"Oh the canvas can do miracles..."

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.


What I refer to as the "Alaska Loop" is actually a continuum of outermost trails that encircle the "Klondike's" Elysian network of pedaling perfection, including "Klondike," a seldom motored grind up—fly down section of 4X4 road to Salt Valley...a perilous minefield of loose rock. This connects to "Baby Steps Loop" a misnomer, but hey, nobody asked my opinion, and last, but by no means least, "Alaska," which includes "Nome" (or "Homer" if feeling masochistic) to "Dino-Flow" to "Inside Passage" to the Trail Head—which still leaves me 3 rolling dirt-road miles shy of camp. Here, you figure it out... 

Now the Macho, but highly illogical, Male part of my brain begins to whisper, Not to worry, Mark, you can always bail early...take "Mega Steps" down and shortcut "Alaska" out of the loop. Which, I retort, defeats my purpose...to ride "Alaska," the most scenic and exhilarating ridge run ever. It'd be like foreplay with no crescendo. 
Enough innuendo...just ride and see what happens.

Let's see, got maps, helmet, energy bars, caffeinated Shot Blocks, Gatorade, water, tools-tubes-duct tape-sun screen-cell phone...tourniquet!

"Bad Habit," sittin' pretty on the summit ridge of Klondike's 4x4 grind-up from the valley.

Minefield...

An old Miner's Cabin that I surmise, given three propane refrigerators and the immense radius that pieces the old man's life was scattered, that there was an unfortunate gas leak. Hopefully, he wasn't home at the time... 

Ah, Salt Valley.

Smooth "sailing," carefree...the wind at my back

Sometimes it helps to be alone, unguarded, in order to fully experience certain emotions. No one to judge, read your face, question "what's up?" What can I say, I wear emotions on my sleeve like cufflinks. 

Perhaps it's the immersion in vastness, or the fairytale nature of this landscape, or the feeling of plain old freedom. Regardless, Alaska makes me giddy. I'm staggered by the grandeur, and the luck of my existence. Awareness is a beautiful thing. Revel in it...jump in and wallow around. 

But you know, there are times when the line between laughing and weeping is fine, situations when either response is appropriate. Thus, on a lonely, dusty backroad in the middle of nowhere, Christopher Cross' sweet tenor rises above the wind in my ears:

It's not so far to never-never land, no reason to pretend

And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again

Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.

Believe me...

Sailing—takes me away to where I've always heard it could be

Just a dream and the wind to carry me

And soon I will be free...  

I'm alone and moved; who would know?  I shed a tear of joy.

The trick here is to KEEP MOVING...

"Canvas worthy" sanity...

Well it's not far back to sanity, at least it's not for me

And if the wind is right I can sail away and find serenity

Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.

Believe me.

Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be

Just a dream and the wind to carry me

And soon I will be free...