October 3 - Intro Flight at UVU Aviation

Today, I did my intro flight at UVU Aviation.

As a boy, I remember flying with my Grandpa. Since then, I've always wanted to be able

to fly. In high school, I dreamed of being a career pilot. While I was on my mission, some suggestions from family caused me to realize that being a pilot would challenge my church attendance and my ability to be a father and husband. Besides, I wanted something that was fun and cool to stay fun and cool and not become something I did every day. Career piloting was out. But I have not forgotten my powerful passion for airplanes, and I have not forgotten the dream of being able to fly someday. It'll have to wait until I can figure out how to afford it. 

As a kid, I had spent countless hours in the encyclopedia, at airshows and on the internet, admiring all kinds of airplanes, learning aviation history, studying everything from basic aerodynamic principles to radio navigation. I've learned all I can learn without actually taking flying lessons. The only thing left to do was go and fly. Not having money for lessons or the fuel and airplane rental to keep flying, I decided to be content with continuing my internet studies. But then I found UVU Aviation offers an introductory flight for fifty dollars. I knew what I wanted my wife to get me for my birthday.

The appointed day was cloudy and a little bit windy, but the weather was supposed to be calm enough to be borderline for flying. At about four in the afternoon, Trent Olsen from the university called me to confirm our appointment. He wanted to make sure I was okay with the ride being a little bumpy. I was.

After work, I hopped on my motorcycle and rode down to the airport - it's becoming a familiar route now! They had me fill out some paperwork. They checked my driver's license to be sure I really was me. Trent came out and we shook hands. He seemed genuinely excited to be going flying with me. He gave me a headset, and, having left my backpack in his office, we went out onto the ramp to pre-flight our airplane. 

The airplane was a Diamond Katana - a two-seater with a small engine and a little bit of luggage space behind us. I stood by and watched as Trent checked the tire pressure on the landing gear, tweaked the control linkages on the ailerons and elevators, and dipped a stick into the fuel tank to see how deep it was. "We're okay on fuel" he said. Then it was time to open the canopy, step up onto the wing, and down into the airplane. He had me sit in the pilot's seat, and began explaining things. I actually was going to be flying the airplane! He said that because of the wind conditions, he'd have to do the takeoff and landing - that surprised me; I was expecting him to do those things anyway, and just let me "put my hands on the controls" once we got in the air.

We closed the canopy, latching it down on my side and his. The cockpit was cramped to the point of being a tight fit with both of us in it. It had the conventional instruments - a dizzying array of round dials that show you everything the airplane is doing: what direction you're going, how high you're flying, how hard the engine is working, whether you're going up and down - it was all pretty familiar stuff to me, except for his autopilot and navigation equipment. He flipped some switches... master, avionics, fuel pump. Then he moved the fuel mixture level to full rich and hit the starter. The engine turned and turned and turned, and then caught. It was a louder, rougher sound than a car, but still surprisingly quiet. The rumbling engine made the whole airplane vibrate. He showed me how to work the brakes - left and right with my toe pedals, and the rudder with my foot pedals. He had me push the throttle open just a touch and step on one brake, then the other, testing. He did the same on his side. Then, he fiddled with the radio until we heard the ATIS broadcast. They gave us information about wind speed and direction, temperature, dew point, altitude density, altimiter two-niner-niner-niner... our altimeter setting in inches of mercury: twenty-nine point nine-nine. Trent set the altimeter and verified that it was indicating correct field altitude. He double checked the gyro compass against the magnetic compass and gave it a tiny adjustment.

He then contacted Provo Ground and asked for a clearance to taxi over to the run-up area. They gave it and we did a giant U-turn out of the UVU parking area over into the space next door. He turned us around and showed me as he ran the throttles up. He tested the alternator by turning it on and off to see what the voltage level would be - twelve without, and fourteen with it on. We waited until the oil temperature started coming up. When it did, he cut the throttle, and the engine returned to its rumbling idle, the mass of the propeller gently rocking the airplane.

Trent pushed the throttle a bit and nudged us back out onto taxiway Alpha. He confirmed my suspicion that in an airplane this size,  you really have to keep your speed down on the taxiway unless you want to get into trouble for doing a premature takeoff. Our ten-knot tailwind helped keep us on the ground too. We crossed runway three-six, then turned onto runway three-one. We turned and stopped at the hold-short line. It was time to take off.  Trent contacted Provo Tower. They gave us clearance for an east departure - we wanted to head out to Heber and back. He pushed the throttle all the way forward. The engine awoke from its lazy stupor and sprang to life, pulling us down the runway faster and faster. It wasn't like the Beechcraft Baron I'd flown in before; it didn't exactly press us into our seats. Sooner than I expected, our airspeed hit about fifty-five knots and Trent pulled back on the control stick, causing the nose to come off the ground. We lifted into the sky. With our stiff head wind and low climbing speed, we gained altitude quickly. It seemed like we were going almost as fast upward as we were forward. Before I knew it we were passing forty-eight hundred feet - some four hundred feet off the ground. At that altitude, I was surprised to be able to look down and see a third of the runway and below and still in front of us. It took another twenty or thirty seconds of forward flight to get to where we were no longer over the runway.

Looking eastward, we noticed that a big cloud was covering the mountaintops, menacing the entrance to Provo canyon - our intended route over to Heber. We wondered if the canyon would be clouded over before we could return safely. We decided we were safer to turn south toward Nephi. Trent contacted the tower again to amend our departure. "Southern departure approved as requested". 

We made a left turn, one hundred eighty degrees to the south, and passed abeam the airport, with the runway to our left. It's funny how, even though you're going ninety knots (just over a hundred miles an hour), it feels like you're just creeping along out in the wide open spaces three thousand feet above the ground.

As we passed over a mountain ridge to the south of Provo, I saw our altitude fluctuate all over the place. I'd adjust power to compensate for a slow climb, only to have the airplane start to sink. Adjust again, and then it changes into a climb. Trent and I chatted somewhat as we soaked in the scenery on our way toward Nephi. He wanted to be an airline pilot, but was working as a flight instructor and intro pilot to build hours. I expressed to him my wish that somehow I could afford to fly a small airplane. What I wouldn't give to be able to do our family road trips in an airplane instead!

We reached a small lake north of the Nephi airfield and decided it was getting time to turn around. Trent tuned the radio over to the ATIS, where we got our weather update and current runway back at the airport. Nothing had changed - still information Charlie. Trent told me to power down for descent toward the airport. I set us up for a descent rate of five hundred feet per minute, and we continued chatting and enjoying our view of Utah valley and the lake as we descended. 

When we hit fifty-five hundred feet, I powered up again to level us off. We were at pattern altitude for our approach to the airport. Trent took over the controls, powered us down again for final approach into Provo. The tower notified us that the winds had changed and asked if we wanted to come in on the other runway for better alignment with the wind. We took them up on it - straight in for landing on runway three-six. As we neared the ground, Trent pitched us upward to slow us down for landing. The slower we flew, the more it felt like we were landing a helicopter. This tiny little airplane couldn't make as much headway in the ten-and-fifteen-knot headwind. The airplane was squirrelly on short final, but we managed to have a nice, smooth touchdown anyway. Trent said something about how he would have let me land the airplane if it hadn't been for the wind. Darn!

We taxied back to UVU and parked the airplane. I found one of the tie-down chains and hooked it onto the tail while Trent did the others. It was neat to think this little machine had taken us up to more than a mile above the ground. What a way to see creation! 

I don't know if I'll ever get to fly - especially in my own airplane, but I can dream. So I'll continue to study and learn everything I can - partly in preparation for that day, and partly just because it helps me dream.

September 28 - UVU Aviation Fly-In

Yesterday I found out they were having a fly-in event at the Provo Airport. So today I decided I'd go and indulge my other dirty habit: wishing I could afford to learn to fly.

Since my Grandpa is an aviation aficionado and former private pilot, I invited him to meet me at the airfield to walk around and see the airplanes. There wasn't much of a showing, but it was still fun. They had an old mililtary trainer - a T6. They had a biplane. Later in the morning, a life-flight helicopter landed, and we were able to go and see that.


SR-71

For part of it, we went into one of the big hangars where they had a retired air force pilot talking about his exploits in the SR-71 spy plane. It was neat to hear him talk about developing a fuel that doesn't ignite at the high body temperatures, and how they use chemical pellets to ignite it. He talked about piggy-backing drones on top of the plane and using them to do photo surveillance over enemy territory where they were forbidden to fly the SR-71.


Boys and Their Toys

Grandpa and I both got a kick out of poking around in the engine nacelles of the DA-42 - a relatively modern, composite body twin-engine airplane. We were surprised to learn that had diesel engines. I'd read about aviation diesel engines that run on jet fuel, but never seen one up close. We figured out where the exhaust connects to the turbocharger and how it blows air into the engine for extra power. 

We stopped by the lunch line to see what they were serving. Got a tortilla thing with guacamole and some cilantro - good stuff - especially since it was free!


Flying the Simulator

My favorite part of the morning was the flight simulator. 

They came and escorted a group of us into the simulator building. Down a hall, and to the right, they led me into the DA-42 simulator. I'd be flying the twin engine plane we'd seen out on the flight line. I sat down, and before I knew it, the flight instructor was telling me to just push the throttle levers forward and pull back gently. The airplane lifted off the ground and settled into a rapid climb. It was so dark in the cockpit that I couldn't see the gauges, so I had only the unfamiliar glass cockpit instrumentation to fly by. I was able to find my airspeed indicator, but I couldn't tell whether it was indicated or true airspeed. I wasn't able to find my altitude or rate-of-climb indicator. 

Somebody made a smart-aleck comment about what the simulator might do if I crashed and burned. The instructor told us we'd only see a red screen - rather anti-climactic.

So there I was, gaining altitude like crazy, unsure of what I was doing. Still, it was an absolute blast to apply some gentle right pressure to the control stick and lean the aircraft into a slow turn. The airplane seemed to float in gentle currents, the engine nacelles flowing gently up and down as we turned off of our departure track down the runway, and out over Utah lake. I made sure to keep an idea in my head of where the airstrip was - it became clear that I would be expected to land on it in short order. We continued to circle out over the lake. I kept moving us further out over the water, thinking we were descending, and trying to give myself enough room to turn and line up with the runway. We were still gaining altitude though, and when I made another right turn, we were still way too high to try for a landing. 

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I heard Grandpa egging the instructor on: throw him an engine failure; see how he does! Grandpa thinks he's funny. 

The instructor had me make a full 360-degree turn with flaps and gear down, trying to bleed off some altitude. It wasn't enough. Just for fun, I made a full 360-degree turn to the left, which helped considerably. Then it was time to come back around to the right and try to line up with the runway. They had to remind me to power back to point the nose of the aircraft down, toward the near end of the runway. I let the nose drop and made for the ground. I leaned the plane to the right and gave it some rudder to finishing the bringing us in line for the approach, but I overdid it. On short final, I spent the remainder of the flight fighting to keep the plane flying straight. It seemed like the lower we went, the more sensitive the plane was to my inputs. The more I tried to correct, the more I overdid it. Lean sharp left to scoot us over for a better line-up. Then correct right to straighten out the lean. Then correct left to compensate for my over-correction to the right. I was able to get the oscillations under control in time to make a touchdown that put us across the center-line onto the left edge of the runway, with the stall warning buzzing intermittently - as it should. But I don't doubt that if we'd been in a real plane, both my passengers and I would have lost our lunches before returning to plant our feet firmly once again upon the face of Mother Earth!

As I climbed out of the cockpit and made my way out of the simulator room, Grandpa smiled. "Well you got it down!" he said, referring to the airplane. His cheesy grin betrayed his assessment of what I already knew: my landings need some work! Even though it was just a simulation, it still took a minute for my nerves to calm down. I felt sure that, if I could only get enough practice, I could eventually get my air work down in the simulator and learn to fly it flawlessly. I also felt that, in a real airplane, I'd get better feedback through the flight controls, a better sense of altitude and distance, and I'd be able to do a better job. Grandpa said as much - the simulators were more sensitive than the real thing. It took almost an hour for the perma-grin to dissipate from my face: I had just done what amounted to taking off and landing in an airplane for the first time, and living to tell about it!

After the simulator, we decided to go and raid the lunch line some more. I got a sandwich, and Grandpa grabbed some goodies to take home to Grammy.

Right about then, I had to leave to go meet up with Shelley. I was taking the kids for the rest of the day so she could go have lunch with her Mom and sisters and then go with them to the women's broadcast. After running down to the gas station just outside the airport, I came back with the van and unloaded the kids. We made our way through the terminal and out on to the flight line so the kids could have a look around.

They let us climb up and sit in the cockpit of most of the airplanes. I got a kick out of seeing the glass cockpits of the newer aircraft, but admittedly, my favorite one to sit in was the old Cessna 182. It had the older gauges. It was a lot smaller than the Beechcraft Baron I had flown in as a young urchin. I could easily see over the instrument panel, past the nose and out in front of the aircraft. As I loaded Livvy into the back seat and pulled Owen on to my lap in the pilot's seat, I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to take the family for a flight.

Here's Owen watching the ailerons go up and down when he moves the control stick.

He was totally enthralled with all the buttons and levers and computer screens!

Captain Livvy clicks the mic and instructs her lone passenger to strap in and prepare for a take-off he'll never forget...

Dang it... where'd I stow my preflight checklist?!

Okay Owen, watch for engine speed to reach twelve percent, then advance the throttle to low idle position... can you hear the turbines spooling up?

(preparing for take-off in the life-flight helicopter)

Master ON - check!
Avionics Master ON - Check!
Oxygen - Check!
Flaps at 20% - Check!
Contact Tower one-two-one point niner-five...


(checking out the Australian-manufactured ten-seater owned and operated by the Civil Air Patrol)

Left Mag Check - Good!
Right Mag Check - Good!
Switch to Both
Alternator Check: Landing lights on, slight dip in RPM

Hey Dad, where's the start button on this thing?

Provo Tower, Cessna one-seven-three-three-sierra-tango at transient for southern departure with information x-ray...

...Cessna one-seven-three-three-sierra-tango clear to taxi runway one-eight via bravo, hold short...

(Me and my co-pilot in the Cessna 182... what I wouldn't give to be able to take the Fam to Disneyland in one of these babies!)

Captain Livvy and co-pilot Owen doing the preflight oil level check on the right engine of the DA-42. Jet-powered diesel engine... who'd-a-thunk?

They had an old T-6 military trainer from World War II there, giving rides. I got this because I was hoping to shoot a take-off. Instead, they taxied in and stopped to swap passengers. Still, it was pretty cool to hear that big, throaty radial engine lumbering along, lazily swatting the air with it's big propeller...

We saw a big biplane take off and then bank sharply over the runway, fighter-style, just a few hundred feet off the ground. You had to be there to hear the awesome sound of the propeller shredding the air as the engine worked hard, pulling the airplane through its hard bank and higher into the sky above us.

After that, Owen started complaining that he was ready to go home. For now, the fun was over, but I promised myself I'd be back here again soon. After all, I have an intro flight scheduled for later this week!

June 20-22 - Southern Utah/Highway 12

Introduction

In the summer of 2011, I was really itching to start getting into riding motorcycles, not just on the dirt as I had grown up doing, but on the road too. Sometime during that summer, I read about the Utah Scenic Byway that is Highway 12. The way other motorcyclists talked about it, I knew I wanted to ride it too - so much so, that I decided right then and there if I could find I way, I'd get into riding street.

Well, some time passed, my Dad let me borrow his bike to go and get my learner's permit and driver license. I found an old used Kawasaki KLR650 on www.KSL.com, and before I knew it, I was riding street.

The dream of riding Highway 12 continued to eat at me. I needed camping gear - much of which I already had - stuff that would still take time to accumulate, given my meager budget. Mechanical issues kept forcing me to use what little budget I could put into the motorcycle, just to get it into shape for such a trip. Dad was more than generous, and offered to help with some of those things, not the least of which was donating a riding jacket to the cause. I'd have to borrow saddlebags from my brother.

Work and circumstances delayed the trip through 2012 and too far into 2013. Then, in the middle of June, Dad and I got talking and realized we could squeeze in a run down Highway 12 on June 20-22.


Let's Meet at My Office

We wanted to start our Highway 12 trek at the northeast end, and work our way down south through Boulder, then west to Escalante, and on into Bryce Canyon National Park. Since this was to be a long ride, we decided we wanted to at least make Torrey on the first night. We agreed to meet at my office in Provo at two in the afternoon and head south from there.

As the time for departure drew near, I grew more excited. I had been wanting to ride Highway 12 for a long time!

 At departure time, I found a place to change into more camp-appropriate attire (my grubby jeans), and then hauled my saddlebags, helmet, gloves and jacket outside to load up. As I strapped my things onto the motorcycle, I had co-workers pass by who had not realized I was a biker. One said, "Trent, you ride motorcycles ...with off-road capabilities, I see!" Another thought it was really cool to find out that I ride. The world seems to put bikers into a stereotype of sorts: aggressive, outgoing, colorful personalities. My co-workers - same as many I've met along the way - seemed to have trouble putting quiet, introverted, pencil-pushing me into the slot in their minds where motorcyclists fit.

I finished strapping down just in time to get a call from Dad. He was on the street to the south of me, still looking for the office. A quick jaunt across the parking lot, and I found Dad. He came around, we saddled up, and we left.


Making Our Way to Torrey

We got onto I-15 headed south. Whereas I was riding a dual-sport and had to go slower, we kept a speed of about sixty-five miles per hour, indicated. Motorcycle speedometers are notorious for indicating about ten percent faster than actual.

It was a relief to get off the freeway and slow down to fifty-five, allowing cars to pass around us as needed.

At about the turn-off for the Fish Lake area, there was a small lake. The wind over the water was so forceful that it took constant steering correction to keep the motorcycle going straight. This was to be the case for most of our trip, but it was especially strong near that small lake. At one point, we caught a stiff breeze coming out of the south. It was carrying a strong scent of sage. For most, I suppose that would not be any big thing. But for people like my Dad and me, who love the desert the way we do, it's intoxicating.

As we came into Loa, the vibrant red rock beneath the sage, junipers, and cottonwood began to promise great things to come. We stopped in Loa for gas and a bacon cheeseburger. While we were eating, Dad told me about a neat little village nearby that he'd seen before: Teasdale. We decided we'd take a brief detour and go see it.

Teasdale is a neat little town. With lots of spaces between the houses, with sage and trees everywhere, with its ATV trails running alongside the streets, it's a quaint little place that has a charm all its own. We rode through the middle of town and found a dirt road on the outskirts. It was getting late, so we thought we'd try our luck and see if this dirt road would offer us a place to spend the night.


Camping at Teasdale

We made our way down the dirt road, keeping our speed down - there were houses on both sides at first, and I'm sure they didn't need the noise and dust of us getting too crazy on the motorcycles. It didn't take very long before Dad found a clearing nestled between a hill and a dry lake bed. We took a fork to the right and went down into the clearing. Satisfied that he'd found us good spot, Dad pulled off the road to the left of us, and we stopped. We decided we'd make camp there. We went to work setting up tents and organizing things.

With camp set up, Dad went to walk around the edge of the dry lake - the "bowl" as we called it. I turned back to Teasdale to see if I could get cellphone service.  I wanted to let my wife and kids know I was still alive, and that we'd stopped for the night. On my way out, I almost spilled the bike on the soft sandy dirt - it was something of a pain to ride on, but manageable if you just get on the throttle with a little bit of attitude. It was good to hear Shelley's voice and the kids' too. We couldn't talk for long though, because daylight was fading fast.

When I got back to camp, Dad was just returning from circling the bowl. At about that point, he figured out what the weird smell was, coming from upwind of camp: there was a carcass of a cow that had obviously been there for quite some time. Our noses were telling us it hadn't been there for long enough. He pulled out the camera and caught me incognito, eating a piece of jerky and sporting my flood sweats for posterity.

We settled in early, hoping to get up early and begin the motorcycle ride of a lifetime.


Breakfast Shenanigans

The next morning as the first daylight began to show, I decided I wanted to get up and get going. I pulled out my gas stove, put it in front of my tent, and went to work pumping to pressurize it for lighting. 

Dad overheard me rummaging around in my tent.
   "I take it you're ready to get up and get going?"
  "Yup" I responded.
  "What time do you think it is?" He was testing me, seeing how close I could guess.
  "Judging by the size of the crack of dawn, I'd say about five-thirty."
  "You should have been an engineer!" I heard him say as he muttered something about a crummy night's sleep.

Having heard that bringing Spam along on a motorcycle trip with Dad was part of sacred tradition, I had made sure to include it in my breakfast smorgasbord. I opened up my can of Spam Bacon and cut some off to cook in my little tin pan. I soon realized this was a mistake however, as it stuck to the pan and wouldn't flip. I sat in my tent and ate my canned peaches while the Spam cooked just outside the door. When the Spam was done, I moved my whole operation to the back of my motorcycle, where I began warming some water for hot chocolate. When I came out, Dad requested that I pose several times with my can of Spam - some alone and some with him, as though we were doing a Spam ad. "You really did bring Spam Bacon!" He exclaimed. I had told him as much, but he thought my calling it "bacon"  was just me being smart again. Gatorade, canned peaches... and Spam - the nutritious part of this complete breakfast!

At some point while I was heating my hot chocolate, I stuck my head in my tent again, looking for something. I noticed an empty packet of instant oatmeal laying on my sleeping bag. I hadn't brought any instant oatmeal, and I only had one riding buddy, which left little doubt as to where it had come from. Saying nothing, I continued tending to the water on the stove.

When the hot chocolate was ready, I picked it up and began drinking. Just at that moment, I caught Dad tossing another empty packet of oatmeal into my tent! He saw me, and we both laughed. He said something about how he might have stopped with the first one, but I hadn't said anything."I was trying not to reward the behavior!" I told him. "Well, you failed miserably there!" he assured me.

 Dad grabbed a roll of toilet paper and headed for the bushes. While he was gone, I looked in my tent again, and found three more empty packets of instant oatmeal laying on my sleeping bag! I picked them up, and gathered them with my can of peaches and some other garbage from making breakfast. I found a nice little nook in the chassis of Dad's motorcycle and made a neighborly deposit of sorts.

A short time later, it was my turn to head for the bushes. Upon my return, I caught Dad slinking stealthily toward my own motorcycle with a certain familiar wad of garbage in hand. He got this sort of "caught-with-my-hand-in-the-cookie-jar" look on his face, and we both laughed. In between chuckles, he expressed regret at not having been quicker to take advantage of an opportunity to commit mischief.

We finished breakfast, took down our tents, packed everything up, and left.


Dixie National Forest

We headed east out of Teasdale on a road that would connect us with Highway 12. We climbed higher and higher, curving this way and that as we made our way up the mountain - the curves made for a really fun ride! As we rode, the temperature grew colder and colder. It wasn't long before we entered the Dixie National Forest area.

We had to watch for cows and cow droppings in the road. Cows could have a way of knocking a guy off his motorcycle, and if the droppings are fresh enough, they'll take your motorcycle right out from under you - not fun if you're going fifty miles an hour!

We continued to weave our way through the forested mountains, soaking in the sights and smells of the pine and the valley below. When we came to the turn-off for the Burr Trail in the little town of Boulder, I pulled over. Dad and I had talked about going down the Burr Trail during this trip. We ended up deciding to ride the length of Highway 12 into Bryce Canyon first, then come back and do the Burr Trail before working our way west through Torrey again, and then north toward home.

There were a handful of scenic overlooks, where I just had to stop and soak in the sights. Dad was very tolerant of my frequent slowing and stopping - he had ridden Highway 12 for a first time too, and had been equally mesmerized by its incredible beauty. Several times we'd had to slow down for cows and their calves crossing the highway. At one stop, Dad asked me if I had seen the deer. I said "no", but that I had slowed for everything that might move on me. I might have seen the deer and not registered it for what it was. Like cows, deer could be bad for a motorcyclist's health too! They like to run along-side, and then try to cross your path. Sometimes, they'll see you coming and freeze in their tracks until the last second, not knowing how to react. Then they jump out in front of you before you can do anything about it.


Awe Inspiring Rock Formations

We turned more and more westward as we came out of the Dixie National Forest. Each time we'd climb a little higher, I'd get a glimpse of great things coming in the distance, and then we'd dive back down into the heart of the forest. Then, the scenery changed to desert on us, all at once.

We finally came out on a ridge, and we got wide-open view of the valley to the south from high up on the mountain. It was absolutely spectacular, with its sulfur-colored lava flows and towers of rich, red sandstone, decked out with more green than I could bring my eyes to believe. The sight took my breath away, filled me with a deep sense of awe. I slowed down to a crawl on the motorcycle and just took a minute to soak it in as I poked along. I decided to pick up the pace again pretty quickly though, and I kept an eye out, watching for a scenic overlook to stop at. Handfuls of times I had to remind myself that it was okay to slow down and just enjoy. We weren't in any hurry to get to our destination - this is the destination! This is what we're here to see!

Time and time again, we stopped at the overlooks along the way to get some more of the incredible view. Most of us live within city limits, and our brains are used to seeing certain things, trained to interpret them a certain way. Even if you see a lot of valleys and mountains - as I do, living in Utah - the Highway 12 area sets a geological precedent that forces you to start over mentally. I think part of what made the view along Highway 12 so amazing was that my brain had no basis upon which to interpret what I was seeing. I was especially mesmerized by the other-wordly gaps and fingers of rock scattered around the edges of the valley, next to the cliffs. The high-relief scenery was a thrill to take in, a sort of live 3-D movie that makes your brain work to comprehend spatially what it normally would expect to see as only valley floor and distant mountains.




Dizzying Heights


The next thing I remember seeing was a part where the road is up on a ridge, with nothing on both sides but a long ways to fall - and lots of beautiful rock formations and bushes and trees. At first, it gave me the willies - especially on the motorcycle - but then I got used to it. The view was all the more spectacular! We stopped again to walk around for a few minutes, to get a good look at everything.


Hole in the Rock

Our next stop was Escalante. As we rolled into town, Dad made a point of getting in front of me so he could signal me to pull over at the Hole in the Rock Visitor's Center. We got off and looked around some more. We were down lower, almost down onto what looked like a giant lava flow with cracks and trees and bushes in it. We stopped to read up on the history of the area. Because of thieves and Indians along the traditional routes around the valley, early settlers had decided to build a road right through the middle of it. I was amazed to learn of the hardships they endured in building a road - sometimes down the face of a cliff, sometimes along the face of it. I was shocked to read of the animals that died, of the difficulty of getting supplies in and out of the area. What really surprised me was reading about the dozens of times settlers used that makeshift road, made of tree trunks, before they were able to build something more substantial.


Getting Into Bryce Canyon National Park

After having some time to get up and walk around, maybe get a drink, we saddled up and left Escalante, headed toward Bryce Canyon National Park. I turned left off the highway and passed a short ways through Bryce Canyon City before starting to wonder where exactly I should expect to find the entrance to the park. I stopped and Dad pulled up alongside me. We decided to turn back to a restaurant there in Bryce Canyon City to ask questions. Once we knew where we were going, we continued past the city and into the park. When Dad saw that the price of entry was twenty-four dollars, we wondered for a moment if our money and time wouldnt be better spent chasing the Burr Trail out toward Capitol Reef instead of here in the park. Still, we pulled up to the ticket window, and the lady said entrance for motorcycles was only twelve dollars each. We decided that was worth the money, and Dad bought our tickets.

At the visitor's center, we could hardly believe our luck. As it happened, we had by chance managed to arrive at the park on Utah Priarie Dog day. Looking around in the main lobby, we noticed some stuffed priarie dog toys being sold for thirty dollars and made wisecracks about buying one to commemorate the auspicious occasion.

They had various displays showing more of the historical information about discovery of the area, the geological and other forces that had formed it, the history of Hole in the Rock, and some of the animals and plants in the area. I was surprised to learn that the green trees we were seeing were cottonwood trees - growing in the desert of all places! My favorite part about the visitor's center though, was the topographic model of the park. Either they'd come across some really fancy computer software, or somebody had lots of time on their hands! On the model, we found where Highway 12 passes Bryce Canyon City. We found the road that leads into the park, and we found all the rock formations and valleys that we'd being going to see for ourselves throughout the day.

On our way out, we looked through some pictures of Bryce Canyon National Park. I was hoping to get a sense of what's good to see in the park.


Bryce Point and Inspiration Point

We left the visitors' center and got back on the bikes. The plan was fairly casual: look for a place to stop for lunch; if Trent sees something he likes, we'll stop and check it out. We passed Sunset Point, but when I saw signs for Inspiration and Bryce points, I took a detour. I'd seen the pictures in the visitors' center, and those were high on the list.

It had been twenty years since I last saw Bryce Canyon, and not since then had I seen such an impressive sight. Both Bryce Point and Inspiration Point are on different edges of the same part of the canyon, where a dizzying array of sandstone towers are nestled up against the bright red cliffs. Down in the cracks and tight spaces where water gathers, we could see cottonwood trees and pine along with the junipers and sage that seemed to be everywhere else. Looking away, out across the canyon, you can see for miles and miles. If you're going to see Bryce Canyon National Park, be sure to make these two stops!


Lunch

After Bryce and Inspiration, we decided we'd make the big left turn out onto the main road of the park. There was a picnic spot about three miles down on the right side. I spotted it just in time to pass it, but stopped and turned around. I pulled into the small parking area behind Dad. He found his lunch and went down the hill to the table, while I rummaged through my saddlebags trying to find my jerky, crackers and squirty cheese - ain't motorcycling cuisine the best?

We exchanged smart-aleck remarks as we ate. We noticed how bold the squirrels were - they seemed to come really close, even getting up on the table without minding our being there. I want to say one even looked at us like he was begging, but I can't be sure. 

Dad grimaced when he caught me guzzling my orange Gatorade. "Good stuff, huh?" he prodded, doubtful. I sat there, pensive, for just a second, and then answered, "Orange punch, with a hint of gasoline..." Dad kind of laughed, and then said, "I think I know what you mean about the gasoline. Kind of brings out a bitter taste." Gatorade does actually taste alright. It's amazing how fast the stuff makes you feel better when you've been hot and thirsty all day!

We talked about what we wanted to see next. Dad was saying Bryce and Inspiration were the highlights of the park, that we should have started at the far end and worked our way back instead of the other way around. We decided they'd put the entrance to the park at the wrong end of the canyon. I wanted to at least ride the main road out to the end of the park - it promised to make for a pretty ride!


Rainbow Point

We continued on down the main road, wending our way slowly through a breath-taking mixture of desert and forest. Occasionally, we'd rise up high enough to get a glimpse of the wide open desert, and then we'd dip back down into the forest. Talk about a pretty ride! 

We stopped out at Rainbow Point. From there, we could see all the way down the canyon, back toward Bryce Point and Inspiration Point. Looking the other way, the same red sandstone and yellow, rolling rock seemed to go on for miles and miles. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that we were seeing parts of Arizona from there.


Riding the Curves

Coming back, I made a point of enjoying the fact that I was on a motorcycle. The curves were a blast! You slow down just enough to guarantee getting through the curve safely, then accelerate through the curve. Sometimes I'd get a left and then right curve, so I'd be on the brakes coming out of the first, then hard on the throttle into the second. Under acceleration, you feel the bike sort of "firm up" under you as you lean hard to keep your place in the lane - awesome! Of course, I never broke the speed limit, not even once!


Sunset Point

Before leaving the park, I decided I wanted to go down into the bottom of Bryce Canyon and walk down amongst the towers of sandstone. Dad seemed to be letting me call the shots, so we stopped at Sunset Point. We climbed up to the top of the rim, where you could see out over the canyon again. But we were looking for the trail that led down into it. We ended up taking a left turn. We took a short detour down what looked like a trail. It turned out to be the horse-only trail. Oops! On the way back up, we saw one of the many squirrels holding a bit of horse droppings in his little paws and knawing at it voraciously. Yummy! We continued along the rim and ended up walking all the way to the visitors' center over by Sunrise Point. I asked the guy at the register where to find a trail that goes down into the canyon. He pointed us back in the direction from whence we'd come, and we headed back up the trail. When we got back to the rim, we noticed the trail head, some twenty-five yards to the right of where we'd made our left turn. Missed it by that much! That tiny mistake had cost us an hour.


Exploring the Bottom

We began our trek down the steep trail. When you're on a trail that steep, it feels like gravity is four times stronger than normal, like Mother Earth is daring you to let her pull you faster and faster until you can't control your descent anymore.

 Things got darker - and, thankfully, cooler - as we worked our way down into the canyon. It was crazy to see the huge towers from the bottom. Up top, you see the towers poking out of the canyon, from far away. Down here, you get a sense of how small you are against the backdrop of the mighty Bryce Canyon. Near the bottom, we stopped to take pictures. We could look straight up and see nothing but sandstone for a hundred yards, and then a sliver of clear blue sky. We were amazed at the size of the rock formations as we walked down between them, marveling at how much vegetation there was in the cracks and crannies of this one-of-a-kind desert.

We reached what we thought was the bottom, and then felt unsure about where to go next. We weren't sure if it would be shorter to go back the way we had come, or continue on with the trail and see where it lead. We were wanting to get back on the road in the hopes of finding a place to camp for the night. We decided to turn back. The climb back up the steep trail was grueling. As out of shape as I am, I was huffing and puffing - and sweating like crazy - the whole time. Dad caught some more pictures of the vegetation while I was working my way up. At one point, we stopped to banter with some passers-by still working their own way back up. They asked me how I was doing, how the hike had had been. "You know, I don't remember this taking as long going down!" I quipped. We had a good laugh. 


Beautiful Desert - A Masterful Work of Art

To say that this area was formed merely by the action of wind, sand and water would be like saying the valuable works of art produced throughout history are no more than placements of oil on canvas, inspired by nothing more significant than chemical reactions and the firing of synapses. 

If you've ever seen the freakishly beautiful works of Van Gogh, or the dazzling details of Michelangelo, you know what makes those works valuable to the world is that they are a reflection of the heart and soul of their artists. What makes the views along Highway 12 and in Bryce Canyon so spectacular and valuable is that they are a reflection of the heart and soul of their Creator. To those who believe the desert is hardly more than endless miles of dull sand and droll sage brush, Highway 12 is God's way of proving to us that the desert can be beautiful when He wants her to be. I've heard it said that "all things testify there is a God". The desert of southern Utah bears her unique witness to the divine identity of her Creator. 


Running Hot

We made a quick stop at the visitors' center on the way out of the park, then continued on through Bryce Canyon City, making our right turn, eastward on to Highway 12. For much of the hour-long ride back to Escalante, I noticed my coolant temperature kept creeping upward. It had been increasingly troublesome all day long, but now it was becoming evident that I had a serious problem. At first, I just kind of brushed it off - the temperature fluctuates a lot anyway, especially when I'm doing a lot climbing and slow riding through the pretty parts as we were. But when it went above five-eights of the gauge and stayed there, I knew I'd have to do something.


Dinner in Escalante

We stopped at a mom-and-pop malt and burger shop in Escalante. The wind that had been blowing us all over the road for two days had found a new way of being a nuisance: it was blowing our dinner all over the picnic table next to the shop. I had to keep my shake and burger on one half of my french-fry carton, my fries on the other, to keep it from disappearing on me. I wondered what I'd do as I continued to eat my paperweight.

I made some mention of my hot-runnning situation with the bike, and Dad and I decided we'd watch it, see if it continued. 


Desert Doctor

We talked about a local guy who works on motorcycles. Dad had crossed paths with him on a previous ride in the area. Now, Dad wanted to pay the guy a visit while we were in Escalante, to bring him some leftover motorcycle parts as a neighborly gesture for a guy we were sure had gone out of his way to help many a biker in need. While we were talking, a rough-looking guy on a Harley passed behind me on Main street, and made a right turn up a side street just a block or so down from us. "Speak of devil!" Dad said. That was the Desert Doctor! Now we knew he was in town for us to be able to take him these leftover parts.

After dinner, it took a little bit of wandering around on the other side of Main Street for Dad to remember where the Desert Doctor's house and shop was. We found it, and stopped to talk to him. He was pleasantly surprised to get free motorcycle parts, and insisted on giving Dad one of his signature key chain pieces. The Doc had cut slices of metal from an old barbed-wire fence post and shaped it into something to put on a keychain - he called them "Road Warriors". Dad showed him the one he already had from his last visit. The Doc seemed flattered that we already knew about him, that we had come to see him and brought him something too. He talked about people coming from far and wide asking for his Road Warriors, and how he usually only gives them out to people who have work done on their bikes. He gave me one because of the free brake pads we'd brought him.


Hell's Backbone

Dad and I had talked about whether we wanted to go directly back to Boulder and find a place to camp in that area, or whether we wanted to ride Hell's Backbone and camp up in the forest. Dad had been wanting to ride that area for a long time, so we decided we'd camp in the forest. Dad led the way as we headed out of town on a back road and began working our way up the long hill and into the forest. The road was severely washboarded to the point that we had to either go fifty miles hour - which didn't seem wise in the settling twilight - or we had to poke along at twenty miles hour, dodging oncoming pickup trucks and slowing further in spots when the road got really bad. The slow pace made for a long fifteen-mile ride to where we camped for the night. Some ways into this leg, we remembered that we'd probably have an easier time if we'd let some air out of our tires. We usually keep the tire pressure high to make the tires last longer on the asphalt, but on dirt, the lower pressure helps improve the feel of the ride.


Setting Up Camp

Dad noticed a clearing in the forest on our left, and was able to identify the camp site we were looking for. We pulled in on a short, rocky path, parked, and unloaded. 

Dad began pushing pine cones aside with his feet, making a place for his tent. I did likewise, and soon, our little camp was ready for the night. I ate a can of peaches - I was feeling dehydrated and hadn't been smart enough to stock up on water back in Escalante! Dad worked on his upcoming Sunday School lesson. We talked briefly about the Word of Wisdom - his lesson topic.


Checking Coolant Level 

When he was done with his lesson, I mentioned to Dad that my temperature had spiked again pretty quickly on our way out of Escalante. I asked him to remind me to check my coolant level the next morning - something had changed! "Why don't  you just check it now?" He responded. I was wanting to make sure the engine was good and cold, but he was right; we had all the time in the world, and it wouldn't hurt to know it if by chance we needed Dad to go back to Escalante for help before dark. I got out what little bit of water I had left, and Dad got out his. I found a small bottle that I used to add water to the radiator a little bit at a time. I must have filled that bottle seven or eight times before I could see water sloshing across the top of the radiator, in the opening where the cap goes. No wonder I was running hot! It hadn't been much, but I'd lost enough fluid to seriously impact the effectiveness of my radiator. Dad was a little worried that I might have fried my engine. With fluid and cap back in place, we decided we needed to know if that had fixed the problem. I started the engine and let the temperature come up. It came about to the halfway point on the gauge, where the fan comes on... and then stayed! Problem fixed! And my engine was still operational. What a relief! 


More Spam Shots

The next morning, I awoke to find it unexpectedly light outside my tent. I couldn't believe how late I'd slept.  The night before, just to yank my chain, Dad had given me a bad time about setting my stove up on "his" tree stump. Now, he warmly invited me to join him. I fired up my sputtery old gas stove and went to work roasting bits of Spam Bacon on my fork, rotisserie style. Dad, of course, wanted to take some more Spam shots. I didn't know until a week after our trip, when he sent me the pictures, that he'd been giving me bunny ears in one of them. Note the cheesy grin on his face - Dad thinks he's pretty funny! He has since asserted to me his undoubtedly whole-hearted belief that the bunny ears were an improvement on my appearance.


Back to Escalante

With breakfast done, I thought I'd go try and get my bike started - it likes to be a little cold-blooded in the mornings. "It'll be interesting to see if this thing starts without cheater fluid!" I had told Dad. He was impressed that I'd had the foresight to think of bringing it along.

Dad grabbed the camera and set to firing away, so I mounted up and struck a pose for him before switching to choke and uselessly teasing the motor with the starter button. I didn't try for very long before getting out the starting fluid - just long enough to wonder whether it might've started without. I squirted the air intake and she started right up. I let it warm up a little, to see if the radiator was still holding the temperature steady. It was. Dad fiddled around with his bike some - he had forgotten the connection we needed to use his electric tire pump, and he was trying to come up with a workaround that wouldn't involve destroying the connections he had brought along for other accessories. We packed up and headed out. After my little episode with the radiator, and needing to pump our tires back up, we decided that rather than continue on to Boulder via Hell's Backbone, we'd turn back to Escalante for gas and air.

Dad let me take the lead. To keep the washboard effect from buzzing my brains out, I decided to pick up the pace a little. Well, that just whetted my appetite for a healthy dose of "crazy", so I poured on the gas at every opportunity. I'd brake assertively to make a curve, then drop a gear and put the hammer down. It's a thrill to feel the bike firm up under acceleration and then lean harder and harder into a turn to compensate for the gathering speed - what a blast! Doing fifty-five and leaning this way and that on the curvy road, I made the trip back to Escalante in half the time it had taken to get to camp the night before. It was the first time after fifteen years of being on a four wheeler I'd felt comfortable letting my hair down on a motorcycle. I know - wussy, but that's where I'm at.


Filling Up

When I got to the bottom of the hill on the outskirts of the small town of Escalante, I was wanting more "crazy". I turned around and began to accelerate, but saw Dad coming in the distance. I decided to get turned back toward Escalante and wait for him. 

 When we stopped to gas up, Dad noticed my radiator was leaking severely. After what we'd dealt with the night before, he was sure I was done for this trip. He informed me that I was going to have to sit tight while he went home to get a trailer. On closer inspection, I noticed the radiator cap was loose. "Some idiot didn't put the radiator cap back on right!" I exclaimed, referring to my efforts to top off the radiator the night before. "Have you figured out who the idiot was?" Dad queried, amused. "Well, I have the whole ride home to figure it out!" I responded. He smiled. I filled up the radiator - again, this time making sure to get the cap on straight. We gassed up the bikes and went inside for a bathroom break, a quick drink and doughnut. 


Stopping at the Escalante Overlook

A short distance outside of Escalante, the road began a steady climb above the valley floor. At about the point where we started seeing rock formations below and around us, there's a scenic overlook where you can pull over. With the incredible view beginning to unfold before me yet again, I felt like I just had to stop and soak it in.

Dad let me lead as we made our way toward Boulder. I couldn't help but slow down again at some of these incredible sights. We went from jaw-dropping desert back into lush forest country.

When we hit Boulder, I pulled over, and we consulted for a minute about what we wanted to do. We knew for sure we wanted to see the Burr Trail. But when we hit the bottom, did we want to do the switchback? Would we then turn north and explore Capitol Reef National Park? We decided we'd at least get to the bottom of the switchback, and then figure out what our next move would be from there.


 The Burr Trail

The Burr Trail proved to be an unbelievable sight. Seeing it on a motorcycle was an emotional experience of sorts for me. It's enough just to break away from the grind of everyday life and roam free on the motorcycle for a few days. Add to that the sage and the juniper, the cottonwoods in the riverbed, and the rich red rock, towering high above and all around me as I weaved my way in the wind and the curves, and somehow Dad and I both felt like we were in a temple of sorts - a kind of holy place where, if you're attuned to it, you can come and truly feel nature touch your soul. 

Every now and again, I'd come around a bend and get another good stretch of riverbed on one side, with a particularly high cliff of rock on the other, and I'd have to slow down to a crawl to soak it all in.

Somewhere along the Burr Trail, at one of our stops, Dad asked me to watch for him to disappear behind me. He said if that happened, it was because he was setting up behind me to take some "curve pictures" as I pass. As we had done on our way into Bryce, I was to turn around and come back at him as though he weren't there. Here's one shot he got of me, enjoying the view as I mosey on by on my old KLR.


The Steep Switchback

We followed the canyon to where the road straightens out, widens, and becomes much steeper. We continued downward until the road turned to dirt, then had to slow to a crawl to make the hairpin turns as we worked our way painstakingly down the steep switchback.  I made the mistake of getting up into third gear once or twice. The bike would very quickly pick up enough momentum to make it difficult to slow for the tight curves. With the loose rubble all over an otherwise hard surface, I felt very uncomfortable letting the bike lean at those slow speeds. This forced me to just inch along tentatively through the curves. 

Part way down the switchback, I realized Dad was once again no longer behind me. I knew what that meant. I decided the safest place to try to turn around in my situation was at the next hairpin turn. I worked my way off the road, being careful to do enough turning around to point the bike uphill before stopping. As tall and long as my bike is, it took about a twelve point turn, maneuvering on my tippy-toes, but I got the bike re-oriented in the back-toward-Dad direction, and started making my way back up the trail. I didn't get very far before I ran into Dad, still making his way down. "We should have talked." he began. "I was hoping you'd just keep riding, and let me get several shots of you from above as you make your way down." He wanted to shoot several pictures, following my descent until I was little more than a speck in the distance. He expressed the wish that I hadn't had to go through the hassle of turning around - twice - on this crazy switchback. The fact that my seemingly unstoppable motorcycling father - capabale of getting two wheels over just about every kind of terrain imaginable - had used the word "hassle" meant that even he found such feats difficult and a pain to do. He has a way of doing those things anyway, as though they're nothing to sweat. 

I executed another timid twelve-point hairpin turn while Dad set up his camera. I continued down the trail, the rear wheel dragging, the engine complaining as I fought, but I managed to keep gravity from pulling me out of control as I made my way down the switchback. Finally, I reached the bottom. There was a big, wide, graded road. I knew from talking with Dad that, if anything, we wanted to turn left. I made the turn, and rode a short distance to a sign I could see, and I pulled over to wait for Dad.

I didn't have to wait long. I couldn't believe he'd gotten down that switchback on the R1200 - it had been enough of a feat on my dual-sport! We talked for a minute. He told me we could work our way north and do some exploring while we were in Capitol Reef National Park. We wished we had the time to head down to Lake Powell and then up and over to have a look at Monument Valley before heading home. We got to looking at the time, and decided we'd soak in some more of the Burr Trail. We figured we'd just backtrack, make our way to Torrey, and head on home from there.


Picnic in the Canyon

We no sooner got turned around than I felt a change in the "feel of the trip". Thoughts of home had a pull on me that affected my throttle setting, almost without my realizing it. The feeling reminded me of a time being out on a horse-and-buggy ride with my parents and some friends of theirs. They'd had to constantly nudge the horse to move a little faster. Every time we made a turn - whether back toward home or not - the horse decided we were headed back to the barn and made a point of taking a noticeably faster pace. I felt that way now, like I was "headed back to the barn" - home is this way!

Dad had mentioned a picnic spot about halfway back to Boulder, where he wanted to stop and have some lunch before beginning the long journey back home. I slowed way down when I saw what I thought was the turnoff. I saw Dad make the turn through my right mirror, so I stopped and followed suit, maneuvering around to park next to Dad so we could just put it in gear and go on departure. 

Once again, I had to rummage through my saddlebags trying to find my lunch, while Dad waited at the table, eating his. "Some day when I win the lottery I'm gonna buy me some panniers!" I thought to myself. Finally, I found my crackers and squirty cheese and some Gatorade, and I sat down. In making conversation, Dad talked about the same thing I was feeling: realizing the trip is over takes the "mosey" out of you, makes you just want to pound down the miles and get home! 

While we were eating, we noticed we had some small visitors. They were a desert brand of blue bird that we'd read about back at the Bryce Canyon visitor center. People had obviously been feeding them - they were brave enough to come close, like they were hoping for a morsel. But then, if one of us so much as twitched, they'd disappear into the trees. Seconds later, they'd reemerge and try again. One even came and checked out my rig, like maybe he wanted a ride on my bike.

With all the greenery around us, after lunch I decided I wanted to venture deeper into the trees, to see if I could find a stream or a river. Dad wasn't sure there was a river to find, and I had to admit the idea seemed weird in the middle of so much desert. Still, couldn't help but wonder. 

I didn't have to go very far before I heard the rushing of water. It felt good to step down into the water and get our heads good and wet in the hot afternoon sun.

We talked for a second, and decided we wanted to head into Torrey for gas, chain lube, and a tire pressure check before making the long trip home.


 
 Stuck Behind a Motor-Home

As incredibly beautiful as the area was, it  somehow lost its luster for the return trip. A big enough part of me was too busy wanting to get home to focus much on seeing the sights. Even so, I slowed down in couple of places, wanting to savor the last little bit of nature before returning indefinitely to civilization. 

When I hit Highway 12 at Boulder, I stopped just long enough to get the idea that Dad wasn't interested in stopping, and I gunned the engine, lunging assertively back onto Highway 12. I enjoyed soaking in some more pine, and dodging cows as we made our way back up through the Dixie National Forest toward Torrey. Somewhere along the way, Dad and I, along with a string of cars, got caught behind a motor-home going ten miles under the speed limit. For a while, I didn't mind - I was still soaking up the scenery. But as we neared Torrey, I grew impatient. When I had enough oncoming road in sight to think I was in the clear, I went for it, and passed the RV. I was only about halfway past the string of cars when I realized how close we were to the main intersection in Torrey. "Crud!" I thought to myself, my heart racing with panic. I had to jump on the gas to get in front of the RV. Luckily the poor guy was already slowing down as it was, for the stop sign. I had plenty of space to stop, myself. Whew! Once we got into Torrey, Dad wondered if I had realized the seriousness of my predicament. He was relieved to know that I had. Helplessly watching my foolish antics had nearly given him a heart attack.


Topping Off, Nap in the Park

While we were in Torrey, we stopped for a drink break.  I made sure to lube my chain, and then we headed over to a nearby park to see if we could get a quick catnap under some trees in the park. Dad found his tree, and I found mine. Thirty seconds later, some kids from the neighborhood came out to play on the nearby swings and slide. Needless to say, nothing much became of our nap. Still, we enjoyed a few minutes' downtime, laying in the grass and the little bit of shade the saplings offered. It was badly needed, and would ensure that we could be alert for the trip home.


My Butt Needs a Break

We headed west out of Torrey on Highway 24, back toward home. I felt the pull of home tugging at my throttle again. We kept our speed five miles an hour faster on the trip home than what we had done on the trip in.  The ride through the Fish Lake area on up to Salina and Gunnison was uneventful. It took two one-hundred mile legs and another drink break, but we rolled into Gunnison, preferring to stay on the side roads rather than ride I-70. Knowing I needed gas to get the rest of the way home, I turned into the first gas station I saw, and pulled to a stop. Dad stopped alongside and asked, "Whatchya thinkin'?". "I'm thinkin' my butt needs a break!" I asserted. He gave a knowing laugh. Soft as my seat was, two hundred straight miles was starting to take its toll on my increasingly sore kiester. Loving soul that my Dad is, he kindly suggested that if my backside was getting sore, I could try riding on my face for a while instead. When Dad gets to spouting this kind of nonsense, I have to just roll my eyes and politely make a silent mental note not to take him up on his suggestion!

I told Dad that, though I still had lots of gas, I was pretty sure I didn't have enough to get home. We went ahead and gassed up, then continued down the main drag, looking for some place to eat. I spotted a Subway and pulled aside to see if that would be of interest to Dad. He rolled on past me and turned into the parking lot. Subway it is! We parked under the canopy of an old abandoned gas station next to the restaurant.

After we ordered, I went into the back for a bathroom break. In the mirror, I noticed my face was stubby, grubby-looking, and dirty from three days of camping and riding in the desert. "I got a good look at myself in the mirror..." I told Dad. "Scared myself half to death! Here I am all thinkin' you look like crap!"  He assured me that he agreed: he wasn't the only one whose appearance had taken a beating. During dinner, I made another wisecrack about Dad's "Jeremiah Johnson" visage. He shot me a look as if to say, "Like you look any better, princess?"


Saying Hi to the Fam

With full stomachs and full gas tanks, we saddled up to make the last leg of our trip. The more I saw familiar sights, the more home pulled at me. Thing is, I knew my wife and kids weren't home from their daily activities yet, and I knew my family was having a get-together at Mom and Dad's house. In talking with my wife on the phone, I had decided to stop by and say hi to siblings from out of town before going home. Dad was a little surprised when I got off the freeway with him instead of going straight home, and he asked about it at the next stoplight. We made our way through American Fork and up the Alpine Highway to his place. 

 When we turned into his neighborhood, a friend of Dad's noticed us, and turned around to follow us the rest of the way to Dad's house. We got to talking motorcycles with him. He asked about our trip and wondered what I'd made of my first real motorcycle ride. He pointed out that my bike was all dusty. "Yeah, Dad took it for a spin." I quipped. To this Dad vehemently objected: "Hey that thing was dirty before it ever came on this trip!" I had caught him off guard, and we got a little bit of a laugh at his expense.


On the Home Stretch 

It was good to visit with the family for a little bit, to ask my brother about his new Yamaha Virago, but the pull of home was still tugging at my heartstrings. I gave my Mom a good-bye hug, and, talking about Dad, I told her, "I put up with his crap for three days. You can have him back!" She kind of smiled at me, knowing what I meant. 

I mounted up one last time, turned the bike around on Dad's driveway, and rode out of the neighborhood. Even though I'd only been gone a few days, thoughts of seeing my wife's smile, of seeing my baby girl and my four-year old boy come running at me for a hello hug made me just a tad emotional.

After buzzing incessantly for hundreds of miles on end, the engine of my old KLR just seemed to sputter lazily along as I wended my way down Main Street in Lehi behind a slow-moving string of cars. Before leaving, I had told my wife I expected this would be "the mother of all motorcycling trips". My hopes had been far exceeded. As incredible as this trip had been though, it felt good to be on the home stretch at last.