By: Mark McEachran
Nine men dragged their bikes up that hill. The sign said Burro Pass, but I remember referring to it as Burrito Pass because I was hungry when I got to the top. We were just shy of hitting our 40s by that point, the Summer of 2012, and it showed. I had been training for a race and had done this hill before, so I knew what was in store. I was the only one who managed to stay on top of my pedals the entire way up.
None of us are athletes by trade, or even by hobby, save for Joe’s weekend Ultimate Frisbee and my infrequent race running. I think for the rest of the group exercise consisted of occasional jogs on a treadmill and the chasing around of children for bath time, or school or whatever you chase your children around for.
The first of many breaks was taken atop the pass. Some of us attempted a climb to the top of the nearest peak, but it was not to be. A thunderstorm grazed our area and convinced us to trot back down at the half-way point. No need for a random act of nature derailing the rest of our ride. I had climbed that hill on one of the previous trips. I remember whining at Adam the entire way up, and threatening to throw him off the other side once we reached the top. It was an ongoing gag to whine and threaten him about climbing from that point onward. It was cold at the top, 12,000 feet, and the air was thin.
These nine men had all met in college, or as graduate students refer to it: undergrad. Members of the Greek fraternity, Delta Tau Delta, they lived together for the most part. Most of them, anyway. Adam, while not an official member, has ingratiated himself to the group in such a way as to be accepted as a brother all the same. And at about 20 years on, no one bothers making much of the distinction anymore. Besides, without Adam we wouldn’t have much in terms of documenting our annual adventures.
Each year these men, or boys in men’s bodies, find some slightly dangerous, less than comfortable journey to embark upon. Sometimes it’s floating in a canoe or raft, other times it’s basic camping with tangential, daily adventures, and often it’s biking of some sort. Mountain biking is my personal favorite, and Moab is quite possibly the best destination for it.
Settled in 1878, Moab started out as simply a good place to cross the Colorado River. Later, Uranium was discovered, along with several other valuable ores, and the population swelled to accommodate the mining, peaking in the 1970s during the height of the Cold War. The town and surrounding, picturesque landscape has been the backdrop of many Western films. Directors and photographers alike can’t seem to frame a bad shot around the dry, high-plains desert city. It’s home to towering, striped rock formations and arches. In more recent decades the tourism industry has flourished as Moab offers a wide variety of outdoor adventures.
Over the years our band of brothers has journeyed through Monument Valley, took off-road escapades to the Top o’ the World, and the White Rim in Canyonlands, courageously rafted down the Colorado, and finally, made an attempt at The Whole Enchilada – the most epic biking route in Moab.
The trail is actually several trails that connect, head to tail, to make a 26 mile long challenging ride not really fit for the casual biker. It starts up in the La Sal Mountains, or if you’re really in shape you can start in town and bike 30 miles up to get to the mountains. Most folks, including us, take shuttles to the Burro Pass trailhead. Even with a ride up, you’re not off the hook for that vertical climb. Some ride, many drag their bicycles up the hill as our group did. Once at the top we were treated to the first of many beautiful views. Like the rest of Moab, this bike trail offered many at each stage.
Descending through the woods at velocity is tricky, and crashes, flips and accidental detours were common. Thankfully, none were injured save for one hydration bladder that acted as a makeshift airbag, saving one in our group from a nasty landing as he flipped over his handlebars.
Burro Pass leads to Warner Lake, which eventually leads you to a climb up to the Gamble Oak hillside. Then you’re spat out onto a road where you pick up Kokopelli Trail, possibly the easiest bit of the trek. The trail lets out at the beginning of the most amazing part of the ride, Porcupine Rim. Our group of ten didn’t speed through the upper part of the ride to leave enough time or energy to hit the rim ride, so rather than risk a night ride we opted to head back to town. It was just as well. Our energy, foodstuffs and water were depleted and the hour indicated that it was time for a beer.
In years past a subset of our group tackled the rim. It was exhilarating, but not for the inexperienced. Many portions are so technical even many experts find themselves unseated. The trail teaches you a new way to ride. You end up focused mainly on keeping your bike pointed in the right direction, rather than each bump in the trail. The bumps are simply too frequent to track so your muscles are battered into a state of persistent readiness.
The Porcupine Rim has been the most exciting ride in my life, and the most dangerous. Sheer drop-offs are common, as are opportunities to flip and land on nothing but stone. You only have to flip once to do damage, and help is a good distance away. After showing my wife a few photos from our ride she asked me, nicely, never to send her such death-defying imagery again. Fair enough.
The trail finishes along the road just outside of town. You’ll emerge, like wild animals, from the scrub brush, licking your wounds and looking for water.
Moab offers many adventures for the athletic and casual tourist. Having a good camera, and a good operator along for the journey makes for some glorious photos.
