• April 4th, late afternoon: Slickrock trail
• April 5th: Pritchett Canyon, Kane Creek, Moab Rim
• April 6th: Poison Spider Mesa, Gold Bar Rim
• April 7th: San Rafael Swell - Five Miles of Hell

Day 1 - Slickrock Trail
Slickrock is often considered the epitome of riding in Moab by the uninitiated. It is what nearly everyone thinks of whenever Moab is mentioned. It is spectacular and unique, but is only a scratch on the surface, a beginning, a suitable warm-up for the days to come.

After several delays for last minute parts - literally a kitchen sink for the camper - my brother Joel and I set out from Denver. The physical obstacles of the Rockies hardly compared to the incredible headwinds we faced in Eastern Utah on the last leg; we very nearly ran out of gas on the assumption that the mileage would be better out of the mountains.

We rolled into the Slickrock trailhead with 40 minutes to spare. The weather was perfect, with sun and temperatures in the 60's, however, this is always subject to change without notice in the Springtime. We were surprised to discover that there were only a few Coloradans in the parking lot. Everyone was out exploring other trails and showed up minutes before the ride. No time for introductions - we were given a brief talk about the conditions and admonitions to stay on the trail. We broke into three groups and headed off to the practice loop for a brief warm-up.

The Trail
The Slickrock Trail is only about 12 - 14 miles long, but is nearly all on sandstone "dunes." From a distance these look almost perfectly smooth - but mother nature has been working on these "dunes" for quite a while - a soft suspension here makes up for all those doubles you can't do back home. A motocross setup means you will be wishing for your own personal masseuse at the end of the day. Speaking from personal experience, a campground with hot showers and a bottle of ibuprofen is a must if you find your suspension unforgiving - maybe even a motel with a hot tub - or possibly just being 10 years younger than I am.

There is nothing "slick" about Slickrock - the compound of rubber in your tires is the only limit on traction. Impossibly steep climbs are easy - providing 1) you do not loop out, 2) you have gearing or momentum on your side, 3) you do not stall. Falling on rocks hurts - duh! - but the additional danger is that you and your bike come out of it looking like you've been through an industrial belt-sander. Protective gear really comes in handy.

The natural byproduct of sandstone is, naturally, sand - some of it so fine that it is like baby powder. Every low spot, usually just before a technical climb, is full of the stuff. It makes hitting the perfect line that much more challenging. Other terrain features include ravines, rock ledges (hop-ups and -offs,) bowls, cliffs

The trail is clearly marked with painted white dashes on the rock - it would be very easy to get lost otherwise since very little resembles a traditional trail. Hazardous sections are marked with orange dots within the dashes - and additional orange paint on the areas to stay away from. It is always a good idea to stay as close to the marked trail as possible. It is usually the easiest route, and otherwise you can find yourself in an unpleasant predicament very quickly. Additionally, the soil and rocks support tenuous life - lichens, cryptobiotic soils, and shrubs - because of the high desert conditions it is very slow to come back. The extreme environmentalists love to point out any areas of impact, it helps them to close areas to all but two-legged use.

The Ride
Our group quickly left me and my camera equipment behind - it its always a bummer to try and balance photojournalism and riding. There is also this strange crash paranoia I have when carrying expensive personal photo and video equipment. It causes me to ride like my grandmother, perversely increasing my crash probability index. I rode like a total spode despite being extremely familiar with the Slickrock Trail.

As I puttered along and was passed by all, I noticed that very few were having difficulty - everyone seemed to have ear to ear grins enjoying the unique qualities of the traction, endless solid rock, and spectacular views. There was no carnage at the first technical ravine to photograph. So I moved on to the second - a four-foot vertical ledge with plenty of scars from prior abortive attempts, and footed with loose powdery sand. Still no carnage! I took the easy way around - I certainly did not want to appear in anyone else's carnage photos when riding in spode mode.

I managed to catch up and film a group winding through what I call the half pipe, a narrow bridge between two steep "dunes", and with steep drop-offs on either side. Photographs cannot do this justice. The most direct route down is extremely steep - almost vertical. The trail instead veers first left, then right into an extremely un-dirtbike-friendly switchback. Despite the traction, the angle is such that a light touch is required on the rear brakes due to forward weight transfer. A miscalculation can cause a slide that sends you down an extremely steep and long bowl on one side, or a steep slope terminating abruptly at a cliff on the other. Just the presence of that cliff so far downhill is extremely intimidating. I filmed everyone going through, waited until they were out of sight, then walked my bike down - I ain't proud!

The Heights!
The whole group gathered at the Shrimprock Overlook of the Colorado River. Everyone had a chance to mingle and gape at the incredible view from this 1000 ft cliff. Rowdy stood precariously near the edge as 20-30 knot winds whipped around. It finally occurred to us that we had Pizza from the amazing Poplar Place restaurant waiting for us; Brian McGarry of Wisconsin had rented a house for the week and was hosting a party. We tore ourselves away - we still had a ways to go and the sun was beginning its decent over the cliffs. I was able to turn up the heat a bit and get far enough ahead to catch everyone going through a steep uphill before the end of the ride.

Additional features included:

• An 8 ft sand footed vertical onto the top of a small ridge. The main trail goes left - but there is an overlook to the right. This side trip is fairly long and gets narrower and narrower - until it ends quite abruptly with nowhere to go on three sides but straight down. I personally recommend parking the bike once it starts to narrow - otherwise, getting turned around becomes downright frightening.
• Incredible views of Moab and the Colorado River valley.
• A 50 ft long, 12 ft deep "U" shaped channel up the middle of a hill. Obviously carved by water, but from where? There is no logical source of runoff. Avoiding the permanent pools can be a blast - zigzagging up one wall then the other.

The Gathering - Part I
The get together in Moab at Brian McGarry's place was a blast! Finally able to put some faces together with online identities, folks roamed around swapping stories, drinking a few beers, and eating the best pizza west of Chicago. A special thanks to Poplar Place Restaurant! Latecomers continued to pour in, notably the contingent from Texas & Georgia, Everett & Keith Marple, with Jeff "GhostRider" Jackson and missed all the pizza.

A USA-ALL (Utah Shared Access Alliance) representative (Brian Hawthorne?) was also there as part of the event to help raise funds after a resource draining but successful fight against SUWA (Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance.) Better known as Sue a the wilderness campaign has been fighting dirty, and has taken the BLM to court to try to force closures in many Utah public lands open to ORV use. Counting on a new Eco-tactic, SUWA had hoped to make an end-run around the American public, and directly sue the overwhelmed, undermanned, and under-budgeted BLM through the Federal court system. This round, the good guys won; but that could quickly change - the judge threw out most of SUWA's evidence in an injunction that cannot now be used in trial - but the ORV community is not nearly as fanatical as Wilderness Advocacy Groups (or WAGS for short). We certainly do not stand on every street corner handing out paper flyers (oh the irony) and have no desire to preach a gospel of half-truths, omissions, and outright lies.

On a less serious note, one of USA-All's newsletters concerned SUWA's recent attempt to shut down the Moab Easter Jeep Safari and prompted this humorous (bound to be a classic) response from USA-ALL staff:

OHV GROUP DESIGNATES CRITICAL HABITAT!

The Utah Shared Access Alliance (USA-ALL) today announced the designation of new Critical Habitat for the Red Herring in Southeastern Utah.

Critical Habitat refers to specific geographic areas that are essential for the conservation of a threatened or endangered species and that may require special management considerations. The newly designated Critical Habitat for the Red Herring is in an area located primarily within the offices of the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance (SUWA) in Moab, Utah.

The Red Herring first surfaced in a letter addressed to the Moab office of the BLM concerning the permit for the 2001 Moab Easter Jeep Safari. Attorneys for SUWA claimed the BLM had not adequately studied the effects the Safari will have on recently designated Critical Habitat for the Mexican Spotted Owl.

Wild-claims biologists working for USA-ALL identified the Red Herring immediately, and began tracing it back to its spawning grounds. In a news conference today, the Wild-claims experts explained; "This particular Red Herring definitely spawned in the SUWA office. It appears that the "ecosystem" there provides excellent breeding ground for the Red Herring. We are pleased to announce that the SUWA offices are now the only officially designated Critical Habitat for the Red Herring in the Western United States."

Officials for USA-ALL will begin to prepare a management plan to provide adequate habitat for the Red Herring, including massive foundation funding for the installation of blinders and earplugs.

Additional festivities included the viewing of previous video footage of Moab rides - including the famed "5 Miles of Hell" or 5MOH. In one of the FAQ's distributed to the participants, Jeff Deeney made a telling Freudian slip by calling it "10 Miles of Hell." If only two or three of the obstacles we viewed were on the trail, it would still be a tough ride. However, it looked to be a series of endless technical tests with little to no rest between them. Frankly, it scared the bejesus out of me.

Day 2 - Pritchett Canyon, Kane Creek (Optional Moab Rim)
8:40 am: We pull up behind a huge line of trucks on the Kane Creek Access Road. What's this? A traffic jam in Moab? A SUWA protest? Nope - just the beginning of construction season in Utah. My brother and I hopped out to see what was happening. What was not happening, and would continue to not happen for 50 more minutes, is the normal flow of traffic on the road.

Sandwiched between cliffs and the Colorado River, Kane Creek Road winds narrowly along the Southern side of the river. Apparently, gas line was being extended out of town, and traffic was only allowed to flow periodically. I went ahead and got changed into riding gear. I met with some riders from Utah (including Burt Lamborn, the reason for whose mention will later become apparent,) the first I had met during the event so far. We finally resorted to blasting the Austin Lounge Lizards on the truck's CD Player. There is nothing like a dose of good humor in the morning to wake you up.

When the traffic slowly started to move, the line of vehicles stretched out for nearly a mile. As we wound around and through the road equipment a bulldozer/crane operator asked my brother how much more wide stuff was coming. He abruptly swore when he saw the 36 ft RV creep around the corner and decided to roll his rig to a wider section of road. Later in the day, the road was closed to all traffic. Joel pointed out the beginning of the Moab Rim Trail - an optional late afternoon ride - as we eased out of the construction zone. The trail appeared to be a narrow ledge on the cliff, ascending with the natural lay of the rocks. Supposedly, a small crack has to be "hopped" on both the ascent and decent. If you misjudge your speed on the way back well there is no net.

Pritchett Canyon
Directly across the river from the Poison Spider Trailhead on Highway 279 there is a large area where nearly all of the traffic ended up parking - Day 2 was officially starting. Again, our experienced hosts offered trail tips and gave advice on which way to run the ride for the two directions they were to run - either up Pritchett Canyon and back Kane Creek, or out Kane Creek and down Pritchett Canyon. We broke into four manageable groups. Supposedly taking the Canyon down was easier but I prefer to crash while going uphill - it hurts less. Our group consisted of Victor "Smooth" Johnson (Leader - XR400), Ruxton Noble (XR250L), Everett Marple (CR 250), Keith Marple (E/XC 300), Jeff "GhostRider" Jackson (YZ125), Joel Perry (E/XC 360), and myself, William "Spodeboy" Perry (RM 250).

Access to the trail is through privately owned land. Since there is so much traffic, the landowner requires a small fee. Rocky but fast sand wash slowly climbs up the canyon. Trail workers were out carrying signs and posts that we will see much, much, much farther up the trail. These folks were volunteers from a number of different organizations, probably preparing for the upcoming Jeep Safari.

With my confidence blown from my performance on Slickrock I entered full squid mode and spent a ridiculous amount of time negotiating small obstacles and deep sand. Even the ever-patient Victor, who was leading this ride, soon tired of waiting for me. I tried to assign the blame to the expensive and bulky camera equipment I was wearing, and I was almost convinced when I low-sided in the sand after washing out the front tire. Today will be the last day I bring my cameras along. Pissed off at my ineptitude, I started to ride well, only to encounter a case of terminal arm pump that left both arms numb from the elbow down - arggh! Apparently we passed an obstacle called Rocker Knocker, aptly named by the 4WD community; I have no memory of it - maybe it was too traumatic.

WOM
The hillsides on either side of the trail have become steeper and turned to sheer red rock faces. As I followed the trail around a corner, I encountered the "Rock Pile." The intermediate-level sand and rocks turned into a series of insane ledges and jagged rocks - the first of which is known as the WOM or Wall Of Manhood (ladies, I didn't name it). There was a gathering of Range Rovers contemplating the face.

Several of the Moab regulars including Burt Lamborn were piling rocks just below this 7-ft, nearly vertical ledge. Other portions of this ledge were actually beyond vertical. I hiked up the bypass with my video camera and started to film the festivities. Most of our group took the bypass. I watched Burt make a flawless pass while I fumbled for the camera, then handed my camera off to my brother Joel - without the camera bag; I was going to try it.

Rider number two was also successful, clean. The pucker factor - even for spectators - was unreal (Sound Clip). My brother reported that the third rider washed out on the first pass and lost all his momentum. The approach was silty sand with baby head rollers littering the trail. The positions of all the Range Rovers dictated an S-shaped line. His second pass was fast - he nearly levitated up the face with all the momentum.

My attempt was by far the most dramatic. Both Ruxton Noble and my brother managed to catch it on video; unfortunately, Joel stopped filming during the final seconds of the wipeout. I think he was concerned for my continued existence. On my first two runs, I was deflected by rollers and silt, and ended my runs nearly perpendicular to the line.

Someone pointed out a groove I could hook my front tire into to keep from washing out. This worked fairly well, but the rear was loose and I hooked a large rock which robbed me of some speed. I bobbled the front wheel several times correcting for wheel-spin and lost even more speed. When I did have the traction in the pile of rocks at the base of WOM, I gassed the RM too late. I tried to balance the throttle with what momentum I had left, but misjudged - my front was way too high. As the bike began to loop out, I slipped off the back while holding the bars, put a foot down on the ledge, then let the bike go. I watched in horror as the bike - front still hoisted - nailed Burt Lamborn in the head and chest, knocked him over, then landed on him. As luck would have it he was not hurt. His response to my apology? "I just didn't move fast enough." What a Guy!

Photo Series Courtesy of Ruxton Noble

Upon checking the bike for damage I found the tail cone was mashed into the canister of my FMF TurbineCore II, and it was now pointing off to the right. Bummer!

Upper Rock Pile
We were not done with the Rock Pile yet; the obstacle near the top of the canyon appeared to be another trials event. A sandy, roller-filled approach with several large boulders throwing off the best lines, followed by steep off-camber rock stair- steps for the last 30 yards still remained. I totally missed both Victor and Keith's runs.

Joel was impatient to start and did not wait for Everett and GhostRider to clear the trail - they did not see him coming either. A last minute detour put Joel on a bad line and he was forced to stop. He backed up into some deep sand, got a 3-ft run on the stair-step section, and totally nailed it. Everett's run was also very good, with a clean approach and well chosen lines, but snappy CR power caused him several exciting side-slips on the rock.

Ruxton made the next pass. Garbed in street clothes, soft hiking boots, a bicycle helmet and sunglasses, and riding a Honda XR 250 Dual Sport, he made the rest of us feel like poseurs. His run made it look extremely easy. The Honda took all the punishment out of the rock, and the motor just kept pulling. It was a beautiful thing to see.

On the other side of the spectrum, GhostRider, who had been leaving me in the dust up until now, provided me with excellent camera fodder. He resembled a flailing yellow spider on a blue pogo stick. His 125 did not have nearly the bottom end grunt of the larger bikes, so he was faced with only two options: gas it or stall it. The peaky power made the rear of the YZ whip around like a live thing - making the choice of a line a moot point. He bounced off nearly every rock, whipping his legs out for balance. It wasn't pretty, but he made it to the top before laying it down. I've done much, much worse.

Ironically, this time I redeemed myself. After handing off the paranoia-inducing cameras I made a nearly flawless run, keeping the throttle precise and even, with just one neat dab to change direction in the sand. Then I was out on top with an incredible view back the way we had come - a dramatic and chaotic pile of rock ledges stretching down the red canyon to the tiny Range Rovers parked at WOM. Off the other side, shrub-covered hills stained with elemental copper and iron stretched out as far as the eye could see. We had covered only 7 of the 50 miles of trail. At this rate we would die of exhaustion before finishing.

Victor assured us that the worst was over. We wound through the hills, gradually working our way towards flatter ground. I managed to crash twice more in some nasty stair-steps that were spaced close together before walking away from the bike. Ghosty offered to ride it up. Panting from exertion, I accepted. After clearing it, he performed a few badly needed adjustments to the front and rear rebound. Initially it felt like the suspension was packing, but the ride was smoother and the wheels were staying on the ground rather than bouncing around. A definite improvement once I got used to it.

White Knuckle Hill
The final remaining obstacle was White Knuckle Hill. As I rolled up to the base of the hill I found myself staring at a tower of rock perched on an already steep hill with no clean approach and no obvious bypass. The face of the rock was another 6 ft vertical followed by 3 or 4 large stair-steps. Several groups were already there and spotting riders up. Victor flew up the face and cleared it - everyone else had a little more trouble - but there were no major crashes. Jeff hit the vertical WFO in first and launched 5 ft into the air before dropping down to a perfect two-point landing. If he had been going any faster he might have cleared the stair-steps as well. Jeff claims he doesn't remember a thing after he hit the face.

I climbed up to film, capturing Everett and Ruxton. The established method at this point was to clear the face, stall out on the second stair-step, re-start, then clear the remaining stairs. After all the excitement it was time for lunch. As we ate one of the groups started down WKH. If it looked scary going up I could only imagine the pucker factor going down. We had traveled just over 9 miles, and already we had met with a group going the other direction. Either we were going incredibly slowly or the going would get much faster from here.

Getting back out on the trail, we had only just started when we met up with the second group. Victor had a brief chat with their guide and we were off again. The sky had clouded up and occasional drops of rain were falling. Victor was extremely concerned that we quickly complete the run down Kane Creek before any serious weather set in. Water levels can rise dramatically in canyon country and the possibility of a flash flood is a very real danger.

The trail we were following at this point was called "Behind the Rocks." With only a very few technical ravine sections and washes it was wide, curvy, and bermed - very fast! Next we came out on a gravel road leading to highway 191. Roughly 3 miles of pavement separates "Behind the Rocks" access from Kane Creek.

Pavement Dash
Our dash on the pavement was notable for several events. The first was that our fearless leader Victor led us several miles beyond the trailhead. Less than half of us were street legal, but we ran plated bikes at the beginning and end of our single file queue in the hope the we would not attract attention from the local constabulary. My theory is that it is far safer to ride the road than to attempt to ride the shoulder or the ditch, providing you can maintain highway speed. The fine is always going to be the same, as anything between the fences is still considered highway 'right of way.'

The second notable event was that just as we were turning around to double back, one of Utah's finest passed us in the left lane, slowed briefly, then continued on his way. It was an even toss up as to whether he was going to ticket us, or merely escort us to our next destination. I am the first to admit that I hate being stopped almost more than I hate paying the ticket, but my experience with State Police outside of metropolitan regions is that they are usually pretty cool about these kinds of infractions, providing you pose no immediate threat to yourself or others.

Hole in the Rock is the landmark we should have been aiming for, the trailhead is almost directly across the road. This is a tourist gas 'n go that is actually set back into an old mine or homestead in the rock mesa. It features shade trees, picnic tables, convenience store items, and more touristy gewgaws than GhostRider could possibly have carried. We did not stop.

Kane Creek
After several abortive attempts to locate the real trail along Kane creek, we were on our way. Loose sand wash was the primary terrain feature with a bazillion (ok - only 40 or so) creek crossings. If you missed a line, you would find yourself hub-deep in the fluffy sand. I did and spent a few minutes dragging myself out. There were several spots where the trail followed the creek bed, but luckily the water level was still extremely low despite dark clouds and lightning 20 miles to the North. A small but extremely rocky ravine posed the only technical challenge. Algae deposits on the rocky bank threatened to dump anyone using excessive throttle over a small waterfall. No one appeared to want a bath that badly.

After this the trail opened out onto fast two-track. We had been warned to be careful when tapped in 5^th and keep our eyes open for washouts or slot ravines, and we were not disappointed. I hit several - rocking back just enough to keep the front wheel hoisted and allow the rear to take the impact. Several required aggressive braking due to their wide widths.

The next section tightened up a bit in the trees - curvy, with loose sand berms perfect for railing through. Just as I got to full speed the trail would drop back into the creek - we all got wet. Victor and Joel were having an out-and-out race, railing through bermed corners at warp speed. Victor kept a tenuous lead, with Joel pushing hard from behind - occasionally showing him a wheel then dropping back into his line, or blowing a corner and having to catch up. Eventually Victor "Smooth" Johnson - "Master of the Berm!? " - made a mistake, washed out his front in a berm and nearly became traction. He bounced back up as if made of springs and they were back at it in seconds. Everett ran out of gas close to the end of the trail, and pulled his spare gas out of Jeff's backpack. There was approximately 5 miles of gravel back to the parking area.

Just as we arrived a group was heading out for the Moab Rim Trail. I decided to bag it - my arms felt like they were made of clay. I still wish I had done it. We waited at the construction long enough that we saw them return from their ride an hour later. There is always another time - it would take months to try every trail in the area.

The Gathering - Part II
We had another group dinner at The Branding Iron, with Prime Rib available for those who made advance requests. My brother and I sat across from Robert Haas and his riding buddy Brian. They are both from Niwot, Colorado, just minutes from where I live in Longmont. The irony of a Spodefest is that you are just as likely to meet a neighbor as someone living across the country. Unlike other Spodefests, the focus in Moab was on the riding rather than the humorous awards. No "King Spode" was crowned, though there was certainly plenty of competition.

As we left the restaurant, rain began to fall in earnest. Water collected in pools at the campground and saturated tents and equipment, giving many spodes a long night. The forecast for the next day was grim.

End of Part I - Don't miss the continuation next month!