Showing posts with label roamutah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roamutah. Show all posts
I
can recall a time I felt growing pains. I was walking down the hallway in our
house and a sudden pain shot through my leg, in fact I remember crying out that
I had just been shot in the leg with an arrow, a flint tipped Port Orford Cedar
shaft right through my femur. I've recovered from the incident, and have since
grown to the towering height of 5’9 (take that Port Orford Cedar). The point is
we all experience growing pains; in our bodies, relationships, jobs, in
everything. Life.
This last summer I was scouting out a bikepacking route for a group of high adventure scouts. The leaders wanted the boys to be pushed to their limits but still survive, thus avoiding the wrath of the ever-looming matriarchs. It just so happened that summer I found the most opportune subject in my fourteen-year-old nephew. I knew his matriarch, and wasn’t afraid of using him as the guinea pig. I planned out the route knowing what to expect 80% of the time; the 20% of unknown was a bonus and the real test (I thought) for my nephew and his age group.
For those of you not acquainted with bikepacking, simply put it’s taking everything off your back you would use for an overnight backpacking trip and attaching it to a bike. Then ripping down trails, fire roads, and two tracks (oh and the grueling uphill that always comes with the down). It’s a grand time.
Weekend arrived, we kitted out, and set out. The first section of the ride is a well-used quad trail, flowing gradually down hill like a river, and like any proper river has a few rapids. Having navigated it many times I bobbed and weaved through rock gardens and two foot drops. I had the upmost faith in Nat’s skills and knew that she would survive. In hindsight I should have covered my nephew in Go-pro’s, as he took on every rapid and failed miserable but recovered admirably…we missed out on some great crash footage.
The next bit was the unknown to me. It is an old two-track road that has been overgrown for the last umpteen years. The riding has potential, but the encroaching gamble oak reminded me of a scary movie scene that has arms reaching out to rip and tear their victims apart--the gamble oak was not much better. We all received a few slaps to the face, shirts ripped, and it was a gamble (pun intended) to use speed to bust through as an occasional oak arm would grab a fist full of break lever resulting in a bushy endo. In the end it was easier to push through all the grabby, grabby. Gaining a little in elevation we worked our way out of the slap happy forest and entered lush green meadows with knee high grass (a rarity in these parts) it was beautiful--in the kind of way an American GI would view the Guadalcanal or the jungles of Vietnam. Beautiful if you didn’t have to move to get through it. Hiding in the grass were hundreds of downed aspen trees not worth going around. We would dismount and carry the fully loaded bikes over and over. The short distance riding was not worth it, so we became mules and pushed, pulled, and hiked the bikes. It became particular enjoyable as the terrain got steeper and steeper. We did come across some interesting geological features for these parts, such as granite boulders like you would find in Little Cotton Wood canyon. The thought crossed my mind to re-visit the place with some bouldering pads, but the thugs in the slap happy forest pushed that thought aside. I would have to get my “Ash”(see Evil Dead for that reference) on in a serious way to accomplish that mission.
Eventually, we reconnected with a well-used track and enjoyed some deserved down hill time. We then spent the rest of the day and well into the evening burning our legs and lungs out on a consistent six mile climb. That night sitting around the stove on a ridge; huddled in our down jackets, backs to the wind and eyes on the stars I asked my nephew what he thought so far. His response, though pleasing, was surprising; he liked it, said it was harder than he thought it would be. Come to find out this was his first time camping away from a car. He had never spent a night out on a backpacking trip let alone a bike-packing trip. I thought about the activities of the day, especially his additional pain and suffering with all the extra wrecks he endured. Lots of pain, but lots of growth.
Besides a brutal little push up some steep two track the day, and trip, ended with five miles of rushing trail. Once again I lamented the forgotten go-pro to document a young boy's many and mighty wrecks. As expected the rapids didn’t disappoint and my nephew wiser from previous encounters took his time to pick a line and ride them out. He’s only fourteen and has lots of growing to do and with that, lots of pain. We all have growing to do in one-way or another, but that’s how you know your progressing, learning and enjoying life. Get out and feel some growing pains.
Post Sound Track | The Beta Band
Full Set | Growing Pains
It's D's b-day weekend, yes birthday's last a weekend around here. We were stoked to get out of dodge, and lucky for us it's also a 3-day weekend--thank you MLK! We started off at TK's cabin up Hobble Creek. It's the perfect quick escape only 20 minutes and you're out of town, out of smog, away from the masses, without reception, and in the winter surrounded by endless possibilities for touring.
We spent the night skinning in by starlight, catching up with friends around the wood burning stove, and snacking to our hearts content. That morning we scouted some lines, I had a few snowballs thrown my way, and enjoyed basking in our T's in the 40 degree sun rays.
There's no better way to roam than by clinking chain and knobby treads cruising through rock and dirt. There's always more to explore in this country, further distances to be travelled, and it's never short of an epic view. Like my childhood reads of Cam Jansen I just want to say "click" and hope my photographic memory keeps the view in my mind forever, ha I wish...thank goodness for cameras right?!
full set | recapture
there's that saying if these walls could talk, the stories they'd tell. that's what I always think exploring this vast country. canyons scattered with remnants of ancients who toiled and lived off the land. also, the dirt trodden by explorers of old wandering the country for reasons not to far from our own. there's a tie that connects us to the past, in our simple yearning to wander for just a little bit longer. in our curiosity for what's around the corner. our desire to find a quite corner in this ever bustling world. in our simple desires to wander yonder and enjoy the healing power of being in nature.
The final weekend before the long winter of no weekend adventures (i.e. ankle surgery and 6 month recovery) was spent with close friends. Getting feedback on keep it like a secret, sleepover at the cabin (the see-saw from our wedding was still fully functional), and practicing our shooting skills. Lucky with weather we had all sunny and blue skies.
Full set | Last Weekend
In Southeast Utah with heavy rains come flash floods. We headed out to Montezuma Canyon to see if we could catch a glimpse at the rushing water. We didn't spot any flashes, however we did find chocolate milk water run offs, rock falls, and a reconstructed Kiev.
Full Set | Last Weekend
Abajo Mountain means "the low mountain." Appropriately named as the low storm clouds cloaked the mountains throughout the weekend. We made our way along the mountain east rim exploring rock bands for new climbs. Overcasting clouds, cool temperatures, escaping setting sun rays, and the smell sage and pine made for an idyllic night walk.
Full Set | Rim Walk
This past weekend I ended up having some extra time before my ankle surgery so we headed down to Monticello. We have been drafting Roam swag so it was about time to create prototypes. Dustin's dad has done quite a bit of leather work so he taught us some tricks of the trade. What it is we're keeping under wraps until our Indiegogo launch, but here are some sneak peeks.
Full Set | Leathermakers
With skis, in dire need of grinding, strapped to the top of the runner we headed a couple hours south to 700 vertical feet of sand aka Little Sahara. Without any motors to get up the hill, we planned for a late night start when there was relief from the sun. However, driving up to the dunes in the dark they were swarming with ATV lights creeping like ants into their hill. Arriving at the base we strapped our skis to our backs and started weaving our way up the ridge to the night sounds of crickets, motors, and echoing sounds of Beiber. The ride down was definitely far short of epic, but worth the experience of saying we did it. We did a final run in the wee hours of the morning, sans motors and Beiber, when the camp was in deep hung over state. The sight was beautiful, another natural oddity of sorts.
Permits in process the only thing left is setting the course. We spent the weekend bushwhacking, biking snow covered roads, making bliking a thing, scrambling chancy cliffs, and practicing our six-shooter draw, lest I mention we are dog-tired.
Hurricane Cliffs area is a maze of mellow single track trails. Good company, fun riding, and rad hashtags #ifyerbumssoreumustbhardcore
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