What you are about to see is some pretty spectacular writing. In it Jim
Redd a Chicago city dweller, takes a Utah most of us think of as being
hot and dry this time of year and turns it into a virtual paradise. And
do be prepared to laugh, especially when you think about the the fact
that the Pocket Mail lady in whom he confides is about the size of a
check book:
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**The Soapstone Cutoff Debacle**
I biked 15 miles uphill today, then turned around and freewheeled 15
miles down. As you may suspect, Pocketmail Lady, downhill is better.
But let me back up and tell you what I'm doing out here in Utah on a
bike, anyway. Do you remember when we first met? How could you forget?
It was at a campground two days ride due west of Chicago, I forget the
name but it was the one with the campground dog that terrorized the
guests one by one and when my turn came stuck his snarly snout in my
tent and got a head-slam with a rolled up deLorme atlas. When that
event occurred I was riding the Chicago-DesMoines leg of a national
relay promoting a National Bicycle Greenway.
Well, I'm in Utah for the same reason: that's where Salt Lake City is,
and I'm supposed to get to Boise by the 11th to receive a proclamation
from da mare and get my picture taken for riding 400 miles across the
desert. But it's for a good cause...
I re-read my last letter to you, about my arrival into Salt Lake City,
and I apologize, Pocketmail Lady, for its dark tone. But my disposition
can be excused by having spent 10 hours in the clutches of the airline
industry. But I've recovered now, and ready to look on the brighter
side of things.
And wouldn't you know it? The next day did dawn bright and clear and
those foreboding streets of the night before were now filled with
happy SLC citizens escaping the city in their motor vehicles,
determined to have some fun somewhere else on the Fourth of July
weekend. I rode to Lisa Romney's (of da mares office) to pick up the
Pocktmail device (for where would our relationship be without it,
P.L.?). (And thanks, Lisa, for getting it for me. Sorry we didn't get
to meet in person).
It was now time for me to get on the road for Boise. But what route?
None looked very promising. Luckily, Stephen, the owner of Liberty
Heights Fresh Market at 1100 E and 1300 S pointed me toward Immigration
Canyon which has historical as well as scenic value and is virtually
car-free, besides. (BTW, could someone Google that market? I'd like to
send him email. His organic fruits were delicious and got me well on
down the road).
Or up the road, in this case. Immigration Canyon, he neglected to
mention was a 9-mile uphill, but I made it my Emmigration Canyon anyway
and passed the time by chatting with a couple other cyclists heading
up. One was a teenage girl on a Huffy who gave me directions but said
she wouldn't be able to keep up with me because she had asthma. I
admitted to her my half-pack a day Pall Mall habit and maybe that made
us even. She wasn't amused. "But I don't deserve it," she said. I'd
obviously made a mistake and was obliged to reflect on my
insensitivity for the next mile or so.
The descent from Emmigration Summit led directly to Interstate 80 which
I had no choice but to take. After 15 miles or so, it dumped me off at
an upscale "Main Street" district of a winter ski resort. I came here
looking for a bike shop open on July 4 to get toe clips which I had
forgotten in Chicago. Cute and quaint "Main Street" developments, as
you probably know, Pocketmail Lady, offer ample opportunity to spend
lots of money, so I got out fast and headed toward Jordanelle
campground, which involved an unpleasant intrusion onto US40, which is
really a freeway by any other name.
I made myself at home in the so-called "primitive" area of the
campground which means you have to walk a few yards from your RV to set
up camp. I had a tall boy and a Pall Mall overlooking the lake and
pitched my Eureka! for the evening on the concrete slab provided.
The next morning, after a screaming 5-mile downhill on the shoulder of
US40, I turned north heading for Boise. But at a roadside country store
I heard of the Rainbow Gathering taking place this very weekend up in
the Wasatch National Forest. Being an old hippy myself, my curiosity
got the better of me and the store clerk was more than happy to direct
me to a dirt road shortcut which would get me on track for Wasatch: the
"Soapstone turnoff" which he assured me was a pristine pathway through
the forest.
With the vision of this idyllic dirt ride in mind, I rode 15 miles,
mostly uphill, to the turnoff, which looked ok until I started riding
it.
The first thing I noticed was that the "dirt" had the consistency of
volcanic ash, sucking my tires in like sand. It was all uphill but the
granny gear was of little use; it just made the tires sink deeper. I
heard the distant buzzing of mutant four-wheeled insects and a swarm of
them soon rounded a bend, pulverizing the dirt into volcanic dust and
leaving me eating a fair amount of it. I had entered the dreaded ATV
Zone, which I was soon to discover extends throughout the National
Forests.
After an hour pushing and pedalling I took a nap near a large herd of
sheep and when I awoke my path was clear: I must give up this misguided
dirt road endeavor, admit failure, and go back to where I had started
from. It was an exhilarating 15-mile downhill passing alpine meadows of
golden flowers and watching the evening unfold as shadows moved at
glacial speed across sheer walls of granite.
Yes, Pocktmail Lady, downhill is better, as I mentioned, so the half
day chasing the Soapsone Cutoff was salvaged somewhat after all.
The lesson here, of course, is to use discretion in following anecdotal
route suggestions from strangers no matter how well-intentioned. Their
judgements are likely impaired by a severe case of car-think.
Jim on the Road
treadlightlytours.com
Next: The Bald Mountain Pass challenge and the search for the Rainbow
Gathering on the way to Boise.
**Rethinking the Rainbow Gathering**
Dear Pocketmail Lady,
The town of Kamas seemed much as I had left it six hours before, on my
ill-fated search for the Soapstone Cutoff, except the clerk who sent me
there was no longer on duty at the country store and was thus spared my
wrath. But that episode was behind and now nightfall was closing in
with nowhere to camp.
As I was examining my maps and rethinking my options in front of a
candy and pastry shoppe, I was approached by two couples, all four
clutching various candies. The husbands both wore tie-died t-shirts and
the wives had "Save the planet" and other buttons stuck all over the
place and wore beads. They were, sadly, in my age group, and one of the
wives asked if I had been to the Rainbow Gathering. I said I was
looking for it and she gave me driving directions, saying they were
headed back to Florida. They had driven from Florida to Utah to save
the planet, and spoke in tones of 60s idealism. Get over it! I screamed
silently.
After this episode my zeal to locate the Gathering diminished and
became less the next day as I encountered more refugees driving their
clanking and sputtering vehicles out of the mountains. But the aging
hippies from Florida did remind me that you can camp anywhere in the
National Forest, so I got some supplies and that's where I headed, and
camped for the night near a stream just inside the Wasatch-Cache
National Forest.
Jim on the road.
P.S. to my family: Who's the smart-butt who switched my bottle of camp
soap for Jojoba oil?
treadlightlytours.com
July 7, 2003
**Cameraless at Mirror Lake**
Dear Pocketmail Lady,
Mirror Lake shimmers in the early alpine sunlight. But the light won't
touch the lake for another 20 minutes; it is reflected from Bald
Mountain rising twenty-five hundred feet above the pines beyond. Its
earth-tone face is mottled with sparse green patches of vegetation, and
equally with whites of snow. It arches smoothly across the blue of the
sky -- itself with patches of clouds mirroring those of snow on the
mountains -- forming an almost perfect parabola.
As I sit on this rock drinking coffee at the 10,000 ft level in the
Wasatch Mountains, the sun, rising behind me, begins to paint the pines
a lighter shade of green on the opposite shore and the lake surface
becomes a rippling pastel.
The Uintas is the longest east-west mountain range in North America and
is the headwaters of the Bear, Weber, Duschesne and Provo Rivers. I
followed tributaries of the Provo yesterday on my way up from Kamas, an
elevation gain of 4,200 ft in 30 miles.
After my disillusionment with the search for the Valhalla of the
Rainbows, the trip shaped itself into an assault, so to speak, on the
summit of the Uintas Mountains. I had never biked to 11,000 ft, and
that was reason enough.
The grade began modestly enough, with occasional brief downhills. The
road was smooth 2-lane blacktop with a 2 or 3 ft shoulder. Traffic
fairly heavy, it being the Fourth of July weekend, but mostly kept its
distance. There was even a tailwind.
As I climbed, the deciduous forests gave way to coniferous, and the
tailwind became cooler. Not so bad, I thought, still pedaling on the
middle ring. But a couple of hours up I saw a message someone had
scrawled in white paint on the road: "Scott, 75 miles to the summit.
Here is where the climb really begins." Looking up from that foreboding
message to Scott, whoever he is, I saw the peak of Bald Mountain with
its patches of snow.
And here is where I switched to the granny gear and that's where the
chain stayed for the next 20 miles.
But the overwhelming beauty of the landscape distracted me from
fatigue. I stopped to rest every couple of miles, covered my face with
my red bandana, soaked in the cool cascade of the Provo. Lay face up to
the sun 'til it dried.
Back on the road, I established a comfortable pedaling pace, sustained
by peanut fuel from my handlebar bag, George Christensen style. I
supplemented this with a banana I bummed from a tourist at the Provo
Falls overlook. He said he had never seen a cyclist this far up (which
got me to thinking how many have done it? If any of you know of anyone
who has cycle-toured, fully-loaded up the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway in
Utah, shoot me an email.)
The scenery got more astounding with each switchback, passing
calendar-photo alpine lakes. And I swear, when the road peaked out at
the Bald Mountain overlook, rolled over and descended toward Mirror
Lake campground I was almost disappointed the climb was over. I felt
like I could pedal forever.
My coffee is cold now, and there is a dead mosquito floating in the
cup. The entire lake is illuminated with the sun, and the blue-green
pastel of its surface is now fringed with gold where it meets the
pines. The clouds have disappeared and Bald Mountain is a swath of
textured russet carved from the sky.
Jim on the Road
Mirror Lake Campground
Wasatch-Cache National Forest, Utah
http://www.treadlightlytours.com
Local access to PocketMail mobile
e-mail now available in Europe, North
America & Australia http://www.pocketmail.com
Jim Redd can be found at:
http://www.cyclechicago.org/pocketmail/jimredd.php
His email on the road is: reddude@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
you want to start from the beginning and/or follow Jim our other
NBG relay riders as they move forward in the National Mayors' Ride at
<http://NationalBicycleGreenway.com/Events/Mayors_Ride/schedule.php>,
point to their blog at
<http://www.nationalbicyclegreenway.com/Events/Mayors_Ride/reports.php>.
All of this excitement will al be consummated at the second annual
Santa Cruz NBG Bike Fest on Sunday August 17 c/:o
<http://www.nationalbicyclegreenway.com/Events/Festival>:
btw: If you want to become a rider, we WANT you!! Go to
<http://NationalBicycleGreenway.com/Events/Mayors_Ride/getstarted.php>,
to find out how!!
btw2: We have pictures from the various ride legs on line at
http://www.nationalbicyclegreenway.com/gallery/2003Mayors
btw3: If you want to see who these cyclists are, go to
<http://www.nationalbicyclegreenway.com/Events/Mayors_Ride/bios>.
--
MARTIN KRIEG: "Awake Again" Author c/o BikeRoute.com
79 & 86 TransAms, nonprofit Nat. Bicycle Greenway CEO
Ever wanted anything so bad U were willing to die for it?
Really die? By moving thru clinical death and reversing
paralysis, *I saw God* when I answered that question.
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