to the amusement of neighbors and pedestrians everywhere (thanks guys). We had a few hours before the 6pm shuttle ride to the top of Mt. Ashland…
The shuttle ride was an experience in itself. We arrived at the parking lot of the Bear Creek Bike Shop about an hour early, which was good because we were some of the last to get our bikes loaded. We were met by a bunch of enthusiastic, young, mostly downhill/freeriders, with nice full suspension rigs and plenty of padding (Lightning had neither). We loaded up on the short bus, paid the $5 fee, and were off. The first surprise was when the driver busted out with a crazy mix tape of weird punk and rock. The second surprise was when he directed the creaking old van up a narrow dirt hiking trail, and suddenly we were at the drop zone. We quickly jumped onto the tail end of a group of locals, and followed them down a screaming, rock-filled, dusty trail. Brakes and shocks were put to the test, as were forearms and fingers. The trail was awesome, and we were going faster than we could believe. Speed tears formed in the corner of our eyes, and dust was flying everywhere. The sides of the trail were well bermed-out, and there were hits and drops left and right. Tucker made a few of them, then took a good bail off of a log drop with a sketchy landing. We dusted off and proceeded through some tough switchbacks, to find a short wood bridge with a nice 3-foot drop. At the bottom of this section the trail leveled off, and we met up with some riders who said they’d show us around, and we were not disappointed. The exact route and the ride were a blur, but we remember something about Toothpick, Four Corners, and Alice in Wonderland. They took us through amazing trails, with more jumps and bumps, bermed sides, and tight turns. By the end of the ride, we were completely covered in dirt, and smiling ear to ear. Ashland was a huge surprise, and one of the best days of riding we had ever had. A good start to the trip…

Day 3 - 8/4 – Bend, OR.
After the Ashland experience, we were going to try and make it all the way to Bend, but after the day’s rides, had no endurance for the drive. We spent the night at a place whose name we have repressed, and which in hindsight might not have been the best call. There was one vacant spot, and on arrival we were greeted by deep growls and barks, but we were so tired we stopped anyway. This noise would prove to be part of the wake up call, as Lightning was nearly charged by a rabid-looking German shepherd / demon mix. The clueless owner told us the snarling beast was “really just a sweetheart”, but that “it was good you didn’t run”. Later she offered us some puppies. After this scare, a 6-inch long weiner dog came over to pee on our sleeping bags, and before we could leave this place of scary canines, a black 3-legged cat came scrounging for food. We decided we had had enough of this bewitched animal kingdom, so booked it to Bend with hopes of finding normal people and pets (and above normal trails).
Once in Bend, we stopped by Hutch’s Bicycles (www.hutchbicycles.com), where they put together a great ride for us. It started out of the Tumalo Ridge Trail, climbed past the Swede Ridge shelter, through Swampy Lakes, and wound up at the Tumalo falls. This was an excellent loop, with a good mix of uphill and descents. Some of the highlights included singletrack where the Manzanita bushes had nearly overtaken the trail so you couldn’t see around corners, and a sweet 12-foot long log ride.
The scenery itself was pretty amazing; the climb treated us to great views across the woods, and the downhill wound next to a stream. At the end, we stopped in front of a waterfall that looked almost too perfect.

Day 4 - 8/5 – Corvalis, OR.
We had the good fortune of meeting up with a high school friend, and crashing at his place, which was a welcome change from the parks we had been sleeping at (thanks Miguel). That night we discovered that Corvalis is the kind of town where you can find a disk brake on a hoopty road bike and locals who party and dance like its 1949 (“the Corvalis Slam Dance” - Lightning). That night we went out on the town for some excellent Woodstock’s pizza, then to Peacock’s for surprisingly potent Coors Light and a few embarrassing games of pool.
The next day our host was determined to show us the good stuff, and the three of us set off for some riding. The trails were mostly smooth, rolling dirt single track with some sections laid over with gravel. Although some of the fire roads were closed off for logging trucks and logging operations, we still had a good time in the McDonalds forest on Dan’s trail, Dimple and Horse trails
After the ride, we hit up an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, where we got an omen that would prove its truth over the coming miles. “Be prepared to change your plans” was one of the biggest nuggets of wisdom ever imparted by the fortune cookie gods. After consulting the map and a calendar, we realized that we didn’t have a whole lot of time to cover a whole lot of ground, and although we were trying to avoid as much planning as possible, we realized we had to get truckin’ if we were ever going to ride in Canada. Visits to Portland and Seattle had to be sacrificed after we smacked into the expected wet weather and the unexpected gobs of traffic. We were heading to the land of the giants in Vancouver, BC...
The first issue was crossing the border. Neither of us was too worried about it, after all, its only Canada, right? Lightning had brought his passport (complete with serial killer photo), but all Tucker was packing was a CA drivers license and a video card. Neither of us was looking forward to getting turned around after driving 7+ hours through traffic and bad weather, not mention missing out on B.C. riding. We pulled up to the booth planning to play it smooth, but the tough questions just destroyed our confidence…

“What is your nationality?”, asked the immigration interrogator.
“California”, we replied.
“Sorry boys, California is not a country yet”, was her icy reply. This was going to be harder than we thought…

However, after the cannucks scanned our criminal, medical, and dental records and found us to moral upstanding citizens, we were allowed safe passage to beautiful British Columbia. We made it to Stanley park, just on the edge of downtown Vancouver, and spent the night out of the wet and cold in the back of the Blue Poo.

Day 5- 8/6/01 - Vancouver, BC
Waking up in Stanley Park it was a relief to see no parking tickets and bikes still on the roof. After some short rides within the park, we checked out the cool totem poles, and then geared up to go North Van.
We hit up multiple bike shops for trail suggestions, none of which were especially friendly or helpful, until we came to Steed Cycles (www.steedcycles.com), who were great. They ran a nice clean shop, and provided us with recommendations and directions. Thanks guys.
The trails were not as cooperative; some of the craziest stuff we have ever seen. On the climb up to Oil Can, we met a local who said he’d show us the way. He had moved from Calgary so as to have these trails in his backyard, but mentioned that he had mellowed out since having kids (yeah right). At the trail head, he left us with the advice “momentum is your friend. Just roll it” before sliding his Cove down a near vertical 6-foot stump. His words would prove to be true. Riding here takes a combination of incredible balance, strength, and confidence. For us, the trail was a series of sections; make it to one drop-off, tight switchback, or log ride, try to clear it, then tackle the next obstacle.
It was a struggle just to stay upright through one stunt, but for the locals we saw ripping on their large tread, big suspension, disk-braked rigs, the trail was an exercise of slow speed flow. Lightning was riding awesome, making tough rock and root sections, and Tucker managed a few good drops,
but for the most part we were there as spectators. The conditions were incredibly sloppy and slippery; there was mist dropping throughout most of our ride, and it was hard merely walking through some sections. We found the Flying Circus, which was just nuts. It had elevated catwalks over 15 feet high, narrow runways, big drops, and long log rides. It was crazy actually being at the place we had seen in videos and magazines. Seventh Secret treated us a little better, most of it was rideable, except for the bottom, which had turned to mud soup. We got back to the car covered in slop, but stoked that we had tried it. Much respect to BC and the guys that live, ride, and build there.

Day 6 – 8/7/01 – Whistler, BC
From Vancouver we shot up to Whistler, and pulled into the Brandywine campgrounds late at night. This turned out to be one of the nicer sites, with a beautiful waterfall not far from the main parking lot. We checked it out, then quickly geared up for some resort riding, looking forward to the luxury of being lifted to the tops of climbs. We thought that after witnessing North Van, the level of difficulty could only decrease. This was true to some level; we didn’t see any elevated trails or see-saws in Whistler, but would see plenty of steep downhill sections, tight rooty singletrack, and big drops. On one of the first gondola rides up, we were advised by locals to be careful, as this was a land of “serious consequences”. We would later witness the truth of this statement when we saw a kid being heckled for crashing; he weakly replied that he thought he had broke his neck, and the teasing continued.
We got some suggestions from locals about rides, and found some awesome trails. Even though only about half of the mountain was accessible, there was still plenty to keep us entertained. The line A and B were the main runs that led to other fun stuff like Fantastic, Rippin Root A Bega, Golden Triangle, Hornet, Heart of Darkness, and Good Call. We finished off the day with great pub grub and some Lifty Lager at the Brewhouse in the village, and were served by a cool waitress we had bumped into earlier waiting in the lift line! This was a pattern of life at Whistler; we met a lot of locals who would go up for a few runs before starting their regular job. It was cool that mountain biking was such a significant aspect of the everyday routine.

Day 7-8/8/01 -Traveling to Manning
This seemed to be another time in the journey that speed was of the essence; a time to get somewhere further down the road to Phoenix. From Whistler we traveled South-East and got into Manning Provincial park late at night, only to be greeted with a bad sign that read ‘campsite full’. Definitely a bad sign. After making sure that Canadian accounting was accurate and that all 50 campsites were indeed occupied we decided to go look into other options. Somehow we wound up talking to some nice (frantic) late-night workers who were (stressed) more than willing to set us up with some cheap digs in a cool chalet (note to grave shifters everywhere: ease up on the caffeine). It worked out and after much-needed showers and some sleep in real beds we were off early again to find greener pastures.
Random travel tip: Saran wrap is great stuff, especially if it comes ‘borrowed’ from mom’s kitchen. You can use it to protect your bike from suicidal bugs, keep the tires from scuffing paint, etc. Forget the expensive ‘bike bra’ and pack the plastic.

Day 8-8/9/01- East Along the Border
From Manning we drove East along Canadian Hwy. 3, buying litres of petrol and spending our loonies and toonies in a conservative fashion. Another day of driving to get to where we need to go, passing towns with names that we still cannot pronounce and some great scenery.
That afternoon we dropped South into Idaho and once again were harassed for having funny-looking license plates. Since we did not have real plates (“But I’ve got a VIN” – Tucker), we had covered the space with OutdoorREVIEW stickers, but our artistic expression was not well received. The guard took a look at Tucker’s bleached hair, the mountain bikes, and a back seat full of gear and figured out that we were really just fun-luvin’ Cali kids, and let us pass. We headed South, then East to Montana and Glacier National Park for a peaceful nights rest.
At the Apgar campsite we settled on one of 3 available sites, and dined on butane-warmed garlic bread, top ramen, and Fat Tire Amber Ale. After a healthy buzz was achieved, we left our modest campsite with fully charged NiteRiders to explore the thick aspens and tall grasses surrounding the campgrounds. After a whole day of driving and being cooped in the Blue Poo, we were stoked to be following singletrack of unknown destination. By day the trail was probably nothing special, but at night, the shadows were exaggerated, the forest noises were heightened, and our senses were wound up.
We wandered for part of the night just happy to be spinning and hopping over the ground on our bikes, stopping to check out the bright stars and the reflection of mountains in McDonald Lake. Deciding that we had covered enough ground without running into a bear or running out of light, we returned home without finishing the singletrack route, as some things are just inherently better left alone.

Day 9-8/10/01-Big Sky South to the Grand T’s
We arose early as usual and split to make the scenic drive through Glacier National Park along the Going-to-the-Sun Highway. If you have driven California’s Highway 1, then this is similar in that it hugs the mountain side, only without guardrails, and Indian Paintbrush in the place of poppies; deep valleys in the place of the ocean. We meandered South through Montana to Yellowstone National Park, which was amazing. Mammoth Hot Springs was the first attraction, which looked a little like Pizza the Hut from Spaceballs. The petrified tree wasn’t doing a whole lot, so we checked out the Upper and Lower Falls (109 and 308 feet, respectively). Next we stopped at the Fountain Paint Pot, which our notes tell us was a “real cool mud bubble pit” with “colorful bubbling water” – what gripping description! We watched some elk mosey across salt flats, then paid a visit to Old Faithful, who eventually worked up enough pressure to blow steam over 20 feet into the air.
As it was now nightfall, we hopped into the Blue Poo and continued south into the Grand Teton National Park, looking for a place to rest our heads. Unfortunately, a state trooper found us before we found the campsite at Flagg Ranch, and he proceeded to administer without mercy. We figured that the first speeding ticket was long overdue, and after 2500 miles we had been lucky to just pick up one, not to mention what a large animal would do to a Subie at speed. Oh well. We found a spot, threw out the tarp and sleeping bags, and spent another night under the stars. Today was not long enough to get a ride.

Day 10-8/11/01- Too long a rest…..
We left another campsite early and packed up what little we had. We drove down through the Grand Teton National Park, checking out the range of mid-10’s to 14K peaks on the way to Jackson Hole to find some trails.
Random travel tip #2: if you plan on roadtrippin and seeing the sights of the National Parks, buy a year pass. It is only $50, and gets you free entrance. We more than came out ahead on fees, and were also encouraged to see a lot more cool stuff.
After two days driving we were jonesing for some pedal action and there could not have been a nicer spot to ride. We started on the edge of town and found the Cache Creek trailhead, then tried to do a loop on Putt-Putt (‘tried’ because we lost the markings and went our own way – go figure). The trails were mostly packed single track with some short technical climbs. Some sections were horse trampled and very loose, consisting of powdery dirt and rocks. Again we were treated to nice views and riding through tight groves of aspens and grasses and wildflowers. There was really nothing ‘extreme’ about this ride, but that’s what made it great. It was simple, beautiful, and fun. Maybe what a real ride should be.
After finding our way out of the trail system and back into town we did some wandering around like the rest of the many tourists there. We picked up some necessary new road music and checked out all the local bike shops (if in town, look up Hoback Sports – hoback@hobacksports.com). We ate lunch at the locally-recommended Merry Piglet, which had great and plentiful Mexican. Good food, warm chips, and hot salsa just kept flowing.
On the way out of town we spied a nice lazy body of water called the Snake River, and saw a lot of locals enjoying the ol’ waterin’ hole. Since we had not showered for some time and Lightning’s Teva-funk’d feet had stunk since Ashland, we invaded the scene. As the dirt and sweat washed off, it was as if you could hear OutKast in the wind (“ain’t nobody dope as me…so fresh and so clean”). Indeed.
We thought that we could make Park City, UT at a reasonable hour that night and crash at one of Lightning’s girlfriend’s friends house. The only problem was that we had not called them beforehand to see if they were around. We hoped a) they would remember Lightning b) they liked the memory c) they would let us crash and d) they might spare food and showers. Fortunately, all of the above became true and Tracy and Vanesa were very gracious hosts. We had good times catching up and drinking imported (to Utah) Fat Tire Ale and watching Kranked 2. A big thanks, girls! Like they said, sometimes you need a vacation away from the vacation.
After a great breakfast we got down into the Park City canyon and to White Pines Touring, where we scored a map and some advice on where the technical single track lie. A pearl of hard-earned wisdom is this: never ask for technical single track. You will probably get more than you want. We started with yet another climb as our warm up and proceeded through yet more aspens and switchbacks on the way onwards and up (up, up, up) wards. In the back of our heads we could hear the bike shop workers laughing at our ignorance…
Our route went something like Spiro trail to Eagle trail to Cresent Ridge road to Meadow road to Apex trail to the Jupiter access road to Shadow Lake. Whew! Tough typing and even tougher climbing. It wasn’t very technical, but steep and long. Fortunately the way down was worth it, as we passed some moose near Shadow Lake and some old mines and big talus piles on the Comstock mine road descent. At the end of the ride, we again packed up and again drove off into the sunset. We were determined to make it to Zion (National Park), which would set us up at a decent distance from Phoenix. On arrival, we again found that a sign that stated every site was occupied, but on further inspection (and after considering another night in the Blue Poo), we found an empty group site. With plenty of space to sprawl out, we quickly fell asleep.

Day 11 – 8/12 – Zion to Phoenix
While the morning sun arrived too early, it provided for some amazing views of the red cliffs that were invisible the previous night. Deer grazed only a few feet away, and for better or worse seemed used to the presence of humans. From Zion we traveled to the north rim of the Grand Canyon, which was amazing. In comparison to the more popular southern viewpoints, the north seemed to have more vegetation, and significantly less crowds.
The rest of the way to Phoenix was fairly uneventful. Long ago we had started to recycle CDs, and the only new things were the uncomfortable heat and drivers who didn’t know where the real fast lane was supposed to be. Checking into the hotel was a bit more of an adventure. We weren’t too sure how we would be accepted, for although we had showered fairly recently, we had a Subie full of gear and some dirty bikes that we hoped to store. 3 full trips later and the hotel room looked exactly like a college dorm room. In a manner of minutes, beers were in the fridge, clothes hung out the window, and we were in the pool.
In Phoenix, the mountain biking aspect of the trip took a backseat, as Tucker would be taking classes on how to push his new Subie to the limits at the Bondurant School of Performance Driving. The class itself was made up of a variety of folks; men and women, young and old, democrats and republicans, all of which had paid a large lump of cash to learn one thing: how to drive faster. The highlights included the finer points of donuts and burn-outs, but also more important lessons in accident avoidance, controlling a skid, weight balance of the car, and road vision. There was a timed ‘autocross’ cone course, where Tucker’s times in the stock Blue Poo were better than his in the specially-prepped Mustang GT auto, but not quite as quick as in the GT manual. On the final day, some actual head-to-head racing went down on the school’s awesome track. At this point, there were some similarities with mountain biking: getting the fastest time involved being aware of your surroundings, properly using the brakes, taking advantage of the straight-aways, and following the best line. The school was fun and educational, and definitely gave Tucker some things to think about (like why he hadn’t taken the class before getting the speeding ticket). The instructors were great (and patient), the cars were a blast to drive, and the school in general is highly recommended for those who the closest they get to NASCAR is their TV.

Day 14 – 8/15 – Phoenix to Sedona
After the checkered flag dropped on the final day of racing, our roadtrip resumed and we left the urban sprawl of Phoenix for the red rocks of Sedona. By the time we got to the Bike N’ Bean, the shop was closed, but the sun was still up and we were ready for a ride. There were two older riders (question: “how long have you guys lived here?”, answer: “me, only 45 years, but he’s been here all his life”) milling around, and they offered to let us tag along. What followed was a great guided ride, aided by the humor of watching two old friends bicker and converse like they were getting ready for Grumpier Old Men on Mountain Bikes. It is a little difficult to describe the trail, because it didn’t always seem like we were on one. There were markings for most portions, for example near Bell and Cathedral Rocks, but there was something about a Llama trail in there too. Whatever they were named, the ride was definitely fun. We were lucky that it had rained recently, and the red dirt trail mixed with slickrock had mostly good traction as it rolled along. There were some tough little climbs, fairly technical sections where it was important to keep a good line, and drops of various sizes and shapes with good potential.
Deciding that we could not get enough riding by the sunlight, we stayed out with our trusty NiteRiders to have some more fun. As we mentioned earlier, it is not always easy to find the trail in Sedona, and this was especially true at night, since none of the rock formations could be used as landmarks. We accidentally got off trail and had to clump through cacti and rock to find our way back. The whole time we were thinking how tasty our little ankles would look to a hungry rattlesnake lying around. We tried to avoid the plants, because although there is vegetation, all Sedona flora inflicts bodily harm and flat tires (found out the hard way). We struggled out and found our way to Aggie’s, to split an awesome 16 in. ‘Pizza Man’ and sample a few of Oak Creek Brewing Co.’s finest.
It had been an active day, and with food coma quickly setting in, we set off in search of campsites. The closest on the map seemed to be off of Shnebly Hill, following a ‘scenic drive’. Now maybe some travelers would be dissuaded by the ‘passenger cars not recommended’ sign shortly after the pavement ended and turned to small boulders, but not us. After all, we were in the trusty Blue Poo and Tucker had just taken a driving class. We felt that this combination definitely put us in a class of car and driver able to handle any ‘scenic drive’, no matter how scenic it got. However, after about a half hour of plodding along rocks and ruts at a snails pace, Tucker conceded to a turnout and we set up camp by the side of the road. The view of Sedona lit up below and the sky filled with stars above was awesome, but our troubles were not quite over. It had seemed still on the drive up, but once we stopped we noticed a wind that would rise and fall with enough force to blow our tarp and bags. These altering gusts would also carry the red Sedona sand into our faces and anywhere else possible. Between sandstorms, the local mosquitoes were quite happy to find fresh targets. It was kind of a rough night, but waking up in the beautiful scenery of green vegetation set against deep red cliffs made it almost worth the morning eye-crust and blood donation.

Day 15 – 8/16 – Sedona
We got to the Bike N’ Bean (www.bike-bean.com) early enough to help set out the bike displays, and also to get some ideas on where to ride. The shop tech/java guru showed us the scale model of local trails and then drew out a map for Buddha Beach/Cathedral rock with expertise and speed that suggested he had done the trail (and map) once or twice. In any case, we’re sure that it was a good and accurate map, but we wound up again going our own way (note to selves – bad call). We scrambled up the Cathedral rock hiking trail with bikes in tow to find great views, and no easy way back to the trail. At this point, water was running low, and Tucker had gotten slow leaks in both tires to compliment Lightning’s earlier flats. The early afternoon sun was starting to make its presence felt, and we thought this was as good a time as any to finish up. We got back to the road, and back to the Subie. Overall, Sedona was fun and fast, with some technical rocky sections, lots of drops and bumps, great scenery, cool art, friendly people, and seemingly endless opportunities to explore.
As good as Sedona had been to us, we were stoked to be heading to the next destination: Moab, UT. This was another classic place that we had heard about and seen in magazines but never ridden. We drove past the rock spires of Monument Valley and stopped briefly at the Four Corners, but the real excitement lay on the road ahead. The wind had started to pick up, and the sunny skies of Sedona had long ago been replaced by menacing black thunderheads. It started to storm just as we pulled onto the Route 666 in Cortez, CO. Soon we were indeed on the Highway to Hell, with rain pounding on the hood, wind that sent tumbleweeds sailing, and lightning that reflected in purple hues off of the wet pavement. We sloshed through the biggest tempest of the trip, trying to think happy thoughts to reconcile the lives of all the bugs that had unfortunately met our windshield. Eerily, we passed through the storm soon after exiting devil drive, and with a clearer climate headed North to Moab on the saintly route 191. Once in town, we found a spot near the highway to crash, right near an oddly painted shack. It was late, we were tired, and we didn’t much care where we slept.

Day 16 – 8/17 – Moab
By morning light it became fairly obvious that we were probably sleeping where we shouldn’t have been. The painted shack was part of a larger country-western family theme park, which explained the sign that read “gunfight at sundown”. Over pancakes at Denny’s we saw a review of the park in the local newspaper, and a picture of some faux cowboy graves that we had been resting near (tombstone: Here lies Les Moore. Les took a shot from a .44, no Les, no More). Right…
The next step was getting to Top of the World Cyclery (www.twcmoab.com), and trying to figure out the daily ride. They suggested Porcupine Rim, and also a shuttle that for $10 would cut out a large part of the climb. Remembering our first shuttle experience, we were all for another one. This one wasn’t nearly as crazy as Ashland, but we did meet some fellow riders from the Bay Area who worked at Charles Schwab and had probably read some article in Men’s Health about ‘extreme mountain biking’. It was a little worrisome that these financial professionals became so confused over the minimal park entrance fee, but they were also having issues programming their GPS receivers to correspond with their cell phones. Whatever…we were ready to ride!
After a short climb, the trail broke off with a vista point to the right that overlooked a magnificent canyon. We caught our breath while watching hawks manipulate the air currents, and then it was back to the bikes for what would be an awesome ride. The trail was well marked and consisted of varying surfaces: some slickrock, some rocky portions, and some soft sandy parts. There were jumps, drops, and berms along the way, and we zipped along the Rim with great views to both sides. Towards the finale the trail became more technical, with steep and narrow sections that at times were fairly close to the edge, high above the Colorado River.
The ride finished on the road back into town, which led us straight to a wonderful Mexican place (to the side of Top of the World). The food was excellent, and the margaritas even better. We received tips on investment strategies (buy tequila) and how to get properly drunk in Utah (drink tequila) from the owner/cook/bartender and then took off for what really puts Moab on the map in our mind: “Butch Cassidy’s King World Water Park”, the funnest, most darn-tootin’est water slides in all of Utah, no doubt. Tucker sessioned Calamity Jane’s Flume and Butch Cassidy’s Cavern, while Lightning passed out in the shade and scared all of the tourists. Next we went to Arches National Park, where we witnessed the gravity-defying Balanced Rock and some awesome arches and rock formations.
The sun was starting to set, but the activities were not yet over. We drove back up to the Slickrock mountain bike park trailhead, parked at a campsite, readied the NiteRiders, and took off from our site for a wild night ride. There had not been much of a chance to scope out the path in the daylight, but the trail seemed to be well marked with paint, and we were ready to explore. There was no moon, no other cyclists, and only the reflection in the eyes of the desert creatures to accompany us. The first surprise was how good the traction really was; you could ride straight up a hill, with all of your weight over the front wheel, and still keep spinning. The second surprise was how easy it was to get disoriented. Part of the fun was losing the white trail markers, and then finding them on the corner of the light beams. We rode enough of the loop to work up a sweat and run our lights low, then headed back to enjoy some Wasatch Slickrock Lager and observe the constellations.

Day 17 – 8/18 – Fruita, CO
By this point, the cruel combination of driving and biking had taken a heavy toll on our bodies, but we were also painfully aware that our trip would soon be drawing to a close. We thought of the things that we would normally be doing, such as sitting through traffic on the way to work, or sitting through class dreaming of the recess bell. Compared to either of these scenarios, the aches and pains didn’t seem bad at all…and we rallied for the next destination.
There promised to be something special about the next stop. Fruita had been enthusiastically recommended by various people throughout our trip; it seemed that those in the know had all visited once or twice. We imagined that the trails lay on the edge of being underground, somewhere that perhaps had not yet been fully discovered and exploited.
As we pulled into town, Lightning said the scene was like something out of the Twilight Zone, and it kinda was. The morning streets were silent and empty, with only a few zombies roaming around. Intelligent life was found at the Over the Edge bike shop, where we were surprised to see an ‘Iditabike’ (with double-wide rims and snow tires – in the middle of nowhere, Colorado?) and one of Paul Turner’s Maverick dual-suspension rigs. Soon we were set up with a map and a suggestion for technical singletrack: Kokopelli trailhead to Mary’s Loop to Steve’s Loop / Handcuffs to Lion’s Loop / Mack Ridge trail to finish on Moore Fun. We basically followed the plan, with a few amendments. First we rode along Rustler’s Loop, which proved interesting and informative, and maybe a little too well marked. Plaques along the way gave advice on everything from ‘S-Turns’ to ‘Switchbaks’ (demonstrated by the trail), and finally concluded with the tips like ‘Relax’ and the useful ‘Get off Your Butt!’ The day’s ride was overall really good, with great cliffside views of the muddy Colorado River and some tough climbs, but this was not the ideal ride after over two weeks on the road. The mid-day sun was relentless, and the person who named Moore Fun must have been a masochist. Technical singletrack to the fullest extent of the term…
Towards the end of the ride we were definitely spent; every drop in the camelbaks had been drained, every melted chunk of powerbar devoured, and there was only one thing that motivated us to continue. One product in the world that could save us from wilting. After the ride we quickly pursued the only thing that could possibly salvage our moods, that sweet sweet slurpee goodness that spills and gushes at convenience stores nation-wide. God Bless America! Our happiness restored, we considered that the ride hadn’t really been that tough. But then again, anything seems possible with a slurpee in hand…
Which might have been why we thought it wise to drive. Really far. We got back in the Blue Poo, determined not to get out until California. In the words of the Beastie Boys, “No sleep ‘til”…MAMMOTH!!!

Day 18 – 8/19 – Mammoth Lakes, CA
The fact that we made it back to Cali, and furthermore Mammoth, has nothing to do with us, the car, or the road. It would not have been at all possible without the blasting tunes of the Deftones, the Descendants, the Suicide Machines, Goldfinger, old Nirvana, old Ministry, and compilations from Lookout!, Fat Wreck, and Epitaph. In any event, we made it to the sleepy resort town and crashed at Tucker’s old A-frame cabin somewhere in the wee hours before 3 am, after spending half a day behind the wheel.
Neighborhood dogs rudely interrupted our slumber, and we were faced with the difficult task of figuring out what to do with ourselves. Lightning had had enough; he took the Blue Poo to visit Mono Lake and shop for discount snowboard gear. Tucker had a go at one last day of riding, thinking that resort riding would mean less climbing and thus less pain. His fickle reasoning did not take into account the 40+ mile per hour gusts at the top of the 11,000 foot hill or the quicksand-like terrain created by volcanic ash and small stones. Although the strong wind caused unintentional line changes, and some of the soft sections caused big dusty washouts, Mammoth still ripped. The favorite run of the day was down Off the Top, which switch-baked across the backside of the mountain, to Beach Cruiser, which had some awesome, high-speed root drops. The Mammoth experience was capped off by a visit to the geological wonder that is Devil’s Postpile, a good dinner at the Old Mammoth Grill, and nighttime entertainment provided by a ‘Grateful Cover Band’ at the High Sierra Rock n’ Grill. All in all, a successful day following a series of many.

Day 18 – 8/20 – Home
In the morning, we faced up to the fact that it was time to go home; we’d been gone long enough. On leaving Mammoth, we headed through Yosemite to check out the famous El Capitan and Half Dome, and took one final dip in a river to escape the heat. Slowly it was dawning on us all that we had experienced, and we didn’t want it to be over, although we were weary from the pace. It was incredible to reflect on the various cities, sights, and rides. We had gone from the wild forests and wilder weather of British Colombia to the arid red rock of Sedona; from the grippy slickrock of Moab to the sandy singletrack of Mammoth, all in the span of a few weeks.
While special for us, it is difficult to come up with something profound to share with others. There have probably been many similar trips that came before and will occur after ours. Really, it is pretty simple to summarize what we did: we got a car, we drove, we got gas, we rode, and we slept and ate where we could. But there are a lot of things that go beyond description: the feeling of conquering a tough climb or making a difficult section, the warmth of the sunrise and colors of the sunset, seeing nature in it’s own backyard, the taste of a great meal after a great ride, connecting with new and old friends. These are the things that make life and our sport great wherever you go. It’s not necessary to travel to experience them, but by traveling, we found it is the same across the land. Maybe it is that escaping, venturing, or exploring we come to realize how lucky we really are. Our gratitude and thanks to all those who helped us along the way, we hope that maybe our story makes some of you consider running away, or at least stopping to enjoy what you have. Happy trails…

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