The long road home.

Cars equal comfort.  They make things easier, faster, and less committing.  When you drive to the crag or the trailhead, it’s like you’re leaving a safety net in the parking lot.  With a bike, not so much.  When the day is done or the climb is over, there’s no jumping in the rig and punching the cruise control home.  When you’re cycling for transportation, the ride home is as integral a part of the climb as the summit, whether it’s a few blocks home from the gym, or a week-long ride back from the desert.  The lesson is this: the climb isn’t over when you reach the top.  You’ve still got to get down, you’ve still got to get home.  When you’re on the bike, there’s no easy escape, no quick way to pull the plug.  This requires commitment and dedication, but it also builds patience and understanding.

This is the last installment in our series of trip reports from the fall’s Pilgrims of Gnar expedition.  At 35 days and over 1500 miles of riding, this experience taught us a lot about ourselves, each other, and life on the bike.  A journey this long tends to change your perspective and leave you in a daze, but even as you readjust to the world around you, the important lessons and values avoid erosion.

Sometimes you have a schedule, a plan, and you have to stick to it.  Other times you have a goal, an idea, and you sacrifice everything to achieve it.  This trip was somewhere in between.  We had very few constraints in the way of time or obligations, and a deep connection with a distant place that was pulling us in.  When we made it, it was a dream.  We basked in the glory, stumbled around in awe of our surroundings and the unreality of our accomplishment.  We climbed, ate, laughed, and soaked up the desert sun.  But without a plan sometimes you don’t know when to quit, when to call it good and head home.  We had no rescue in place, no ride waiting to bring us home, and we knew the 350 mile journey would take at least four days to complete.  While the thousand mile ride to southern Utah was an amazing experience, the two weeks spent in Zion Canyon were even better, and even though we were inspired about the possibilities of bicycle touring, none of us were that eager to get back on the road.

But the trip had to end some time, and with winter jobs approaching and the company of family and friends making us homesick, we made the decision hit the road after one last big climb.  So the day after we sent Monkeyfinger, we took our climbing gear back to the Springdale Post Office, packed up our bikes, and started the long climb out of my favorite desert canyon.

The climb out of the canyon was bittersweet. Beautiful, stunning, there are really no words that do justice to this place and the feeling you get inhabiting its sacred space.

We climbed out of the canyon and caught a ride through the tunnel.  Dinner was made on the overlook as we watched the sun set on the canyon one last time.  We pedaled a few hundred yards up the road and found a small clearing where we could drag our bikes and hide for the night.

The next day we awoke early and made a light breakfast.  We had traveling dialed at this point and knew with our lighter loads and familiarity of the route that we might be able to make the ride home in four days.  All that was left to do was ride through some of the most beautiful country in the west.

 

 

We met Joff at a small intersection called Long Valley Junction.  At this point we’d climbed for about 30 miles from Mount Carmel Junction to get back to the high-plains that would dominate the rest of our ride.  Joff had ridden down from Glacier Park and was in the first weeks of his second round the world trip.  He was riding a penny-farthing bicycle that has one fixed gear and solid rubber tires.  He couldn’t stand up while pedaling and averaged 40 miles or less a day.  Joff told us he had budgeted 4,000 dollars for about 18 months of travel, or something like 8 dollars a day.  How did he do it!?  While he admitted to going wildly over budget while in the states, he would end up traveling so cheaply when he crossed the boarder that he would make it all back.  Inspired, we calculated how easy it sounded to squirrel away four grand and hit the road for a year.  Thanks for the motivation Joff, hope to see you on the road again soon!  http://calloftheroad.smugmug.com

The next couple of days were loaded with beautiful riding along the Sevier River.  With hunting season in full swing the road was busy with your typical mormon assault vehicles pulling trailers and four-wheelers but we managed to find some peace on the road.  A few more epic sunrises and sunsets got us to our favorite bike path through Marysvale Canyon, and the special treat of Mystic Hot Springs.

We made it to Monroe and the welcoming Mystic Hot Springs.  Run by an old dead-head who’s cultivated a beautiful spring and a stop over for traveling musicians, Mystic is not to be missed, ask about stating in one of the renovated buses for a night.

We hoped the ride from Monroe to SLC would take us two days.  We planned on riding to Provo and catching the Frontrunner for the last urban stretch.  Hoped and plan being the key words.  We realized over lunch that the train would not run on Sunday in observance of God or some such deity.  Confused and taken aback, but with no other option, we continued on.  A strong wind was at our back and helped push us over 80 miles before we caught up with the storm and rode into our first real rain in over a month.  As night fell and we continued to ride in the rain we approached Mt Pleasant and discussed our options.  With the train not running the last leg could take us another two days, camping wasn’t much of an option at this point but we could bail into a hotel, dry out and ride tomorrow.  The weather was looking to only get worse and we were gaining elevation with a very good chance of riding through snow the next day.  We talked about trying to catch a ride into Provo that night and catching the last train by 10pm.  While Amos and I were less than motivated Liz gave it a go and managed to convince a driver with a pick-up to let us toss in our bikes and give us a lift.   As anticlimactic as it seemed, it was funny to be sandwiching this huge endeavor with a couple 90 mile car-rides.  The kind couple dropped us off in Provo and we rode to the Frontrunner with time to spare.  An hour long train ride got us to central station where we then swerved the last few miles and arrived at Liz’s brother’s house just after midnight.  Tired and dazed we stumbled in and unpacked out gear, more out of habit than necessity.  Eventually we laid down and fell asleep, the first night under a roof in weeks and the end of our pilgrimage.

While the transition was sharp we did our best to catch up, all while reflecting on the outrageous adventure we’d just experienced. The red sand was easy to wash out of our hair, but a little more reluctant to get sift from our thoughts.  In another day Amos continued his ride to the north, to Jackson Wyoming for the winter, and Liz and I began our move back up to the mountains.

When you’re on the bike, you’ll never make the quickest getaway, and you don’t have the option to bail when things get rough.  But this is the basis of a bicycle life, it’s not a sacrifice or a limitation unless you see it that way.  For me, this adds something to the experience, something you’ll never get on a long-weekend in your car, something we’ve lost in this age of instant gratification and fossil fueled mobility.  Slowing down.  Cultivating patience.  Finishing the job.

See you on the road.

Tim