You can tell a lot about a person by how they pass you on a dirt road.
Or so I think, as yet another mid 80s Suburban comes barreling past us without a thought of the stream of dust that it is spewing into the air. I try to keep my stare hard and focused just in front of my wheel. It’s futile, but this is the best I can do to protect my eyes, nose and mouth from the dirt. It also serves to keep my glare from killing the person driving the truck. If looks could kill… I don’t want to test that theory.
Our bikes are loaded with what we hope is everything we will need for a day on the river. Boats are rolled up tight and strapped to the bars or rack, PFDs are tucked in and our paddles are kind of wherever we can find a place for them. The snacks and water to fuel the whole journey are in there as well. We are somewhere between the put in and the takeout, using our bikes to skip setting up a shuttle. The ride consists of about 10 miles of climbing up from the creek and then another 6 to drop back to it.
We are a party of four. Dave Haak is on his first packrafting trip. In fact, I brought his boat to him and handed it over the night before. Greg Steele is pedaling a 2 speed and is well versed in floating these cool little boats. And of course, Kathleen Berglund is there with me. Her and I are on our second trip to this little section of the middle of nowhere Utah to float this trickle of a creek that sometimes becomes a small river.
My thoughts wander as I fall into the rhythm of climbing up the dirt road. Another Suburban passes, jolting me back to the present. As the plume of dust engulfs me, I think, who cares about televised, the revolution won’t be motorized.
The parking lot is full.
We, and maybe another 100 other river folk, have gathered in the middle of nowhere Utah for a float on a creek that most years isn’t floatable and on the good years, it’s good for a couple of weeks. We are all here for the same reason. Everyone has their own idea of what perfect is, but we all hope that it is perfect.
And by it, I mean the river. The camping situation is anything but. Cedar gnats are out in ridiculous numbers and the aforementioned 100 or so other people, leave us wanting for a little solitude, but we’ll take it. We are here to float, experience, view the Chute, a narrow section of the Muddy Creek that is absolutely stunning.
Unlike everyone else, we plan to do more than just float. Mostly because we can, we have decided to strap all our gear to our bikes and pedal to the put in. Our evening is spent rigging gear and prepping for the 16 mile or so ride in the morning. We know it’s gonna be hot. We know it’s gonna be busy. So we plan to start somewhat early.
The whiskey is passed around. Beers are drank and we eventually retreat from the gnats to sleep.
The morning breaks. Eventually we get out of bed, eat some breakfast, double check everything and off we go.
Super Dave immediately takes the lead. Partly because he is the fastest and partly because his chosen steed only has high gears. It’s not long after we begin that the sun begins to blaze. We sweat. There’s dust and traffic. The road is mostly moon dust that poofs up when you even think about going through it. There’s not any way to get out of it.
We crest the climb and descend to the put in. It’s crowded. We find a place that is somewhat “available” and begin the process of changing from one transportation mode to another. Boats are inflated, bikes get locked up and we get on the river.
We hop in.
The first 30-45 minutes is glorious. We happened into a break in boaters leaving us alone on the water. We make the mistake of stopping to add a little air and grab a snack. Almost immediately we are overcome by boaters. To the point that it is hard to put back in. We finally get a break and go for it.
The rest of the float is spent dodging peeps, wondering why everyone has stopped, finding out and going ahead. To say there was little river etiquette being practiced by many would be accurate. Luckily, we escaped unharmed and only had the close call of Greg being forced into a strainer because some dude thought he needed to jump into a choke directly ahead of us and then stop.
Despite the unwashed masses, river folk and pasty white people, floating the Chute is always amazing. It’s a golden canyon that narrows. Every turn glistens, the water plays its music on the walls and you can’t help but feel like you’re seeing something special.
We pull out mid afternoon. Greg and Super Dave retrieve our backs. And we spend the rest of the afternoon people watching down by the river. I’m not entirely sure why, but watching overweight people try to get out of boats is quite amusing. Especially, when many of them have had a bit too much or altogether not enough booze.
While it’s uncertain when or if we will be able to do it all again, a couple of things are certain. The revolution will not be televised or motorized. And you could probably tell a lot about who we are by our snickering at the river folk falling out of their boats.
P. L. and R.
