Today started on the top of a Budget rental truck on a dirt road outside of Ely, Nevada and ended atop the same truck along the banks of the Colorado just north of Moab, Utah. Bonzai and I are en route to Topeka, Kansas, where I will debark and pick up a car for the return trip; Bonzai is proceeding on to his new home in Portland, Maine. As part of this cross-country odyssey, we have scheduled two days of riding in the MTB mecca of Moab, to be joined there by the one and only Krusty.

After several hours of driving, we rolled into town about 2:30 p.m. I had been concerned about getting a campsite, but we turned down Utah 128 paralleling the river and soon found many prime open sites. We giddily secured a suitable spot in the Negro Bill campground and had the bikes out of the truck and ready to ride by 3:30.

As Bonzai and I pedaled alongside the river on our way out to the 171, we were awed by the massive, sheer canyon walls, their brown and pink colors contrasting the riparian greenery of the Colorado's muddy track. The beauty of the canyons served notice to us that we were in a special place, embarking upon a special ride.

The cathedral of MTB	View of the river from our campsite	Cannonball in his natural habitat

We consulted several different maps and finally agreed that we'd go for the famous Slickrock Trail, the signature trail of the Moab area and possibly of the entire mountain biking world. Moab is one of THE places for mountain biking, and like Marin, Kamloops, and the Alps, Moab is an MTB vortex, pulling in dirty pilgrims from all over the world. And here we were. This was like golfing at St. Andrews or taking batting practice at Fenway. All of our literature noted that the Slickrock is considered the hardest of the Moab trails, so hard it even has a two-mile practice loop that riders can use to preview the experience of the full trail in order to determine whether they are up to the challenge. There was no doubt we were up to the challenge, but we both had some butterflies because we wanted to do well on the trail and affirm that we belong in the tribe.

With some basic directions, we set off about 3:30. First, we had to ride out to the main highway, then ride into town, then ride up to the trailhead. Seemed like only a few miles on the map, but by the time we had pulled ourselves up the Lion's Back and into the trailhead parking lot, we had already ridden nearly ten miles. No sweat, we were pumped for the legendary trail and had energy to burn. We dutifully read the signage warning us of the difficulty level of the trail, noting that it recommended allowing for four to five hours to complete the main trail. As it was now 4:30 and sunset was around 8:00, we might have taken a moment to consider the math, but nothing was going to stop this train now.

The world-famous Slickrock trail	Better try the practice loop first!	Follow the white stripes

We plunged into the practice loop and it was everything we had hoped it would be. Huge pillows of naked stone, bowls, swirls, downhill dives, and uphills so steep I was practically scraping my chin on the front tire. Tall tales you say? Not really. Because the slickrock (name comes from its condition when wet, not dry) is so tacky, you can pull amazingly steep climbs -- I'm talking possibly 30-degree climbs. The trail darts and weaves and zags over rock fins, down into sandy crevasses, through clumps of rabbitbrush, and back up onto the rocks. Riders don't need to consult the map, they need only follow the dotted white lines painted on the rocks just as we followed them through our land of cycling Oz. After crushing the practice loop, we took on some fluids and then went after the main trail.

Because it was a Monday in August, we had the entire trail to ourselves. With the exception of two cotton-clad greenhorns on the practice loop and a couple of grizzled locals taking their daily run at the Slick, there was nobody else out there. It was like going to Wally World when it's closed and having the run of the place. And we went after it! Except for a couple of really deep sand drifts and one or two of the steepest steeps, we cleared every part of the trail. I mean, we fucking nailed it. We stopped a couple of times for video footage and photos, but for the most part, we just followed the white lines with breathless anticipation of what the next turn would bring us. The scenery was a major distraction as it offered an endless sea of sandstone bubbles and incredible views of the river. The bikes ran great. I had no chainsucks, which is significant because this kind of undulating, unpredictable terrain is exactly the type of riding that brings out the chainsuck in old Blue.

When we emerged back into the parking lot two and a half hours later, we knew we belonged. We had just ridden one of the most famous bike trails in the world, and we had pured it. In 1993, JB and I had ridden just the practice loop of this trail. JB had crashed twice and left a whole lot of elbow and knee skin on the slickrock;I had spent more time walking than pedaling. Now, 11 years later, today's ride has given me new hope that the graph line for my cycling ability is still arcing upward, despite my advancing years. Yes, there is no doubt than I am at least twice the rider I was 10 years ago. I may not have the level of fitness I had then, but I am an infinitely more skilled bike rider. I felt extremely proud of our effort.

Coming back down the hill, we decided to throw some grub through our glycogen windows, so we stopped for pizza at Eddie McStiffs. The pizza was just OK, but after today's ride, it really hit the spot. Darkness has long since soothed the desert beast by the time we were done eating, giving us the magical experience of riding home in the dark. Things were especially mystical as we spun down 128, riding only by the light of the rising moon, serenaded by the chirping of bats and the lapping of the river. Oh sweet nature!