The 37 Minutes of Moab

Bruce from Tuscon in Durango, at the top of the Hogsback downhill.
(Photo by The Republic of Doom!)


The lack of wireless in Colorado has not surprised me anymore than the quality of riding. It has left the outside world without a hint of what we have been up to, while the latter has left my lungs empty of air, with a huge grin on my face.

Our first riding destination on this trip of death was Moab, Utah, home of the famous Slickrock. (pics to come, my camera died, so no pics from me. I have gathered some togteher others took and will post them soon.)

We arrived in the evening, and dined at a place that sounded great, Eddie Mc Stiff's. Sounded exactly like Team Wreck material.

What a disappointment though. The service was lousy, the lettuce was watery, the beer 3.2, and the wireless was slow as crap.

After surviving the lows of dinner, we found a great campsite on the Colorado river. Rapids filled my ears as I drifted off to sleep. I think they must have popped early in the night, for I woke up hearing a large animal crossing the river right there.

I had not seen the river yet, and I was confused as to why a bear would be crossing it so late in season. I imagine hibernation would be right around now.

The reality of the situation was a little different. I realized my ears had popped, and was simply properly hearing the water flow. Safer, but I wanted to see wildlife too.

The morning brought great weather, fabulous views, and an opportunity to check out a local bike shop. The bike Ryan had brought for the Rev. turned out to have entirely broken front brakes, as in the press fit coming apart. Phil has never ridden off road before, and he needed the brakes. My alternative plan was to remove mine for his use, which would later turn out to be lucky not to happen, as the terrain I will be describing in future posts is outrageous.

We walked right into a shop called Slickrock cycles, in a town where the last thing I imagine would happen, happened.

A man asked if he could help me, and I held up the brake, and said I needed a vice. He actually pointed back to the shop, and walked away, pleasantly. I could have not been more impressed (up to this point in the trip) with the help, and the vice mashed the brake together nicely, forcing me to do the same to the now weaker other arm.

Coffee and pastries procured, we drove out to the famous Slickrock trail. Our schedule was tight, and we established a turn around time. The trail was smooth, fast, and fun, and Phil was really impressing me on his first Mt. bike ride ever.

We rode a total of 37 minutes that morning, an epic period of time. Back to the car, onto the road, and off to Durango, Colorado. The "Tour De Mort" stage of the "Ride of the Dead", was going off at 6 sharp, and it was going to take everything we had to make it on time.