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Show 1997 - ee comment August fo “2 he, s I write this” ‘with. a Caiasuree sae ness. What you hold in your hands z 5 hid dry, 1} came across the: of God on this earth. Sun was setting, and I was completely lost and out of represents many of my dreams. Mountain Bike Utah is a future ~ water, and I started to accept the fact which may be, but life is at a cross- ~~ that E would be spending the night on roads, and quite possibly this eight page insert is only a one time whimsical foray into mountain bike pub-— lishing. Yet the excitement of mountain biking forces me to write about it. The crashes, trails and paths we follow are too rich too ignore. My first year in Utah, after an epic winter in Alta, I felt tough; like a seasoned backcountry veteran. The deep snows, avalanches, and epic— skiing had convinced me that.I was an outdoorsman. So I headed to Moab for my first time, and without benefit of a map, compass, or clue I set out on the Poison Spider ahah Eleven, hours later, with. ay tongue bnau of a ditael infor could. so completely. succored my -needs.. at the same. time as it took eget ‘only. hard €vidence-I have ever seen” d have a mesa overlooking the Colorado River. I stared at the ever flowing river drink A ebb, and dreamt of flying down to my fill.= rider showed up at my Ap vent and stopped and waited for me to catch up. Okay I was screaming to him, but it was still damn nice. I asked if he knew where the trail was, and he said we were on it. With a small smile of one who has seen this _ before, he told me how to get back to the car, and then he handed me his. enormous water bottle. “Drink up, I just had a Big Gulp,” he said laughing. I drank until I was distended, and. then. watched him ride into the dusk. My hardened atheism took a a mighty blow that. moment, as ee me down several pegs. =e eco. ~My apolenet for not arent Alf. and Chic. I find a This. spring I climbed pebard: my bike for the first ride, and something different happened. several weeks yA it isa path which I Be " repeatedly. to trod nm % cracked os Over a period of I went from being a. I ean am unequipped to write about them. I matured in Alta. while listening to tales” about them. I still remember calling my mom excitedly to tell her casual weekend rider to a borderline — - about making lunch for Alf at the fanatic. Every day in which I don’t _ Albion Grill. .it seems so small now, ride feels like a failure...and the days” which I do are a thousand er. times rich, So here are Mountain Bike Utah, and the Wasatch Canyon Reporter rolled into one. Enjoy them if. you but it was my brush with greatness during7 my first year. Yet I am unequal to the task of properly remembering them to others. I apologize and leave the task to others ha can do it far better. will, or curse them as weak and self serving, it makes little difference to me. Publishing is more like passinga kidney stone than birthinga child, — _ the end product is not always as redeeming as the pain to get there. es a a ponaen . rer een $ Le |
