Saturday, April 28, 2018
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sunday, April 15, 2018
''Wherever we look there is but a wilderness of rock,'' wrote Maj. John Wesley Powell, the Colorado River pioneer and one of the first "whites" to gaze upon Moab's labyrinth of canyons. ''Deep gorges, where rivers get lost below cliffs and towers and pinnacles—ten thousand strangely carved forms in every direction—and beyond them, mountains blending with clouds.''
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
The night after Bobbie traded me for her "hearth" in Lovely Ouray, I nursed a lusty, menopausal male notion to reprise "Alaska," a favorite circumferential loop in Klondike's Hills. I knew my body was't yet conditioned for the "marathon-ish" four-plus hours of uphill grinds and "vice-grip" descents, but, assisted by 3 cups of dark roast "liquid courage" the next morning, I figured the best way to get in shape for "Alaska's" nether-lands is to ride Alaska's nether-lands. You'd think there'd be laws regarding Old men and caffeine...especially in Utah.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
6 AM, 20 some miles north of Moab, a bachelor in paradise waits on sun and temps to rise enough to straddle his Bad Habit Cannondale and put in some single-track time. Bobbie’s home in Lovely Ouray, working on her second cup of coffee, snug as a bug by the hearth.