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Trans America Trail part 3 |
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Posted by Staff
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Wednesday, 24 October 2007 |
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Page 1 of 3 In the last installment (part 2) we left our adventurers as the reached Utah and were bedding down for the night. Will all the riders survive the desert? Will all the bikes? Will you the reader survive any more corney, lame, lead-ins to these articles? Read the last installment for the exciting conclusion to T.A.T. - Ride of a Lifetime
By Dean DeVito
 Morning in Moab found all 5 members of the group together again, with the fishermen telling tales of trout the size of
marlin, and Tim and I attempting to put into words the beauty we had put
beneath our tires. Morning also brought
wicked heat in the 90’s, and we were sweating under that morning heat as we gave
the bikes some attention that was overdue. We
cleaned filters, re-torqued bolts, and generally spent some time with our bikes
attending to minor issues that had crept up over the preceding days. Tim swapped a tired knobby for fresh meat,
hoping that new tread would make the desert more passable.
After lunch, we broke for
the desert, and a relatively short day that would terminate in Green River,
Utah. As we began the trail section
outside of Moab, it was immediately different than previous tracks. Unique, in that large step up rocks greeted
us, and deeper pockets of coarse loose sand challenged the path our front
tires attempted to track. The heat
seemed to be the biggest issue, and it was difficult to believe that only 24
hours ago I was surrounded by 10 foot walls of snow. Now, I was flanked by red
cliffs and awkward looking red rock formations that suggested Mother Nature may
have been influenced by Salvador Dali, and she had a sense of humor.The heat did not stop us, or
our bikes, and we made easy work, that afternoon, of the 150 miles into Green
River. We stumbled upon a $30 a night
hotel, and a good local Mexican restaurant, and decided that we were home for
the night.
We sat up late,
kicking tires and bench racing for several hours. It seemed safer and more sanitary to sit outside, rather than
inside our hotel. Although they did not
advertise it, I am sure that these rooms could be rented by the hour. Despite that, not much seems to happen in
Green River. We sat in front of our
rooms right off of the main drag laughing too loudly, and laying out plans for
tomorrow.
For a dirty motel, the
Budget Inn had great coffee, and a wonderfully cordial desk clerk. The desk clerk asked where we were headed,
and advised us not to head west as there was a windstorm headed this way, and
40-50 MPH gusts were expected. She
offered us a room for another night to wait it out, but we were feeling strong
and decided to brave it; after all, this was supposed to be an adventure. We set our agenda, and pointed toward Black
Dragon Canyon.
 The canyon track sits inside
of steep red and orange stained walls.
The only sky we could see was directly overhead. More rocks, pits of quick sand, larger
step-up cliffs, and ruts that paralleled our tire tracks greeted us, and
demanded that we master them. Black
Dragon Canyon’s scenery was reminiscent of where outlaws and Indians (from the
old movies my dad watches) played out their drama. The trails simultaneously managed to be both rugged and elegant, demanding
and laughable. This was the type of
terrain that demanded focus of a rider, and if you were not careful the trials
could cause you to miss the world all around. Consequently, we stopped often to take pictures and stare, impossibly
attempting to take it all in.
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