I was up at 6am thanks to an alarm and drove away from camp at about 6:30am. Dan crept into the Presidential Lounge to sleep a bit more as I drove into the mountains to the trailhead of The Whole Enchilada. After doing my SPOT, my friend Derek had informed me that I should ride a mountain bike trail called The Whole Enchilada and I planned to oblige. Dan kindly offered to shuttle me back to my car afterwards, so it was an opportunity I couldn’t miss! It was a 50 km ride, all downhill, running from the peaks above Moab right into the city.
I drove about an hour out of the city, climbing up and up and up into the snowy peaks we’d seen from our camp in Castle Valley. The last road I turned down probably had the worst corrugations I’d ever experienced and I feared for the Astro’s suspension. Thankfully I didn’t have any failures and most things in the van stayed where they were supposed to. The snow started building up beside the road and I began to wonder if this was the best idea. I wasn’t mentally prepared for this, thinking I’d be riding along the top of cliffs and red rocks, not foresty snow. Still five miles away from the trailhead, I came across a carpark that served as a camp and found that the rest of the roadway was covered in snow and impassable. Hmmm. This is what happens when you do no research whatsoever! I used the bathroom and returned to the car to figure out a plan. I could either try and ride five miles up the road in the snow or retreat back down the road a mile or so and ride singletrack to near the top. I took option two and drove back down to the Squaw Springs trailhead. I only shared the spot with one other car and got to making breakfast and gearing up for my long ride.
While I was faffing around, another car pulled up with a fancy mountain bike on its roof and a girl popped out. She was looking for a two hour ride to do while her friends did some adventure epic that she wasn’t up for. I suggested what I knew about the area, which wasn’t much, and she shortly rode off on the trail I was also heading for. I pondered for ages about whether to take a jacket, not knowing how to handle the cloudy weather and snowy surroundings. Thinking back on all the times I’ve carried a jacket and not worn it, I ballsed up and stuck to my shorts and a shirt. Nothing left now but to get going! First trail was “Boren Mesa” and it had the feel of a trail that had rarely been ridden all season. I was in muddy forest and there were plenty of felled trees that were unjumpable and not just by my standards. Before long, I came across the girl I’d met in the carpark as we were both pushing our bikes up a steep hill. Thanks to my alternative start to the Whole Enchilada, I would be doing three miles of trail backwards, which meant I expected a fair bit of hike-a-bike.
After the gnarly climb in which I barely turned a pedal, I was getting into more and more snow. It looked like I was the first one to make tracks in it for a few days. So much for expecting a bunch of other riders to be out here! I managed to avoid getting mud in my shoes and despite the white stuff all over the place, I wasn’t cold. After nearly a mile of pushing my bike up a hill, my shoulders ached from the pushing so I was stoked to reach the first peak. Riding down, there was plenty of snow and mud and I got used to fishtailing through the slippery stuff as much as I could. It was wicked fun, but a shame there was no one around to hear my giggles of joy as my tyres dug into the snow. It was so snowy at points that I made sure to look out for any evidence of the trail to make sure I didn’t get myself lost, which thankfully didn’t happen.
At the end of “Boren Mesa” I came upon a lake and then rode down a bit of fireroad to get to the next connector trail, “Warner to Oowah”.
The initial half mile was quite pleasant and I thought enthusiastically that maybe I’d be able to ride most of this downhill-intended path but it wasn’t to be. When I came across a huge stack of rocks that formed the singletrack, I settled into hiking again. It was at this point that I was happy Dan hadn’t come with me. We talked about the option of him hiring a bike and joining me but if he’d been with me I think he’d have been pissed, especially since I told him the whole trail was downhill. I was happy to be on my own in the wilderness, sweating and panting away with my favourite bike.
Relief hit me as I reached the top. The feeling was magnified when I saw the first sign pointing to the Whole Enchilada trail. Woot! I sent a message to Derek quick smart to inform him I was on trail per his suggestion. For the rest of the way, my path was marked with big “WE” signs which was handy! I rode another section of singletrack through thick forest before emerging on to more fireroad. Still not another person in sight as I reached another trailhead and did a bit more climbing.
Still sick and not in the best shape (9,600 feet in elevation), I wasn’t sure I could take much more of this climbing bullshit, especially when I wasn’t geared up for it! When I reached the peack of the climb, surrounded by clouds and mountains, I checked my trails app to make sure this was it, no more climbing. Happily, that was exactly the case and that meant I could really let loose. “Hazard County” was the first trail to start taking me down and it was brilliant. I was so lucky to have the whole place to myself as I descended from the snowy mountain down to the cliffs of Moab. The trail was narrow and dug into soft ground, snaking through the soft green grass that covered the side of the mountain. It was a beautiful, flowy path that got me in the mood for another 40km of downhilling.
At the end of the trail, I crossed another fireroad at Kokopelli and I discovered that this is where all the shuttles were dropping riders off so there was no more isolation. The wind picked up as I followed the fireroad to the “UPS” trail. This was the duck’s nuts. What a bloody trail, it was boulders, sand and technical rocks constantly. There wasn’t a minute of boring riding, I was in pure heaven. I came to a point where there were a dozen riders lined up at a technical drop and one man was helping to shuffle everyone’s bikes down the drop instead of everyone riding it. I graciously accepted aid like everyone else then tried to find a place amongst the huge number of riders out on the trail. Take me back to the isolation at the top!
Partway along “UPS”, I found the famous photo spot and stopped for a shot. Having just ridden amongst so many riders, I was suddenly alone, so I makeshifted a tripod by jamming my phone between a couple of branches of a tree, setting the ten second timer and running across the clifftop to pose. I made it just in time and was promptly joined by other riders for which I took photos but declined their offers to take mine. The rest of “UPS” was just as good as the front half, plenty of boulders and even a bit of fishtailing in the sand.
By the time I hit “Porcupine Rim”, there were people everywhere and I was on cloud nine. It was a lot of double track for the first half, but the views into Castle Valley were absolutely spectacular, even with the clouds hanging overhead. The doubletrack was super rocky and the line choosing was tiring, requiring more concentration than just following the a-line on a narrow trail. I was tearing it up, passing a bunch of people and never quite being caught, but the fun ended when I landed a jump on a sharp rock and pinched my rear tube. I had just been thinking how lucky I’d been that nothing had gone wrong with the bike up until that point. Silly me. I got to work fixing the flat and was humbled to have every single rider that went past ask if I was ok, which is standard bike etiquette. A few hundred pumps of my small emergency pump later, the tyre was at the highest pressure it was going to get. I carried on, riding to protect my rear tyre since I couldn’t afford another flat, a little gutted that I could no longer go hell for leather. Maybe when I ride over 40km, I should make it a rule to carry two tubes since I have such shit luck.
Just as I was tiring of the wide double track, the last approach to the cliffs above the Colorado came into view. Riders bombed down the rocks left, right and center, everyone relishing the speed and adventure, me included. When I saw a sign that read “Single track only, no ATVs”, I knew this would be the highlight and it definitely was. The singletrack lead to the side of the cliff and followed it closely with flickers of the Colorado visible below.
I was tempted to stop and take more photos, but I was just having so much fun. At one point I was riding amongst a group of guys and the chase made me ride like a demon. When I passed the guy in front of me, his mate behind followed me and shouted encouragement like, “Great line!” “Nice riding!” He he, at least someone was impressed! I scared the pants off myself when I took a narrow pass through two boulders right by the cliff with only a few inches of clearance between my bars and the rocks. It was all over before it had begun and I screamed in amazement at what I was riding.
It is the most exhilarating riding I have ever done. While “Hangover” in Sedona was the gnarliest technical trail I’ve ever done, “Porcupine Rim” with its speed and constant technical flow was a different flavour but just as good. The last mile or two of steep descent into the valley was a perfect way to end nearly 40km of downhill riding. I hit the tarmac and sat, trying to take in what had just happened.
Like the dozens of riders I’d seen yesterday, I followed the bike path back to the city. On the way, I passed that same group of guys I’d gotten mixed up in and as we were rolling in to town, one of them got chatting to me. He was a typical obnoxious American who replied to a simple question like “Where are you from?” with his life story. After riding on the wrong side of the road to keep up the conversation, I switched to the appropriate side and that was the end of that. I rolled back to camp where I’d left Dan and sure enough, he was still there. It was 1pm.
Dan had a relaxing morning with Cleo and was keen to hear about the ride. After taking my pack off, he offered a hug, then decided against it when he felt the sweat on the back of my shirt. I was a dirty girl, my legs covered in mud from the morning’s snow bashing and a few cuts here and there thanks to the forest brush. I only managed to break one spoke during the ride, which I noticed when I got back. Whoops. Another one bites the dust. We hung out a while, then drove out of town towards my car, stopping in at a bike shop to enquire about a new set of spoke nipples to replace the ones that keep breaking. From the outset, the bike mechanic tried to sell me a new wheel for $200 which I wasn’t interested in, making it quite clear that he thought my wheel was beyond repair. I thanked him for his opinion and asked him for a few replacement nipples thanks very much. He obliged, but clearly thought money spending was the only solution to the problem. Thanks guy that had food stuck in his beard the whole time he was talking to me.
I settled in at the back of the Presidential Lounge and Dan, my shuttle driver, drove up the route I’d travelled that morning. I lost my shit laughing watching Cleo stand, sit and shuffle all over the passenger seat to get the best view. Old news to Dan, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Apparently she does it no matter what road they are driving or how long the drive. She even freaks out whenever they go over bridges or cattle guards. It was so comfortable in the back of the van I could have slept. When we reached the corrugated road, I felt like I was in a space shuttle on takeoff the interior was rattling so much, but amazingly, nothing critical fell out of place.
My van was just where I’d left here, all on her own on the side of the mountain. As I got my bike organised to get on the roof, Dan mentioned an egg and bacon sandwich and I was immediately convinced. It might have been the best sandwich of my life, with yellow yolk spewing out everywhere. We stayed at the trailhead awhile, admiring the view and enjoying the cool weather before we head out back the way we came to head further south. I think I’ll be coming back this way to ride a few more days in Moab.
It was great to sit behind the wheel and relax the afternoon away, me following Dan to our next camp. We chased all sorts of weather on the way down, starting with the black-grey clouds hanging over Moab, to a windstorm across the highway (new and improved roof rack held up beautifully) and more rain when we neared the town of Blanding. We stopped for petrol not far from our destination and filled up with water. Just before we pulled in, I noticed a green Westafalia and immediately recognised it from our camp at Ocean Beach a few weeks before. Sure enough, it was the same exact van! Dan had hung out with these guys that had been camped a few vans down while I was at Coachella, so I couldn’t believe we were driving past them!
We’d sought out a camp by some water and the Recapture Reservoir in Blanding gave us just that. It was right on the highway, but we drove around the north side to find a secluded camp. Dan led a Safari down a super narrow road with all sorts of trees and bushes that painted speed stripes on the side of our cars. After about a mile and a few turns, he stopped, got out and had the most perfect “whoops!” look on his face. It was a dead end. A bit of steady reversing and we were back at the main campsite. Dan went left and I went right, scouting for the choice spot. On my side, there were a couple of great isolated spaces, but they were all occupied, but Dan hit the money. He nabbed a nice cove right by the lake with a huge fire ring and a few massive logs included. Good karma for leaving behind firewood at previous camps I reckon.
Before the cold of the impending rain set in, I got right on to showering, doing a prewash of my legs in the cold lake before getting the hot water going. Dan did the same after me and I felt like a normal human again. I noticed that a semi-burnt log in the fire ring was smoking gently so thought I’d build a nice tepee and sure enough, a few minutes later, a fire sprouted. While Dan drove into town for a beer run, I started dinner and tended the fire. When he got back, he told me he’d had to drive a few minutes out of town to find booze since Blanding was a dry town (Mormons…).
The sky sprinkled rain as we sat by the fire and ate fried rice and chicken for dinner. The sunset was stunning. When Cleo wandered off and found some new friends in a young couple, we invited them to join us. They were a French couple taking two months off travelling America and we struggled to communicate because I was speaking English too fast. We swapped a few travelling tips and tricks, then our conversation was ended when the rain started coming down and they retreated to their camp. I put a tarp over the kitchen and we huddled underneath it, Dan determined to engineer a solution to make sure water didn’t collect in the middle of the tarp. After a few iterations with different length sticks, we had a semi-robust solution that meant we could stand in the kitchen and stay dry. Eventually it stopped enough to sit by the fire again, but it wasn’t to last. Even though Dan had created a huge smouldering fire, we couldn’t enjoy it for long when the rain started coming down again.
Cleo had the Presidential Lounge to herself while we snuggled into the Astro van after I put up my water catching devices, hoping it would rain all night so we could fall asleep to the sweet sound of raindrops on the roof.
