At Kind Powder dot com, I put down some trail reviews, bike reviews, lifesytle interviews, racer interviews, and last I manage to insert some of my other Rocky Mountain misadventures...
Just integrating Flikr and Blogger for the first time. I chose this recently taken picture of some grasses all DOF'd out against the Wintry landscape of South Park, CO.
Lake Powell's inky blue shape spread itself astride my Utah map unaware of the developing thoughts to cast myself for several days among its rumored red shores. My good friend had recently made me well aware of its pristine canyons and massive desert varnished walls with his constant testimony. I had thus decided to put action to plan.
The Bullfrog put-in @ Lake Powell is a busy place with its own lengthy boat ramp, neighboring campgrounds, gurgling semi-truck trailers, and tired families with gas cans and dogs in tow. We rolled up to the scene as a small cluster of vehicle and kayaks, trying to thread ourselves between the lumbering mammoth houseboats fumbling along the dock. Within an hour's preparation, we were off and away. Soon, we were quietly leaving behind the murmuring cacophony as we leaned forward toward the unknown one slip of the paddle at a time. Push, Rotate, Draw, Heave, Fore, Aft... "Use your core, not your arms." I struggled to rekindle my muscle's memory of sea kayaking excursions long gone by. Struggle as I might though, I could do nothing to shake off the nervousness and pestering self doubt growing in my head.
Will I stand up to the physical rigor. Did I bring enough food. Will I capsize. Will I damage something. Will we get swamped by a swift desert storm. Will either one of us be destroyed by any one of these giant floating frat parties. Can I really survive this. Breathe, Pull, Lean, Breathe, Pull again and again. Constant.
As the sun rolled through the sky, the nerves and self doubt began to slowly abate as they were washed against the staggering enormity of the red rock country. A deepening appreciation of the world and events unfolding around me gathered as we continued farther along these hallowed halls. Sculpted and shaved cliff walls looked over our journey as they held back the blackish water's constant languid pressure.
We founded the first camp upon the lightly lapping shores of a slickrock lined inlet. After pulling the boats ashore we began what would soon become routine, the construction of a temporary but comfortable place to rest. Food was prepared and both sails and weary muscles were unfurled and allowed to dry. Dinner was ate and bedrolls were laid out underneath an intensifying canopy of diamonds affixed against the blackest of interstellar space. The Milky Way's cloudy edge shone across the heavens, strapping all of humanity in for the ride.
As I became accustomed to the common occurrences of a life spent paddling, the events of each day's passing began to stream together. From a rare but curious California condor who insisted on investigating our small flotilla over and over - pass after circling pass until the heated air currents lifted his massive wingspan well above our gazing eyes. We were to be met by this same gentle giant 3 times in as many days and each time it stilled the air around us. We watched as he watched.
Whenever we could, we would festoon our sturdy boats against the sides of the floating pooh palace. This shining beacon of bowel loosening hope. These fastened and buoyed restrooms were occasionally strewn about the lake... and to find one meant not carrying your own excrement later on should you give way to the forces of nature while back at camp. We would hang along the decks of these establishments for as long as it took until the big event finally arrived before resuming the day's travels.
Sunsets and sunrises soon became our only time keepers. We watched their slight changes over the evenings and following mornings. Subtle progressions made themselves known to only those who cared enough to pay close attention. The heavens retold their haunting yet familiar story out each night, but with small declinations of difference. And the moon slowly regressed its brightly lit hue waxing itself away while rising later each night. The entire orchestra of the natural world revealed it's synchronized splendor before our humbled eyes. We quietly took careful notice.
The end of our trip would come too quickly. Soon enough we were within a distant visual of the chaotic shores of the Bullfrog boat ramp. Burgers and beers were not far off, and we gravitated toward our eventual reward. During the last few miles, the afternoon's piercing heat laid waste to my beleaguered shoulders and arms making the last stretch drag on for what felt like days. Breathe, Pain, Rotate, Draw, Breathe... "Use your core, not your arms." I mindfully returned to the basics until we finally washed ashore one last time. The sun continued to chastise our already tanned hides as we retrieved our vehicle, inspected the gear, packed our belongings, took one last seaside poop, and stumbled off into the parched desert highlands bound for Moab and the plunder therein.
"We are tricked by youth. It teaches us that new adventures will arrive each day. And, like misinformed children, we carry this lie onward into our lives. And what arrives instead-- day after day after day-- is sameness. Habit. 'Form.' And, thus we have but one goal: to build a life which will accommodate boredom."The Nina Variations-Steven Dietz
Note that the "...neutrality of this article is disputed" but generally speaking it marks the anniversary of the birth of the modern environmental movement in 1970. Interestingly enough, not all greenies enjoy the 'holiday.' Some... "Bright Greens" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bright_green_environmentalism) apparantly think it's a bit too watered down. What i find fascinating is how there is apparantly several shades to being green! At any rate, hug a tree tomorrow and take a moment to enjoy the sun eh.
The Picture of the (interval) this time comes to us from Moab, UT on the SlickRock practice loop. This shot overlooks the small but dramatic Echo Canyon.
It is that time of year again. That time of year for the annual pilgrimage to one of Mountain Biking's epicenter's of activity: spectacular Moab, Utah. With this pilgrimage comes many meanings like ROAD TRIP, adventure, biking, wilderness, empty and unbounded landscapes. It means it is time to reenter the West. The proverbial painted desert. As Martin Sexton put it, all that land the "Hopi's lost to Spain." It's time to retouch on old memories, and bolt on some new ones. Time for a few too many Eddie McStiff's brews imbibed under a starlit canvas of black velvety sky.
Thus far, our plan consists of a ride on Mary's Loop outside of beautiful Fruita, CO on Friday and a suitable Moabbian ride on Saturday. If you've a suggestion, please leave a note below. Sunday will be Over the Edge perhaps...
Stay tuned as we chronicle these further misadventures...
Utah... for those that are familiar with its scarred and chrimson landscape, it conjours up emotional images of pristine emptiness, dimpled and sculpted sandstone surfaces, and the contrasts between dark sky blues and deep ruddy reds. The following video is a sanguine reflection on these elemental features and why they are so important to America...
The movie is part reverence for the desert lands of Utah, and part advertisement for the Red Rock Wilderness Act. The proposed act would preserve more than 9.5 million acres of already wilderness-quality BLM lands inside Utah... probably not a bad idea. I rarely espouse on political issues on this blog but this one is near and dear to the heart so I thought i'd say a few things...
While I believe wilderness is essential to America in numerous ways, I have a love/hate relationship with it. I, like many, value wild lands and am continualy thank full for their existance, but I do wish they were open to mountain bikes. I know, I know, controversial for sure but allow me just a few moments to opine... I concede that opening the wild lands to mtb'ers would surely bring about change to "wilderness." However, this change is perhaps nothing more than a nod to humanity's current state of affairs. Fewer and fewer people care for and ride horses in the 21st century (more on this...) while more and more people still desire the experience of wilderness. MTB's are just the latest tool of transportation that could so easily enable the people of America... the world really... to continue to expereince these national treasures. Additionally, as we carry on into this "century of scarcity" the wild lands and the people who protect them will need to build ally's with a greater audience of enthusiastes who will stand beside them in support when times and politics are tough for these sacred places. The Wilderness Society and Sierra Club members need IMBA members just as much as the reverse. Only through cooperation and focus can the currently divided interests unite and create a better chance at saving these places together. So, overall, I do support this initiative, but I also think its time to update our access to the lands we're all trying to protect...
TrailCentral is syndicating the 15 most recent articles posted to kind powder dot com. There could be a lot more to read, but you'll have to visit kind powder dot com to read them!
