I've always loved Moab. Such fun things to do there. From camping to climbing Wall Street to jeeping to mountain biking to motorcycling.
Okay, I admit, motorcycling is the only reason I go there anymore. It's SO fun that it's hard to justify taking time out for all the other great options.
Flying up steep hills at 30-40 mph, jumping bumps, dropping off ledges, riding wheelies, and feeling the powerful surge forward with just a twist of the wrist is hard to compare to pedaling slowly up endless ridges in first gear, sweating, breathing hard, then taking the downhills carefully and feeling every bump; even though the workout is nice.
I wouldn't mind camping (since I can't ride all night anyway) but my riding buddies are mostly wimps who need hotels, soft beds, hot showers, etc.
I remember the first time mountain biking Slickrock. I took a little shortcut near the end, missed the turn back to the parking lot, and ended up riding a couple extra miles around the practice loop. 14 miles total. When I got back to camp across from the Slickrock parking lot, one of my dad's scouts was standing on a cliff above camp, with his hands high in the air, giving his best Moses/Samuel the Lamanite impression, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Thou shalt not steal! Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not commit adultery!" Pretty funny.
Anyway, I went back last weekend. As I started down the trail, I had a moment of nostalgia where mountain biking looked reallllly fun. Maybe it was because of all the skinny, attractive girls on bikes. Anyway, a little wide-open-throttle in third gear was enough to make me forget about the bikes. As for the girls...I'm not sure the bikers much appreciate us motorcyclers (though many watched us enviously around the steep climbs), so I'll have to meet them somewhere else.
I grew up riding in jeans and tennis shoes but in recent years, we've become a pretty high-tech team. All the pads and boots have saved me from the scrapes and bruises I used to get (the boots saved me from many broken bones the second day I ever rode with them when a dune buggy attacked me and knocked me and my bike several feet sideways). Our helmet communicators silence our music when someone talks, and occasionally when someone triggers the voice-activated mic by crashing. We don't need to stop all the time to talk about where to ride next.
I could go on about all the fun climbs, the jumps and wheelies, the exploring, etc. but words don't do it justice. If you've been there, these photos may stir some memories.
Hey, CJ, put away the camera and help OJ up!
Darin, all bandaged up after a 20' slide that gouged the rock and almost put him in the cactus patch. He was the only one without elbow pads and possibly the only one who needed them. I was the only one who never crashed - and it's not because I wasn't riding hard!
Okay, I admit, motorcycling is the only reason I go there anymore. It's SO fun that it's hard to justify taking time out for all the other great options.
Flying up steep hills at 30-40 mph, jumping bumps, dropping off ledges, riding wheelies, and feeling the powerful surge forward with just a twist of the wrist is hard to compare to pedaling slowly up endless ridges in first gear, sweating, breathing hard, then taking the downhills carefully and feeling every bump; even though the workout is nice.
I wouldn't mind camping (since I can't ride all night anyway) but my riding buddies are mostly wimps who need hotels, soft beds, hot showers, etc.
I remember the first time mountain biking Slickrock. I took a little shortcut near the end, missed the turn back to the parking lot, and ended up riding a couple extra miles around the practice loop. 14 miles total. When I got back to camp across from the Slickrock parking lot, one of my dad's scouts was standing on a cliff above camp, with his hands high in the air, giving his best Moses/Samuel the Lamanite impression, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Thou shalt not steal! Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not commit adultery!" Pretty funny.
Anyway, I went back last weekend. As I started down the trail, I had a moment of nostalgia where mountain biking looked reallllly fun. Maybe it was because of all the skinny, attractive girls on bikes. Anyway, a little wide-open-throttle in third gear was enough to make me forget about the bikes. As for the girls...I'm not sure the bikers much appreciate us motorcyclers (though many watched us enviously around the steep climbs), so I'll have to meet them somewhere else.
I grew up riding in jeans and tennis shoes but in recent years, we've become a pretty high-tech team. All the pads and boots have saved me from the scrapes and bruises I used to get (the boots saved me from many broken bones the second day I ever rode with them when a dune buggy attacked me and knocked me and my bike several feet sideways). Our helmet communicators silence our music when someone talks, and occasionally when someone triggers the voice-activated mic by crashing. We don't need to stop all the time to talk about where to ride next.
I could go on about all the fun climbs, the jumps and wheelies, the exploring, etc. but words don't do it justice. If you've been there, these photos may stir some memories.
Hey, CJ, put away the camera and help OJ up!
Darin, all bandaged up after a 20' slide that gouged the rock and almost put him in the cactus patch. He was the only one without elbow pads and possibly the only one who needed them. I was the only one who never crashed - and it's not because I wasn't riding hard!
