This is not a sustainable grade. This thought is interrupted as my rear wheel tries to spin out. My body immediately auto adjusts in an effort to keep traction on the loose rocks I’m riding over while still mashing on the singlespeed driving cranks to maintain forward momentum. It’s a dance I’ve done thousands of times and one I have developed a knack for.
The rear wheel sticks, mostly, my legs strain and I move forward toward the next obstacle. A thorny bush reaches out and snags my arm drawing blood. The black brush in this area is wild and being ankle high scratches at my shins and stabs at my legs as I keep pedaling. The trail mellows for an instance. I let up on the cranks and immediately come to a stop track standing for a couple of seconds to catch my breath before attempting the next section of uphill, a staircase of sandstone that is steeper than what I just came up, but rubber sticks to a little better.
The thought returns, this is not a sustainable grade. It’s too steep. Water always runs down it. It’s the reason it’s loose. Any soil that does exist in this section of the red desert in Southwestern Utah, is washed away leaving rocks. Lots of rocks. All sorts of different sizes of rocks. The cycles of erosion keep the assortment of rocks changing with the only consistency being that there are loose rocks. It’s also not sustainable for riding. If it wasn’t a relatively short climb, it would not be climbable. And even with its brevity most people hate this trail.
I leap forward gaining as much momentum as I can to get my front wheel up the first step. It almost stops me completely. My right leg yanks up while the left thrusts in the opposite direction. The fork compresses and the wheel moves toward the next step. The process is repeated. And then I do it again. It takes about five hard pedal strokes and the 15-foot section of sandstone is cleaned. I maintain the same cadence even as the trail flattens as a way to catch my breath again. I now have 50 yards or so till the next obstacle.
My focus falters and the thought makes it way back into my cranial space. Sustainable. I’ve spent countless hours on this trail trying to fight back the natural forces that make it what it is. These forces are bigger than me, bigger than this trail and bigger than modern society. Is it sustainable for me to try to keep them back?
Pedal stroke.
Who am I to try and stop them? Why am I even trying? I love this trail because it is hard. If it wasn’t, it would be overrun. There would be lines going in all directions. The desert, my home, would be trammeled like so many other parts of Washington County. I wouldn’t ride it. It would be short and easy and pointless. You could suggest that it would be more fun, but is fun worth it? Is that what we all seek? Is an easy time? A fun time?
Pedal stroke.
The deep, sandy patch right before my next obstacle is in view. I ready myself. Having caught my breath and having done this hundreds of times, I know I will get up it, but I’m still a bit anxious because I know it is going to hurt. I ease my front wheel into the sand with little speed and make the turn to the left. As soon as rubber hits the sandstone, I am out of the saddle dancing the dance, cranking up on one pedal and jammin’ down on the other. Three pedal strokes and I’m at the top of this god-awful climb. I smile.
Well, I’m kind of at the top. The next section does keep going up. Every time I ride it, regardless of direction, I feel like it is trying to get me to go the other way. It’s never fast, but it is sustainable. It almost entirely on sandstone. The plants can’t grow, the rocks don’t get loose. It’s hard. The forces that created this place created this section and without serious work man can’t alter it. It’s the same every time. I doubt a rake, shovel or mcleod has ever touched this section.
As I reach the true top, the sun has risen above the horizon. I can see the road cutting through the sandstone below me. On the other side, green explodes from the desert. Trees and grass and humanity sprawl out to the south. The small section of town I grew up in has been engulfed, enlarged and entangled. The thought returns, this isn’t sustainable.
It’s all downhill from here, except for the multiple spots that aren’t. I kick the pedals forward and begin to coast.
The backside of this trail is as steep as what I just came up. The loose rocks are no longer an impediment for forward motion but must be navigated to make sure they don’t throw my front wheel to the side catapulting me over the bars. The sandstone is stepped creating a sketchy, chunky downhill littered with rocks. The best practice is to come in and pick your line and then just let go. Speed is your friend until it isn’t, just hope that doesn’t happen.
My front wheel bounces over the top of the first step and down through the mess of rocks on the trail. It is deflected by a larger than normal boulder that has been dislodged and placed in the middle of the trail by chaos. Momentum and a quick tug on the bars in the opposing direction keep me moving generally in the right direction albeit in a slightly different line. I adjust and before I have much time to think the chunk is done and I am hauling ass across loose rocks strewn over sand and rock.
I’m on the winning side of these unsustainable grades as I barrel back down toward the valley floor. I slow at the T take a glance at the green mass growing below me and turn toward more downhill. It’s rowdy dictated mostly by the chaotic rocks strewn below my tires and the solid masses of sandstone that refuse to move.
As I roll up to the chute, there is a couple. They let me know there are people on there way up. I stop and let them make there way up the drop. Having struggled up what I am about to go down, in an Australian accent they confusingly ask me, “How do you cycle down that?” I reply, “It’s mostly just controlled falling.”
I ease my front wheel over the lip. Once I can see what is below, I release both brakes. I accelerate at what some would consider an alarming pace. My 3″ tires are bouncing off boulders and there isn’t anything I can do but hold on.
After the drop, I keep the momentum rolling. The grade is still what would be considered unsustainable. There’s ruts 6″ deep. Steep rock drops into off camber benches that are detiororating into the ravine below. My mind is clear and my body instinctively does the things, small pedal kick for momentum, scrub speed, let it rip, hop the rear wheel around for alignment…
And then I pop out. There’s a man made pond created by damming the natural drainage I just descended. Ducks and geese honk as I disturb their solitude. The trail takes me down an unsustainable grade where the gravel put in to keep the dirt in place has spilled out over the pavement. It’s almost like everything in this area holds just enough potential energy that slight nudges send it barreling toward the Virgin River.
Back on pavement, I drop my seat and sit up allowing the centrifugal force of my wheels to control the bars. I accelerate quickly. The only reason this road is still here is because they paved it and maintain it. I coast past houses, many of which look like they hold that same potential energy as the rocks above, one slight nudge will send them careening down toward the river.
I smile at the thought and without touching the bars turn to the left and drop off of Hope Street. Within seconds, I’ve dropped off the mesa to the relatively flat valley below. The thought returns. The whole thing is unsustainable, top to bottom, every piece of it, trail, road, houses. I smile to myself happy that this short trail exists, happy that I can ride for 45 minutes and feel like I did something because the trail was hard, even if considered unsustainable.
And then I spin the last few blocks home.
P. L. and R.
