May 13, 2011

• Moab - Day 2

  Day 2

  Saturday morning dawned hot and breezy and the prospect of another day in a parking lot propelled me into the resort office to beg for a better site.  The woman at the reception desk grudgingly gave me a site that had been vacated, initially telling me that it was reserved for someone who was coming in that day.  I suggested that she could put the newcomers in our hellish spot and she could think of no reasonable rebuttal, but she clearly wasn’t as happy a camper as I was.  I scampered back to deliver the good news to my companions.  Their enthusiasm for the move was tempered by the daunting task of moving all our gear. 

  Sadly, we had not gotten the memo that laid out the time and meeting place of the ride scheduled for that day, and we were blithely eating our breakfast when Mark came by to see if we were almost ready to leave.  Knowing we had a good hour’s work ahead of us, moving the trailer and getting ready for the ride, we told him to tell the group not to wait for us.  We expected we would connect with them somewhere on the trail.

  By the time we hit the trail it was nearly ninety degrees in the shade, and there wasn’t a spot of shade.  Jeeps were lined up along Kane Creek Road congregating for the assault of Amasaback, which was also our destination. 

  

  

  Amasaback trail starts with a broken, stair step descent, so steep and jagged that only the foolhardy plunge over the edge without hesitation.  When we arrived, there was a jeep occupying the line we needed and he wasn’t moving.  The driver’s female companion was standing downhill voicing her opinion about his route choice, while the children (who were strapped in) and family dog watched in wonder as we nimbly skirted around them. 

  The trail showed evidence of extremely heavy 4-wheel use.  Every rose-colored, sandstone ledge bore a tire-black track, and where there was loose material, soil and rock was churned up into an almost unrideable morass.  Amasaback had always been one of my favorite trails and I had bragged it up to Guy and Sally so it was disappointing to find it so degraded. 

  

  Near the summit we found a trail marker guiding cyclists off the jeep-beaten track.  It meandered along the edge of a sandstone outcrop for a short distance and then jumped off a series of ledges to a nicely groomed trail into a shallow canyon.  We stopped at the junction of the Rockstacker trail and sat at an overview for a snack. 

  

  

  Rockstacker was described on the map as an extremely technical trail with dangerous exposure. 

  

  We watched as several young men rolled down the trail, intermittently disappearing from view as the trail followed the contours of the side of the cliff.  They reappeared a couple of hundred yards away where the trail turned straight down a very steep slope.  The first guy rode it carefully but smoothly; the second sailed down effortlessly, the third tried to brake and arrested his speed by sliding into a bush next to the trail.  A few minutes later, another group followed.  These fellows were not as proficient and promised to be more entertaining.  A couple of them got off and walked after seeing their friend bounce off his front wheel and sail superman style over the bars.  The aforementioned beleaguered bush captured his runaway bike. 

  We continued on our trail out to a spectacular view of Poison Spider Mesa and the mighty Colorado.  Retracing our steps, we had to climb out of the canyon we had so gaily descended earlier.  The climb wasn’t so gay.  By the time we reached the main trail that descended the mesa my legs were toast. 

  Sally thought these shots made our butts look big.

  Again we encountered a pod of jeepers bunched up at a difficult transition,

  

  but we were able to pick a good line around them and continued on our way, unimpeded.  When the trail crossed Kane Creek Sally and I immersed our parched bodies in its cool, restorative waters. 

  

  It was so revitalizing that I momentarily forgot my rubber legs, my sore ass, my raw hands, and my pocketed camera.  I am hopeful that the legs, ass, and hands will heal, not quite as optimistic about the camera.

  Back at camp, Guy collapsed.  He had run out of water, unbeknownst to Sally and me, and gotten a bit dehydrated.  We laid out an instant feast of fruit, cheese, fresh veggies, Gatorade, and other less nutritious snacks.  Within minutes we were back among the living and planning our next ride.

  The rest of the day was occupied with camp chores, grocery shopping, showers, and naps.  By evening the breeze was turning gusty so we ate our bean, rice and cheese burritos inside.  We hung out at Jeff and Gail’s campsite for a while before turning in for a well deserved night’s rest.

   

  • 2:25 am
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