6 Days in Moab
An inspiring entry title, I know.
Dana, Tina and I flew into Moab the Tuesday after the 24-Hours-of-Moab bike race, passing Jessica and Jeff at the Moab airport holding pen as we arrived. They were outbound after a long weekend of rappelling, racing and crewing at 24-Hours; we were inbound for a week of rappelling, mtn biking and running (although the running we hadn't anticipated at that point.)
Inexplicably, our luggage from Denver didn't made it onto our connection - a plane that had just 7 passengers. That's luggage for almost 1/2 the plane's occupancy. You'd think something like that might have been noticed? Uh, no. So with credit cards in hand we set off through Moab in search of the bare essentials - and anything super cute - that would see us through the next day of canyoneering and rappelling in Arches.
Our first stop, lunch at the Peace Tree Juice Cafe right on Main Street. Fantastic salads and the woman at the front counter was wearing a "Rim Tours" shirt. We said we were in town for the same tour and she went on to say what an amazing trip it had been and how great the owners/organizers were. Her 8 year old son did it. We high-fived, figuring that boded well for our success. Meanwhile, Dana had picked up a local magazine and noticed a 1/2 marathon that was happening in Moab that Sunday. The Other Half. 13.1 miles down a canyon along the Colorado River. Only problem: Sold out. No answer to phone. No one in office. Quandry.
Wednesday was our day with an outfit called Desert Highlights - canyoneering/rappelling around the Fiery Furnace area in Arches Nat'l Park with a guide. We woke early to hit the Love Muffin Cafe where they have an AMAZING quinoa breakfast - a granola-y type of conconction with toasted nuts, fresh fruit, red quinoa, agave nectar and vanilla. DEEE-vine. (Must try to replicate or rely on experienced culinary largesse of good friend.)
We met up with Herb in the DH office - he was the same guide Jessica and her posse had the day before so we joked about making sure we got the same treatment. Whatever they did, we wanted. As we were getting outfitted with helmets and backpacks, another employee came in and after some background talk we realized we'd both worked at the Rustler Lodge in Alta at the same time - some 20 years ago. Crazy.
Herb was awesome. He gave us lessons in history and ecology, about Moab in general, about the type of climbing they do in that area - crack - and the names of all the formations we passed. He was funny and reassuring and laid back and we put our faith in him as he sent us rappelling off ledges, white-knuckling ropes, asking again and again "are you sure?" before ultimately entrusting our guide, our harness, our rope and the fact that our friends had done the same thing the day before and survived. We scrambled and bouldered, stretched and grasped our way over large rocks and through small openings, taking care to avoid trampling the cryptobiotic soil or miss a foot hold and go sprawling backwards. And despite the momentary fear we each had at the top of a rappel, it was exhilerating.
Back at the van to head home Herb brought out a cooler and presented us with a giant bottle of beer from the Moab Brewery that Jessica had left the day before and signed with a note. Triple belgian style ale - the bomb diggity. Bottle in tow, we made our way to Milt's Diner for buffalo burgers and cold beer - just enough to refuel so we could go thrifting across the street at the WabiSabi. And yes, for those who know me well, I DID find something to buy.
Next day was Thursday - the start of our mtn biking leg of the journey. Still no luck tracking down the RD for the 1/2 but we had been reunited with our luggage. Kirsten, one of the owners of Rim Tours, picked us up at 8am. We went through some idle chat that circled back to our efforts to get into the 1/2 when we asked if she knew any of the organizers. We'd been asking everyone to no avail. But Kirsten said yes, she did know Randa (the RD) and that she'd make a call but could make no promises. It was our last effort before heading off the grid and we were excited with the teeny, tiny possibility of getting in.
At Rim Tours HQ we met our guides - Tess and Bob - and the rest of the riders, Todd and Peter from California (the east bay), Brian from Mass., Jeff from Arizona. Todd looked mildly familiar and as we went through our sports and work backgrounds we realized that we knew each other through an ex-boyfriend of mine, Mark. We'd all gone riding a few times and maybe a dinner or two some 8-9 years ago. Small world even smaller.
Outfitted on a sweet Cannondale Rize dual suspension bike, I set off with the rest of the group into Canyonlands National Park, traveling along a dirt road, past towering walls of red rock and sweeping formations, descending down the Shafer switchbacks to the White Rim trail, a table top formed of the white rim sandstone in a canyon sculpted by millions of years of erosion. It was pure bliss within 5 minutes: the bike, the group, the day, the views.
I won't go into great detail with names and descriptions of all that we saw. A) I'd never get this post finished and B) I'm not entirely sure I can identify all my photos by name/place. Suffice to say our journey took us past smooth, spiraling washes; century-old basins; deep canyons and unfathomable arches. At each opportunity, our guides pulled off the trail giving us the chance to explore, relax, refuel and snap pics.
Day One came to an end situated on a bed of flat rock looking out over a basin at an endless sky filling with stars. Full on salmon and dutch-oven baked brownies, we drank wine and shared stories until crawling into our sleeping bags in the dead quiet and stillness of the desert night.
Day Two we woke with the sunrise and the smell of Tess's fresh coffee. The air was crisp and invigorating and we lingered around the campsite burrowed in fleece, eating and reading and savoring the early morning hours. It was somewhere between then and the first couple of hours of riding that I started to feel sick. I felt mildly nauseous which soon became utterly depleted and while I was able to bike, I had flagging energy and at each stop, had to lay down. The terrain was manageable - actually I felt slightly better on the uphills - but it was a challenge that left me short on conversation and I started to feel bad that people were worrying about me.
But I could still enjoy the landscape for the most part, the feel of the full suspension bike, seeing my friends and the other riders winding along the trail ahead, taking pictures and occasionally, maybe once or twice, snapping out of my coma with a snarky comment to let everyone know I was still alive.
We rolled into camp some 27 miles later and I immediately laid out my sleeping bag and fell asleep. Around dinner time, Tina came to ask if I needed anything and so I went to join the group but could only manage 1/2 of a PBJ sandwich. Sitting in the chair made me sick and so I retreated back to my bag where I laid down again to sleep. Sometime around 9pm I woke up with deep abdominal and back pains that would plague me the rest of the night into the morning. It hurt to lay flat, to lay on my side, to sit up. I checked my watch almost every hour to see how much time had passed wondering if I'd have to ask Bob or Tess to call a truck to come and get me. Tears of frustration trickled down my cheeks. I can't recall a time in my life where I was ever so sick and so utterly helpless.
Somehow, mercifully, morning came and with it the sound of coffee brewing. I got up and told Tess I didn't think I could bike any further. She said no problem, I could ride in the truck. Now the rim trail is on a bumpy, jeep-like road with some hairpin turns and boulders that we'd watched the truck navigate ever so slowly and with considerable jostling back and forth. It made me nauseous just to think about. But my options were limited so I swallowed a handful of Ibuprofen, took a bowl of dried cheerios back to my sleeping bag and fell asleep for another hour and half.
And when I awoke? The goddesses of mercy must have been looking out for me because I felt 80% better. I was tired to be sure and super low on calories but the pain in my abdomen/back was gone, my head felt semi-clear and I was, most importantly, not spending the last day in the truck. I have no explanations for the sudden shift. Game on.
Day Three took us to the end of the White Rim trail before veering off along the Colorado River and a whole new lushness to the landscape. We continued to stop along the way climbing down into one of the slot canyons and exploring ancient remains of the Indian dwellings. I was happy to be able to talk again, to ride alongside someone and laugh and carry on a conversation. It was a perfect tempo of riding and exploring; rolling hills and a few challenging climbs - just enough to justify all the trail mix inhaled. We had one last climb up Mineral Bottom to get to our final lunch spot and the pick-up van that would take us home. It was a grind for sure, but the exclamation point to our journey, rising ever so slowly up and out of the canyon. We all convened at the top with high-fives and indulged in our last Rim Tours meal with final pictures being snapped and emails exchanged.
It was at this point when the driver of the shuttle van asked if there was a Samantha, Tina or Dana here before handing over an envelope. It was from Kirsten. She'd scored us entry into the 1/2 Marathon. We shrieked and did a little celebratory dance. What better way to end our adventures in Moab? To be sure, I think the boys all thought we were crazy Type A's, coming in fresh off our Bizz Marathon the week before and acting like we'd won the lottery when granted entry into the 1/2.
Fast forward to Rim Tours HQ. We had to get registered and pay for the 1/2 by 6:30. I had to get to the 24-hour clinic to get drugs by 6:00. We had no car. Two of the guys took our luggage to the hotel and left it at the front desk. Brian drove us to registration, waited while we signed up, then dropped Tina off at the hotel to check us in before taking me and Dana to the clinic. The gods of good men and good fortune were smiling down on us!
Registration. Check. Clinic. Check. While the good doctor didn't have time to run a lab culture or a license to give prescription drugs - the Moab pharmacy wouldn't open until Monday (it was Saturday night) - he did say I had an "impressive" urine sample of bacteria and gave me a shot of antiobiotics to get me through the next 24 hours. Of course, I didn't tell him I was running in the morning. As it turned out, he was running in the 1/2, too.
We met up with Todd, Peter and Brian at the Moab Brewery later that night to cap off our biking exploits. It was a nice end to a shared journey with strangers who'd become familiar. The kind of people that come into your life, however fleetingly, and remain a part of some memory. I felt very fortunate to be with such a good and balanced group of people on the rim trail.
And so we came to our final day in Moab. As luck would have it, Tess was running the race, too, and picked us up at our hotel to take us to the race shuttle. One of the nicest race starts I've experienced - fire pits and great music. Coffee and hot chocolate. Eventually it was time to drop our sweat bags in the truck and head to the start line. As I approached the truck with Tina and Dana's bags it started slowly pulling away while I had yet to disrobe. Frantic that it would drive away suddenly I started pulling off my layers, tossing them in my bag and tying it in a knot to launch into the truckbed. Seconds later I realized I'd left my beanie on and one arm warmer. I was like a reverse FloJo with my one armed black arm warmer. Agh, poseur.
The run was beautiful and we took it easy, vowing to stay together. I snapped pics along the way as we curved along the Colorado River taking in our last views of the red rocks surrounding it. The miles passed fairly quickly as we were all in good spirits. We were running in trail shoes, in bike shorts and in clothes we'd pieced together that we might not normally run in. We were just happy to be out there.
We came into the finish line holding hands - I insisted we do this and felt ridiculous the whole time but when else do you finish with your friends dead on? - and met up with Tess who had smoked a 2nd place finish in her AG. I think her miles were 7:30 somethings? Super fast. The post race was as good as the pre race - unlimited beer, chocolate milk, some doughy good rolls, cheese, fruit, candy, and a beautiful setting at Sorrel Ranch. It was hard to leave but we were on a schedule. A quick stop at Love Muffin for lunch, to the hotel to meet our cab, to Moab airport to fly home.
It was an adventure built on great experiences and good fortunes; adapting to the unexpected; the kindness of strangers and the kindness of friends; the warmth and hospitality of the locals; the relaxed nature of a small town (albeit on a weekday) and the feeling that for a brief period we truly lived Moab. More than we could have imagined. They say Moab is a special place. Is it special because of my experience there? Or is it special simply because it's Moab? I'll have to go back and find out.
Given that there was so much that happened and only so many times I can use the words "amazing and awesome" I'm reduced to the most basic of descriptions for the most excellent of adventures.
Dana, Tina and I flew into Moab the Tuesday after the 24-Hours-of-Moab bike race, passing Jessica and Jeff at the Moab airport holding pen as we arrived. They were outbound after a long weekend of rappelling, racing and crewing at 24-Hours; we were inbound for a week of rappelling, mtn biking and running (although the running we hadn't anticipated at that point.) Our first stop, lunch at the Peace Tree Juice Cafe right on Main Street. Fantastic salads and the woman at the front counter was wearing a "Rim Tours" shirt. We said we were in town for the same tour and she went on to say what an amazing trip it had been and how great the owners/organizers were. Her 8 year old son did it. We high-fived, figuring that boded well for our success. Meanwhile, Dana had picked up a local magazine and noticed a 1/2 marathon that was happening in Moab that Sunday. The Other Half. 13.1 miles down a canyon along the Colorado River. Only problem: Sold out. No answer to phone. No one in office. Quandry. Wednesday was our day with an outfit called Desert Highlights - canyoneering/rappelling around the Fiery Furnace area in Arches Nat'l Park with a guide. We woke early to hit the Love Muffin Cafe where they have an AMAZING quinoa breakfast - a granola-y type of conconction with toasted nuts, fresh fruit, red quinoa, agave nectar and vanilla. DEEE-vine. (Must try to replicate or rely on experienced culinary largesse of good friend.) We met up with Herb in the DH office - he was the same guide Jessica and her posse had the day before so we joked about making sure we got the same treatment. Whatever they did, we wanted. As we were getting outfitted with helmets and backpacks, another employee came in and after some background talk we realized we'd both worked at the Rustler Lodge in Alta at the same time - some 20 years ago. Crazy. Herb was awesome. He gave us lessons in history and ecology, about Moab in general, about the type of climbing they do in that area - crack - and the names of all the formations we passed. He was funny and reassuring and laid back and we put our faith in him as he sent us rappelling off ledges, white-knuckling ropes, asking again and again "are you sure?" before ultimately entrusting our guide, our harness, our rope and the fact that our friends had done the same thing the day before and survived. We scrambled and bouldered, stretched and grasped our way over large rocks and through small openings, taking care to avoid trampling the cryptobiotic soil or miss a foot hold and go sprawling backwards. And despite the momentary fear we each had at the top of a rappel, it was exhilerating.Back at the van to head home Herb brought out a cooler and presented us with a giant bottle of beer from the Moab Brewery that Jessica had left the day before and signed with a note. Triple belgian style ale - the bomb diggity. Bottle in tow, we made our way to Milt's Diner for buffalo burgers and cold beer - just enough to refuel so we could go thrifting across the street at the WabiSabi. And yes, for those who know me well, I DID find something to buy. Next day was Thursday - the start of our mtn biking leg of the journey. Still no luck tracking down the RD for the 1/2 but we had been reunited with our luggage. Kirsten, one of the owners of Rim Tours, picked us up at 8am. We went through some idle chat that circled back to our efforts to get into the 1/2 when we asked if she knew any of the organizers. We'd been asking everyone to no avail. But Kirsten said yes, she did know Randa (the RD) and that she'd make a call but could make no promises. It was our last effort before heading off the grid and we were excited with the teeny, tiny possibility of getting in. At Rim Tours HQ we met our guides - Tess and Bob - and the rest of the riders, Todd and Peter from California (the east bay), Brian from Mass., Jeff from Arizona. Todd looked mildly familiar and as we went through our sports and work backgrounds we realized that we knew each other through an ex-boyfriend of mine, Mark. We'd all gone riding a few times and maybe a dinner or two some 8-9 years ago. Small world even smaller.Outfitted on a sweet Cannondale Rize dual suspension bike, I set off with the rest of the group into Canyonlands National Park, traveling along a dirt road, past towering walls of red rock and sweeping formations, descending down the Shafer switchbacks to the White Rim trail, a table top formed of the white rim sandstone in a canyon sculpted by millions of years of erosion. It was pure bliss within 5 minutes: the bike, the group, the day, the views. I won't go into great detail with names and descriptions of all that we saw. A) I'd never get this post finished and B) I'm not entirely sure I can identify all my photos by name/place. Suffice to say our journey took us past smooth, spiraling washes; century-old basins; deep canyons and unfathomable arches. At each opportunity, our guides pulled off the trail giving us the chance to explore, relax, refuel and snap pics.Day One came to an end situated on a bed of flat rock looking out over a basin at an endless sky filling with stars. Full on salmon and dutch-oven baked brownies, we drank wine and shared stories until crawling into our sleeping bags in the dead quiet and stillness of the desert night. Day Two we woke with the sunrise and the smell of Tess's fresh coffee. The air was crisp and invigorating and we lingered around the campsite burrowed in fleece, eating and reading and savoring the early morning hours. It was somewhere between then and the first couple of hours of riding that I started to feel sick. I felt mildly nauseous which soon became utterly depleted and while I was able to bike, I had flagging energy and at each stop, had to lay down. The terrain was manageable - actually I felt slightly better on the uphills - but it was a challenge that left me short on conversation and I started to feel bad that people were worrying about me.But I could still enjoy the landscape for the most part, the feel of the full suspension bike, seeing my friends and the other riders winding along the trail ahead, taking pictures and occasionally, maybe once or twice, snapping out of my coma with a snarky comment to let everyone know I was still alive. We rolled into camp some 27 miles later and I immediately laid out my sleeping bag and fell asleep. Around dinner time, Tina came to ask if I needed anything and so I went to join the group but could only manage 1/2 of a PBJ sandwich. Sitting in the chair made me sick and so I retreated back to my bag where I laid down again to sleep. Sometime around 9pm I woke up with deep abdominal and back pains that would plague me the rest of the night into the morning. It hurt to lay flat, to lay on my side, to sit up. I checked my watch almost every hour to see how much time had passed wondering if I'd have to ask Bob or Tess to call a truck to come and get me. Tears of frustration trickled down my cheeks. I can't recall a time in my life where I was ever so sick and so utterly helpless. Somehow, mercifully, morning came and with it the sound of coffee brewing. I got up and told Tess I didn't think I could bike any further. She said no problem, I could ride in the truck. Now the rim trail is on a bumpy, jeep-like road with some hairpin turns and boulders that we'd watched the truck navigate ever so slowly and with considerable jostling back and forth. It made me nauseous just to think about. But my options were limited so I swallowed a handful of Ibuprofen, took a bowl of dried cheerios back to my sleeping bag and fell asleep for another hour and half. And when I awoke? The goddesses of mercy must have been looking out for me because I felt 80% better. I was tired to be sure and super low on calories but the pain in my abdomen/back was gone, my head felt semi-clear and I was, most importantly, not spending the last day in the truck. I have no explanations for the sudden shift. Game on. Day Three took us to the end of the White Rim trail before veering off along the Colorado River and a whole new lushness to the landscape. We continued to stop along the way climbing down into one of the slot canyons and exploring ancient remains of the Indian dwellings. I was happy to be able to talk again, to ride alongside someone and laugh and carry on a conversation. It was a perfect tempo of riding and exploring; rolling hills and a few challenging climbs - just enough to justify all the trail mix inhaled. We had one last climb up Mineral Bottom to get to our final lunch spot and the pick-up van that would take us home. It was a grind for sure, but the exclamation point to our journey, rising ever so slowly up and out of the canyon. We all convened at the top with high-fives and indulged in our last Rim Tours meal with final pictures being snapped and emails exchanged. It was at this point when the driver of the shuttle van asked if there was a Samantha, Tina or Dana here before handing over an envelope. It was from Kirsten. She'd scored us entry into the 1/2 Marathon. We shrieked and did a little celebratory dance. What better way to end our adventures in Moab? To be sure, I think the boys all thought we were crazy Type A's, coming in fresh off our Bizz Marathon the week before and acting like we'd won the lottery when granted entry into the 1/2.Fast forward to Rim Tours HQ. We had to get registered and pay for the 1/2 by 6:30. I had to get to the 24-hour clinic to get drugs by 6:00. We had no car. Two of the guys took our luggage to the hotel and left it at the front desk. Brian drove us to registration, waited while we signed up, then dropped Tina off at the hotel to check us in before taking me and Dana to the clinic. The gods of good men and good fortune were smiling down on us!
Registration. Check. Clinic. Check. While the good doctor didn't have time to run a lab culture or a license to give prescription drugs - the Moab pharmacy wouldn't open until Monday (it was Saturday night) - he did say I had an "impressive" urine sample of bacteria and gave me a shot of antiobiotics to get me through the next 24 hours. Of course, I didn't tell him I was running in the morning. As it turned out, he was running in the 1/2, too.
We met up with Todd, Peter and Brian at the Moab Brewery later that night to cap off our biking exploits. It was a nice end to a shared journey with strangers who'd become familiar. The kind of people that come into your life, however fleetingly, and remain a part of some memory. I felt very fortunate to be with such a good and balanced group of people on the rim trail.
And so we came to our final day in Moab. As luck would have it, Tess was running the race, too, and picked us up at our hotel to take us to the race shuttle. One of the nicest race starts I've experienced - fire pits and great music. Coffee and hot chocolate. Eventually it was time to drop our sweat bags in the truck and head to the start line. As I approached the truck with Tina and Dana's bags it started slowly pulling away while I had yet to disrobe. Frantic that it would drive away suddenly I started pulling off my layers, tossing them in my bag and tying it in a knot to launch into the truckbed. Seconds later I realized I'd left my beanie on and one arm warmer. I was like a reverse FloJo with my one armed black arm warmer. Agh, poseur. 
The run was beautiful and we took it easy, vowing to stay together. I snapped pics along the way as we curved along the Colorado River taking in our last views of the red rocks surrounding it. The miles passed fairly quickly as we were all in good spirits. We were running in trail shoes, in bike shorts and in clothes we'd pieced together that we might not normally run in. We were just happy to be out there. We came into the finish line holding hands - I insisted we do this and felt ridiculous the whole time but when else do you finish with your friends dead on? - and met up with Tess who had smoked a 2nd place finish in her AG. I think her miles were 7:30 somethings? Super fast. The post race was as good as the pre race - unlimited beer, chocolate milk, some doughy good rolls, cheese, fruit, candy, and a beautiful setting at Sorrel Ranch. It was hard to leave but we were on a schedule. A quick stop at Love Muffin for lunch, to the hotel to meet our cab, to Moab airport to fly home. It was an adventure built on great experiences and good fortunes; adapting to the unexpected; the kindness of strangers and the kindness of friends; the warmth and hospitality of the locals; the relaxed nature of a small town (albeit on a weekday) and the feeling that for a brief period we truly lived Moab. More than we could have imagined. They say Moab is a special place. Is it special because of my experience there? Or is it special simply because it's Moab? I'll have to go back and find out.
(That's me rappelling. Money shot courtesy of Dana Katz)
That was my 6 days in Moab.
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