Escape from White Canyon, Part 4: Road Gang
April 22, 2010 by Arden Kysely - Contributor, Rider Magazine
(We left our tired riders having to cross a sandy chasm while the solid pavement of the highway taunts them from just yards away.)
The rain clouds are darker and closer as we dismount to examine the sand ledge in front of the culvert. What would be child’s play with a dirt bike looks too steep and soft to risk with heavy dual-sports. “Better get some rocks,” Kail says, as he starts kicking down the sand to decrease the slope. There’s no shortage of rocks in southern Utah, so it’s not long before we have a rough ramp set up. After unloading his luggage and carrying it across the creek, Kail makes the first run down the slope, across the creek and up the ramp. Roger and I stand by on either side of the culvert to lend a hand, but Kail cleans the section and parks his KLR in the escape tunnel. As usual, it’s easier than it looks. Roger’s next with another clean run and I make it three for three. We celebrate briefly, pack up the bikes and are soon on our way down highway 95, heading for the gray mass that hangs over the Abajos.
Our TKC’s sing out as we enjoy the highway’s many curves, but the aria stops when the first raindrops hit and we pull over to pull on raingear. Rain falls intermittently as we pass The Bear’s Ears and start climbing Comb Ridge. Here the road snakes through the sandstone escarpment via a route that was created by dynamite – and plenty of it. We’re higher now, and colder. The raingear helps, but the chill seeps in as we skirt the southern end of the cloud-covered Abajos.
We turn north on highway 191 near Blanding. More cold, more clouds, more rain. Knees knocking, fingers freezing, we finally see just how cold it is when the clouds lift enough to reveal fresh snow at the base of the mountains. The sight of it sends an extra chill through me and I have to concentrate not to shake the bars as I shiver along the highway. My teeth have nearly quit chattering when we pull into the motel parking lot in sleepy Monticello. Alan hears the bikes and strolls out of a room looking way too relaxed. He’s showered, he’s warm and he’s holding a slice of pizza in his hand.
Smart guy, that Al. Think we learned something from him? Nahhh.
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