Brian A. Hopkins
Adventure Rider Wannabee

Moab, Utah: "Pride Goeth Before a Fall"
Apr-May 2005

"Against my will, in the course of my travels, the belief that everything
worth knowing was known at Cambridge gradually wore off. In this
respect my travels were very useful to me." --Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

Friday & Saturday, 29-30 Apr, OKC to Moab.
    Mileage: Who cares?  We're driving a friggin' Chevy van and hauling the bikes on a trailer.   Ick.
    Number of shopping stops made for Chris:  I lost count.

Rich actually brought the trailer over to my house Thursday night with his KLR already loaded.  We loaded the Tiger, strapping it down good -- nothing worse than a motorcycle spilling all over the interstate at 70 mph, pieces flying everywhere and vital fluids spraying in rainbow-hued agony -- and Rich left the trailer parked there in my driveway for the night.  (I live out in the sticks where we wouldn't have to worry about anyone hauling off the bikes, especially not with Lucky Dog standing guard duty.)  The plan was for Chris to be all ready to go when we swung by his house on the way out of town.  Five minutes to load his bike and we'd be off ... at least that was the plan.  Friday we went to work and tried our best to be productive.  Okay, okay, Rich might have actually done some work.  Chris and I are both management.  I don't think we did a damn thing but pace the floor waiting to hit the road.  We wound up cutting out at noon.

I ran home, grabbed a quick sandwich, and barely had time to take care of some last minute ... uh, paper work ... when Rich arrives about 30 minutes early.  I hadn't even had time to throw the cover over my ZZR, which I had ridden to work, or bag my street helmet, which I was planning to take with me for the return ride (dirt bike helmets and goggles are great on the trail, but suck in the cold, the rain, and at high speeds).  In short order, though, we got the last of my gear tossed in the back of Rich's van and hauled butt for Casa Marlow.  We arrived to find Chris not even at home, so we went and topped off the van's gas tank.  Then we returned to Chris's house.  Still no Chris.  We added a few more tie-downs to the Tiger while we waited. (I think Rich was just trying to pacify me, since I spent the whole 30 min ride from my house to Chris's staring out the back window of the van and asking, "Are you sure my bike's not going to go anywhere?")

Chris finally arrives and says, "Oh, you guys here already?  I haven't even packed yet."  While Rich and I load Chris's DRZ, Chris rounds up his gear.  Finally (seemingly a day or two later), he's ready, and we aim the van for Utah.  Five miles down the road, I ask about the FRS radios we'd planned to try out on the trail.  "Oh crap, I forgot mine," says Chris.  "You guys were rushing me."  Was it even an hour later when  he said, "Oops, I forgot my towel.  We need to stop at a department store, 'cause I don't think I have any shampoo either.  You guys shouldn't have been rushing me."  Rich tells him that we'll find him a Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  Later yet: "Dammit, I forgot the cables I need for my video camera.  This wouldn't have happened if you guys hadn't been rushing me.  We need to stop at a Radio Shack."  (You see a lot of Radio Shacks along I-40, of course.)  I lost count of how many other things Chris forgot or how many times we stopped so he could shop.  He did make some excellent summer sausage for us to eat on the trail, though, so it's all good (even if the sausage did reek to high Heaven every time the ice chest was opened).

Chris crossing the parking lot after one of his MANY shopping
excursions.  (Photo by Rich.)

The ride to Moab was rather long and tedious.  Uneventful.  Dull-n-fucking-boring.  Chris slept some in the back seat of the van.  This was Rich's and my first introduction to Chris's snoring.  Rich kept hearing it and seeing the eyes on the front of Chris's DRZ in his rear view mirror, which made him think he was being pursued by an amorous moose.  We stopped for the night at a hotel in Santa Rosa, NM ... too late to take a look at the Blue Hole.  (I've never seen it.)  Rich slept on the floor of the room in his sleeping bag 'cause he's homophobic -- neither Chris nor myself displayed any homosexual tendencies, mind you (unless you count the sly wink or two and maybe a pinch on the ass accompanied by a knowing pat on the mattress and a "come hither" grin) -- while Chris and I took the beds.  Snoring ensued.  My earplugs were out in the van, of course.  I think Chris was wearing his earplugs.  Something about not wanting his own snoring to wake him up.  I envy the way he's gone just seconds after his head hits the pillow.  It always takes me hours to fall asleep.

Morning, and we were back on the road.  I decided we need to move Canyonlands and Arches National Parks to Oklahoma, 'cause they're just too friggin' far away.  I'm sure the Mormons won't even miss them.  Maybe we can give them Lake Draper in trade?  Eventually, after many, many hours and even more stops so Chris could shop for shit that he forgot, we arrived.  There was a classic car show going on in Moab and the streets were packed bumper-to-bumper with vehicles and lined with spectators sitting in lawn chairs.  Ten bazillion people.  I took an immediate disliking to Moab for this reason.  I imagined all of them would mount motorcycles the next day and be out on the trails getting in my way.  Truth is, we never saw another single motorcycle on the trails.  And the next day, all the classic car aficionados blew out of town and Moab returned to a sleepy little -- albeit touristy -- desert community.

We found our campground and proceeded to set up tents. We had a cabin reserved for the next two nights, but because of the car show in town, all the cabins were taken that first night.  The aforementioned homophobia (and the fact that each of us had two-person tents, which everyone knows are really only big enough for one person) meant that we all set up separate tents.  Real estate was at a premium, and my tent was nylon-to-nylon with Chris's ... so you know how I was serenaded all night long.  Noisy neighbor or not, this is not my idea of camping.  Too freakin' many people all crammed into too small of a space!  For that reason I can't really recommend Slickrock Campground.

Slickrock Campground in Moab.  The green tent in the foreground is mine.
Beyond it are Chris's and Rich's tents.

It was also time for the cottonwood trees to drop their fluff, and I have never in my life seen such a deluge of cottonwood cotton.  Most of the time it looked like a damn snowstorm was in full rout because the air was so heavy with cottonwood dander.  It got into everything.  I had to cap my beer with my thumb to keep it out.  Good thing none of us was allergic. We were finally there, though, and tomorrow we would get to RIDE!

We had dinner at some place called Eddie McStiff's, which Rich picked because it had a wireless internet connection (hell of a place for a homophobe to want to eat, though, don't you agree?) and he could do his computer geek thing.  (Look who's talking, eh?)  We stopped at a grocery store to buy goodies and bottled water for our hydration packs.  My first indication that everything on this trip would not go as planned was when I filled my hydration pack with water and it leaked like a sieve.  That's what I get for buying an $18 dollar knock-off on ebay instead of forking over the $60+ for a genuine Camelbak.  "Hydration is overrated," I told the guys.  "I don't want to have to stop and pee all the time anyway."

Click the dancing tiger to continue.