Into the Mystic: A Venture From East to West: "You're A Chameleon"

I limped into Hanksville yesterday evening after being on US 95 for over 120 miles. The road was punishing and the surroundings were bone dry. Thankfully for the final 40 miles, the heat dissipated and the storm clouds rolled in. Apparently in Southern Utah, the days are filled with penetrating sun while the evenings have wind and clouds cover old Helios. However, during Monsoon Season (July-September) the rainfalls are plenty. But in the last 3 years of this drought, annual precipitations in much of the Utah I've seen is less than 7 inches per year.

The last 20 or so miles were all supposed to be downhill but the powerful headwinds forced a painfully slow ride. Only about 10 or so miles out from the illusive Hankville, I was startled to hear the slow pitter-patter of feet upon the pavement. Glancing behind me, a coyote was slowly bounding toward me, no more than 15 feet away. As I shifted my startled torso around my bike, the bike sharply swerved off the asphalt and into the dirt... Oh shit. I swiftfully swung one leg over the bike and turned at the four-legged foe. He stopped. A primal instinct kicked in and I gave a low-pitched roar. The coyote turned and ran off into the field of small adobe mounds. I wondered if he had friendly intentions. Two lone wolves out in the middle of nowhere, perhaps have a shared type of sentiment. Probably not.

So as I slowly turned the pedals on my bike, I passed a burger joint and gas station in the barbwire fenced Hanksville (normal in Utah?). Swaying with each push, I passed one of two hotels. I thought I heard someone yell my name. I turned toward the motel, and on the second/top floor: the whole gang of MS cyclists were yelling my name, beers outstretched in hand. I meandered over and Anthony threw me down a cold one: the tastiest beer of all time. I had found shelter amongst good friends for the night.

The next morning, we were treated to a continental breakfast courtesy of the motel. As usual, I ate lots... and might've played a song on the jukebox... and it may have been Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop Till Ya Get Enough". So uh, anyway, everyone went back to the hotel. It was swiftly declared that everyone would leave at ten. As per usual, I couldn't get my shit together. So, I departed around 11 toward Capital Reef Park.

Midway, shortly before the town of Caineville, a sign reading "Historical Site" peaked my interest. The nest sign shortly after pointed to my left and read: "Old Historic Site Giles". I was sold. I pulled off onto a dirt road and ventured to a fork in the road: one path leading to a dead end, the other to a stream. Giles was past the stream. I leaned my bike against the dirt wall, took my shoes off, waded across the ankle deep stone flooring, and continued on the trail.

"Holy hell, it's hot. Where is this little village? I should've taken my bike", I questionably thought.

2 and a half miles later, I finally arrived to the nonexistant Giles. There was no hint of the original Morman town that Henry Giles had found in 1883. Abandoned in 1919, I wondered if the Utah landscape could bury a place of 200 inhabitants that quickly. There was an old trailer with boots around the door handle and an outline of a pot on the stove through the window. Time to leave.

I thought it would be faster to walk to the road I could see in my distant vision; mistake. I walked through a frighteningly muddy area of the river (still in my shoe) and crawled through the brush. Eventually I reached the pavement of US 12... then walked two miles down to my bike; every passing car staring curiously. I found a German novel on the side of the road browned at the edges from the baking sun.

With all this time lost, I looked to see if I could get a meal in Caineville before the trek through Capital Reef Park. I stopped at a wonderful, little organic farm in the "town" of Caineville. I got the most delicious salad, equipped with sliced squash, cucumbers, spinach, and a slice of bread with a purple basil spread. The creator, Matt, sat down outside on the tree stump seats next to me after serving it.

Matt was an inch or two taller than me with blonde hair and a scraggly beard. His blue, long sleeved shirt had dirt and sweat stains all over it. He was in his mid 20's, fresh out of college, and slowing down in a small town after living in Salt Lake City for awhile. Talking with Matt was probably the most intelligent, calming and philosophical conversations I've had on this trip. We delved into deep matters for at least 45 minutes after I had finished eating. Eventually, I had to cover some real milage to meet up with the MS crew in (at least for today) Singletree Camp.

I thought I entered Capital Reef several times as Utah's landscape looks like something out of Mars. I passed the entrance sign and pulled into a restroom area where I hoped for a water fountain. No dice. But I did meet Tim and his sister Rosie. They were heading to Moab to explore Arches National Park. Tim was immensely interested in my trip and gave me a few gatorades for the ride! I continued.

Capital Reef Park was pretty awesome. Glen Canyon came more as a shock to me in terms of sheer open space but Capital Reef had some towering castles of sandstone, dirt, and rock. There would be several layers of different colored rocks that revealed their history or age. However, it seemed like my mind was dwelling much on how late I would arrive to the Singletree Camp. I was losing daylight fast.

At a rest stop at the visitors center (22 miles from Singletree), I ate a snack and paused out front. During this time, two French accented women walked up to me from their car asking if I'd lost a bag. It wasn't mine but it was definitely the bag to one of the MS cyclist's bikes; I had a mission.

I hitched the large biker bag to the back of my bike and pedaled into a windstorm. Gusts of 15-20 mph slapped me in the face while I began chugging up the beginning of an eventual 2500 foot climb to Singletree. It doesn't help when you feel like your dragging a ton of bricks. 10 miles out, I passed the sign marking my exodus from Capital Reef, a real beaut. It was 7:15.

On exit, I began to notice the high volume of motels... beckoning to me.

"I wonder how much that Best Western is?" I thought to myself. At the front of the paved parking lot to the Best Western stood the French Canadian family that had found the bag, rooting me on with a water and bag of chips.

Now, I'd like to tell you that this inspired me to pedal all the way to Singletree... but I'd be lying. I caved. I moteled it. I made contact with Duncan and the bag will be picked up tomorrow morning. I'm getting my clothes cleaned, my skin cleaned, and shedding some weight from my inventory.

So, that's what's good.

Also, Sean correctly addressed that the address for letters in Ely should read "Brickcone", not "Brickstone". My bad, gracias for reading.