Breaks, But No Brakes

Three full days and four awesome nights of dirtbaggin' around Indian Creek had Victor covered in grime inside and out. Dropping anything on the floor of the van resulted in a plume of sandstone dust billowing like a mushroom cloud, thereby dispersing the debris evenly across all my cooking gear, clothes, and bed. Driving north on 193 toward Moab with the windows open only made the dust swirl around even more, resulting in every orifice and crevice becoming a stomping ground for thick deposits of southern Utah pixie magic.

Needless to say, some time to recover and recoup was extremely necessary. I left Indian Creek early in the morning with the intention of finding a mountain bike ride to shuttle that afternoon, but upon arrival in Moab, my body gave an unrelenting objection to that idea. Paralyzed by fatigue and the desire to bask in the sun whilst lying on my bouldering pad listening to water flow past, I obeyed my body's request and sought out a campsite along the Colorado River. After gathering info about mountain biking shuttles, making my reservation for a seat the next morning, and grabbing some hydration necessities from the local grub hub, I was driving Victor eastward and upstream, past filled campgrounds. By the time I reached Big Bend, roughly 8 miles outside the center of Moab, I happened upon an empty site at Oak Grove Campground with easy access to a sweet spot down by the banks of the river where I could stick my feet in and literally chill. And so I did.

That afternoon, I stayed away from everything strenuous. The sun warmed my skin while the cool water rushing past my feet chilled my body. Occasionally, I submerged my arms and hands into the chilly river (nature's icepack) to subdue the throbbing after three days of climbing crack in the creek for the first time. Time passed at a pace that was unknown to me. Sitting on the banks of the river wearing just my underwear, a speed boat loaded with Moab tourists jetted by. I waved politely, but all I received in return was blank stares and what looked like expressions of amusement from the boat's driver.

After cooking dinner that night using as much of my food that needed to get eaten, I passed out in the van will all the curtains down so that I could watch the stars hovering peacefully above me. Hydrating for the next day was of the utmost importance, so it was no surprise to me that at 2 AM, I had to roll out of the van to go hydrate some desert plant life. By this time, the moon had swallowed up the stars, and was casting ominous shadows on the cliff faces that engulfed the entire river valley. It was quiet. The nocturnal silence was broken only by the river, with its never-ending avowal of exaltation.

Morning came quickly after that. My alarm successfully went off and woke me up at 6:30 so that I had enough time to cook breakfast, drink some coffee, tear down camp, stop at Gearheads to fill up on water and replenish my stash of Clif Bloks, and make it to the bike shop where the Coyote Shuttle would be waiting at 8:30 to take their first load of slick rock thirsty buffoons to the top of Porcupine Rim.

The Porcupine Rim Trail is one of the most iconic mountain bike rides in Moab. It comprises the final 15 miles of The Whole Enchilada which is the classic 25-mile epic ride of the area, but due to early season snow coverage higher in the mountains, Porcupine Rim was the highest riders were being taken.

With a peak elevation of 6,800 feet and a finish at about 4,000 ft, this "peddler's downhill" satisfies even the gnarliest of thrill seekers...okay so that's an exaggeration. But still, this ride is epic, and there's a reason why its a part of The Whole Enchilada. Its got flowy single track, technical rocky sections, hesitation-inducing rock drops, speedy downhill descents, chilling cliff exposure, and you're guaranteed to eat some dust.

I was fortunate enough to ride nearly 90% of the trail without having any serious crashes. By the time I reached the final mile, where some of the trickiest navigation through rocky traverses, cracks, and drops exists, my arms and brain were feeling jostled and jello-y. And for me, no ride more that 10 miles is complete without some form of mechanical failure. So it was completely natural for me to endo going down a steep techie descent and have the plunger for my front brake lever miraculously dislodge from my brake housing.

The bottom of the Porcupine Rim where it empties out onto
the bike path that follows the Colorado River to Moab.

Despite my absolute frustration at the fact that I had just replaced the back brake lever on this bike, and it was beginning to seem like this bike could never own up to having two functioning brakes at any one given time, I had no choice but to continue the last mile back to the Colorado River.

I was fortunate enough to have lost my front brake, and not the rear. Had I lost the rear, I would have most certainly had to walk the last mile. Sharp descents, tight turns, and rock drops are nearly impossible to maintain control over without the control of your back wheel.

Back on my bike, it was no time at all before my frustrations were gone, and I was pulling off the trail and onto the path that would lead me back to the center of Moab. I locked out my shocks, pulled up my seat, and cranked the last 4 miles or so back to town where my American chariot awaited to escort me back to Salt Lake City.

I had 6 hours to be in Park City that night for a Yonder Mountain Railroad show. So I quickly replenished my body with a mediocre tuna sandwich, a warm beer, and snacked on Nutter Butters as I drove the 300 miles north.

After arriving at Jon's, I took the first shower I had had in a week, though it felt (and looked) like three with all the dirt and dried sweat plastered to my skin. I came out of the bathroom feeling like a new man, and ready for bluegrass.