The summer after our junior year, specifically June of 2007, Brandon, Alex, and I loaded up the 'Burban, strapped our bikes to the rack and headed to paradise: Moab, Utah. As I recall, the trip cost $170/per person for everything: gas, food, lodging, fees, and a daily Wendy's frosty after a ride. For a week, we camped in an RV park downtown, drank 3.5% beer, and woke up at the crack of dawn to avoid the intolerable 100+ degree heat of the early summer. A side note: Utah liquor stores don't stock domestic brews like Budweiser, so any beer purchased in a liquor store is imported, and subsequently expensive. Even six-packs are priced by the bottle; it's total rubbish. As a result, we were forced to purchase beer in the supermarket: the highly inferior 3.5% near-beer. In spite of the absurdity of Utah's liquor laws, the trip was a hoot. We rode Poison Spider and descended the death-defying and infamous Portal trail (walking, mostly, although the author endoed on that stretch), Slickrock Trail, Porcupine Rim, Kokopelli Down, and Klondike Bluffs in a lightning storm.
For you non-bikers, an "endo" may require some definition. The term is a combination of the words "end" and "over." Basically, this maneouver requires that while moving, the rider completely stops the front tire of the bike. This can be acheived artificially by braking exclusively with the left hand, but it is more commonly acheived by stalling the tire in front of a root, rock, or other protuberance in the trail. With the front tire frozen, the rider's momentum will pitch him headlong over the handlebars, arms flailing and mouth wailing. It is a traumatic endeavor, due in part to the certainty of landing on rocks, a cactus, etc. To make matters worse, in 90% of endoes, the bike will continue its trajectory and land atop the battered rider, or worse, entangle itself amongst his legs, preventing him from standing without stretching his depleted epidermis into any number of painful positions. Endoes are generally a result of riding too slowly, or being overly-cautious on a difficult section. Oh, the irony. After all, "speed is your friend!"
Here's a case in point. We arrived in Moab around 3pm, set up camp AFAP (As Fast As Possible), and rushed to the Slickrock practice loop, a 2 mile sandstone sampler designed to deterr the woefully unprepared from committing themselves to a 23-mile circuit of impossibly steep grades, furnace-like temperatures, and the innapropriately named "slickrock," which is more aptly described as a 50-grit sandpaper that eats bike tires and human skin cells as an appetizer. Falling on slickrock is like spooning with a belt sander--not in your best interest. Near the end of the practice loop, we halted to examine a particularly tricky section where the trail plunged down into a sandpit--a sure invitation to endo. Our valiant guinea pig, Alex, was determined to avoid the catastrophic end-over, and took the descent with speed, popping his front tire at the last second so as to land level on the sand below. The maneouver was executed perfectly, but mother nature had other plans. Luckily, Brandon captured the moment on video and it remains as a priceless testament as to why we always let Alex go first.
Here's a case in point. We arrived in Moab around 3pm, set up camp AFAP (As Fast As Possible), and rushed to the Slickrock practice loop, a 2 mile sandstone sampler designed to deterr the woefully unprepared from committing themselves to a 23-mile circuit of impossibly steep grades, furnace-like temperatures, and the innapropriately named "slickrock," which is more aptly described as a 50-grit sandpaper that eats bike tires and human skin cells as an appetizer. Falling on slickrock is like spooning with a belt sander--not in your best interest. Near the end of the practice loop, we halted to examine a particularly tricky section where the trail plunged down into a sandpit--a sure invitation to endo. Our valiant guinea pig, Alex, was determined to avoid the catastrophic end-over, and took the descent with speed, popping his front tire at the last second so as to land level on the sand below. The maneouver was executed perfectly, but mother nature had other plans. Luckily, Brandon captured the moment on video and it remains as a priceless testament as to why we always let Alex go first.
He was cleaning sand out of his bike, ears, nose and Co. all week. Here is a small sampling of photos from the trip.
Welcome to the Portal Trail. Even sucididal Moab-ites won't ride much of this section--it's just stupid. One slip of the tires and you're falling 20 stories to your death, no ifs ands or buts about it. Click to see the full version, but the sign reads: "DISMOUNT NOW! Not suitable for biking! 200 FOOT CLIFF. Three riders have died here." We only rode sections of the trail.
This gives some perspective on the consequences of a fall while riding the portal trail. That teensy white ribbon next to the river is a highway.
Brandon, meet slickrock. Slickrock, meet Brandon. Battle scars after a week in Moab. Kids, just say "No" to sandstone.
I didn't fall.
Taking a 200' whiz, looking down over the town of Moab. What a life.
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