Cycle California

Rock of Ages

June 2007

Mountain Biking Utah’s Canyonlands

My ears are ringing in the silence; the only relief coming from a raven's caw, a collard lizard scampering to find shelter under a tamarisk bush and the sound of my lungs taking in the untarnished air. A tranquil bliss broken only by the certainty that what's unfolding beneath my tires is 1,000 feet of elevation gain out of this canyon. Breathless and sunburnt, we emerge from the serpentine switchbacks with a sense of pride that comes from conquering one of mountain biking's crowning jewels.

Sandwiched between the meandering Colorado and Green rivers of southeastern Utah, the White Rim Trail loops 100 miles through a wilderness of mystifying rock formations and huge sky in Canyonlands National Park. In the 1950s, a perceived need for uranium (in case America felt the need to nuke the USSR to oblivion) led the Atomic Energy Commission to build this trail – really more of a craggy dirt road – to facilitate its extraction. When the Cold War thawed and the national park came into existence, mining here went the way of the dodo leaving behind a path that is today one of the country’s premier multi-day mountain bike destinations.

Everyone talks wildly about the early miles known as the Shafer switchbacks, and so they should. Dropping me briskly 1,400 pedal-free feet and a few geologic ages from the Colorado Plateau, it’s a challenge to focus on the screamin’ zigzag plunge when all around is a panoramic scene of a blushed rock and the biting morning desert air is ripping over my cheeks like sandpaper.   

Ten hair-raising minutes later, a group of 12 wide-eyed cyclists’ are deposited at the White Rim – a white, 280 million year old crusty sandstone layer for which the trail is named. Dressed as if we were descending into the Siberian tundra, we strip off layers of big-ticket tech gear in anticipation of balmy times ahead. An anticipation that has coerced me to drive nearly 2,000 miles from Canada to the American Southwest for the privilege of joining Maggie Wilson, 40, and Mike Holmes, 36, of Magpie Adventures for a 4-day guided pedal through this grand high desert. With at least 100 completed loops, they know this route as if it were their own backyard.  

Beneath a blue sky and a dazzling, tepid sun, we spend the afternoon undulating past juniper and cacti in this generally sere landscape until shadows begin to slink across the trail. It’s apparent that the wide-open surroundings and fresh air is bringing about a juvenile frenzy as we gleefully race in to the Airport Tower campground, startling a seldom-seen bighorn sheep into retreat. 

In no time our campsite, named for the 1,400 foot monolith watching over us, is transformed into a world class cookery. “We focus mostly on organic and locally grown foods,” Maggie informs us with her consistent sprightly disposition as she and Mike rustle up miso soup and grilled salmon – not exactly fare that you’d expect in one of the nation’s most isolated locales. Happily noshing on Dutch oven apple crisp, we watch as the setting sun sears our surroundings with a fiery red mantle, then dissolve into a star-saturated sky. With the crisp night air taking hold, we galumph to our tents to sleep the sleep of the dead.

Following a long day on the saddle, morning comes quickly, as the sky impersonates Michael Jackson going from dark to light. The easy start to the day is welcomed as my legs and lungs labour in this thin desert air. Skirting past the overhung lips of Buck and Gooseberry canyons’ sheer, white-capped sandstone cliffs, I find myself struggling not to stop every few tire rotations to photograph this majestic mural. Monument Basin with its towering ivory topped pinnacles alone takes a good chunk out of my memory card. But today’s highlight will not come on the bike.

“We’re totally stoked to get this site,” said Mike demonstrating his sanguine personality during our pre-trip meeting in Moab. His enthusiasm is the result of securing the White Crack campground. Located on a bluff overlooking the parks mysterious and beautiful Maze and Needles districts, this idyllic encampment is the White Rim’s most desired and difficult to secure.

A relatively short day in the saddle affords us plenty of opportunity to hike down White Crack’s multi-tinged canyon along a dilapidated road built to access the confluence of the Colorado & Green Rivers. We tread lightly around a myriad of limpid emphemeral pools. Throughout Canyonlands, sandstone basins collect rain water and wind-blown sediment, forming itsy-bitsy ecosystems - home to pothole organisms like brine shrimp. Able to tolerate extreme environmental fluctuations, these guys are as tough as they come. We’ll need to be just as tenacious to take on tomorrow’s big climb: Murphy’s Hogback.

Built by John and Otho Murphy in the early 1900s to move their cattle from the White Rim to the top of the Island in the Sky, Murphy’s Hogback is the trail’s most remorseless ascent. It requires a herculean effort and the easiest gears possible to get over the loose rocks perched on the steepest inclines. Around each curve, my eyes follow the pencil line of dirt winding up the hogback as my pulse races as if I was on my first date. Only thanks to adamantine willpower do we crest at 5,200 feet and a panoramic view of Soda Springs Basin’s open expanse and mammoth flushing Candlestick Tower rising from its floor.

There, between bites of savoury sandwiches under a sizzling yellow orb, we reflect on the climbs relentless demeanour, the stunning scenery our pedal strokes are taking us through and the saneness of four riders zipping by in pursuit of conquering this vast path in a single day. With three lung-busting climbs and perpetually distracting geology, Lou Warner’s six hour, thirty-six minute single day lap record seems like more urban legend than the granddaddy of fitness triumphs. Our 4-day pace is agreeable, and with views like that of the Organ Rock formation reaching up along the shores of the Green River below, I have little doubt that I could ride here for weeks without a twinge of home-sickness.   

Tummies full, we flash happy-as-heck grins at each other as we launch ourselves off Hogback’s backside along exposed, sheer edges at breakneck speeds. Bounced around like a pinball on my hard-tail, I’m a little green-eyed at the others with their cushy full-suspension bikes.

As the track straightens out, Soda Springs Basin brings respite from the abrupt ups and downs, though I find myself occasionally airborne as I rattle off the slickrock bumps. Steep, but satisfyingly short-lived Turks Pass affords us a high perch to follow the trail back across the outstretched, water-eroded shelf to Murphy’s Hogback with a feeling that you’re more than just an observer in this giant land. Somehow you are part of it all.

That night at Candlestick campground while watching the satellites wink across a sky devoid of light pollution, Mike tells stories of past mountain bike outings gone awry. His account of an exposed, snowy night among the Colorado peaks would make excellent fodder for a survivor-like paperback.   

Early risers bear witness to the spectacle of the sun’s rays bringing warmth to the desert, as a cloudless black sky gives way to the illumination on distant rock formations.  With a morning repast of French toast and strong coffee energizing our muscles and spirits, we quickly break down our final camp in eager anticipation of our last day on the saddle and more promised copious views.

A couple bumpy miles from camp is Holeman slot canyon. Gleaming in the sun, this narrow canyon is the result of years of relentless wearing by flash floods. Sliding down water-polished rock, we lower ourselves into deeply eroded notches that reduce the sky to a narrow ribbon of blue in a sea of red sandstone. Sections are so narrow that, despite being vertically challenged, I can touch both walls at the same time. A final testament to the last desert storm is the clay-bottom pools which prevent our further descent and turn my cycling shoes into globs of mud.

Digging in under a calescent sun along the seemingly misplaced verdant Green River, we close in on the final challenge of Mineral Bottom road. Just as the White Rim began with a mighty descent, so it must end with an equally hefty ascent.

Grunting upwards, I come to the conclusion that the White Rim is a reminder that the bicycle is a perfect machine for exploring Mother Nature’s most impressive creations. Diehard mountain bikers might think about overlooking this route for Moab’s steeper, gnarlier trails, but looking down wordlessly on this vast remote openness, I’m sure of one thing. I never want to leave.

Wanna Ride?

Magpie Adventures (www.magpieadventures.com) run 1 to 5 day mountain bike trips along the White Rim. Trips include transportation from Moab, all food, camping accommodation and use of the support truck. 

Spring (March – May) and fall (Sept – Nov) are the best months for cycling the White Rim.

Canyonlands National Park: www.nps.gov/cany

Moab Visitor Information: www.discovermoab.com