The Young West: Adventure

There’s a surreal feeling that overcomes while you speed through the darkness as the sun rises behind. Rebirth surrounds and the weight of life dissolves in the growing light. The world is new; a blank canvas to create where no style guide or deadline exists. The final deliverable is your own.

I rose early Saturday headed west from Dallas. Removed from the hustle of eighteen-wheelers and weekend warriors of the interstate, I was greeted by pastoral sprawl of ranch land, flanking my two-lane road. As the winds rose and clouds weighed heavy on the horizon, I was free. Nothing mattered outside the iron horse I was mounted.

Day one was nothing short of a marathon, I longed for distance between the concrete canyon and wilderness I’d call home. Between the café’s and fuel up’s, passing strangers became my companions. A simple “where you headed, where you from?” unlocked chapters of past glories from the road.

I settled for the evening along the shores of Lake Sumner, a breathless expanse of blue amongst the shores of sand and pine mounted raven. To the distance, the sound of passing trains and silhouettes of windmills, my familiar companion to the endless stretch of highway of the west.

Intoxicated by the road, I pressed on through Albuquerque. Initial outlines laid out the Balloon Fiesta, however excitement weighed heavily so I continued on. Arriving in the early afternoon, I explored the canyons of Blue Water Lake State Park while gathering timber. I was blessed that night with a companion, arriving in the darkness and seeking warmth from my fire. Three days in and destined for California, he was bright eyed and eager to share his story. As brothers, we set out the next morning sharing miles of silent beauty before parting ways with a simple nod.

Further west, the road continued straight and flat. I stopped at a trading post to pick up a Navajo blanket and fry bread for my meal. Miles later I gazed over Meteor Crater in amazement, wishing I could have it all to myself. In a flash of a second the whole world is over, that’s all it takes. One awe aspiring moment to erase everything, nothing.

Flagstaff wrote itself the most unpredictable in the journey. Distracted by the towering pines along the forest road, I became engulfed by her beauty and my bike went down. The speed and weight dragged us over rock and soil until I finally stopped. While the world grew silent, I lay there while the dust settled. Resting on top, the bike took the majority of the damage. We limped fifteen miles to town in the darkness with a bent handlebar and snapped break rod.

To the west of town a shop had the parts and patched me up enough to continue. With half the day wasted in repair, I checked in with my father. Glad to hear I was up and running, he directed me towards the San Fransico Peaks to the north. Humphrey's Peak my challenge and I accepted.

With few hours to ascend before nightfall, I stashed my gear in the forest and began the journey. Pushing harder than ever before I leapt up the trail passing others warning me to slow down. I made the summit in less than two hours only to collapse on the peak and stare upward for eternity.

Along my descent I shared time with fellow ramblers and lost souls. The mountain that had called us here separately now brought us together. We stopped to capture the color of the aspens with our lenses, refusing names and candid shots for enjoyment of the memory alone. The trail ended and we shook hands, smiling as we set fourth in the night.

That night I camped where I had wrecked, sleeping in the Coconio National Forest. I woke to a rancher hustling cattle in the sunrise and broke camp. Parallel with interstate 40, route 66 runs between the beautifully depressed towns of tourist traps and Americana. I rode her through a hundred miles of emptiness, incredible portraits of the way things used to be.

In admiration, I observed the Hoover Dam in complete awe. The manpower of building such a structure during the great depression and the shear pressure that’s held behind such thin walls (in comparison) is mind blowing. Riding across, standing on and above does not equal the magnitude of its presence. The determination of man is unstoppable.

I arrived in Las Vegas only to connect with my Father and continue on. The town should burn and I’d never think twice about it. She’s a scar to our landscape and nothing better than a wasteland I’d rather see buried by the surrounding sand of the desert.

No longer alone, my alpha had joined and our new journey began. We battled through the rain and cold, his cage far warmer than what I endured. Pressing on through roads carved between inspiring canyons, we pushed further through the storm as it opened into patches of sunlight that highlighted the sandstone cliffs.

Beyond the canyon and into Pine Valley National Forest, snow capped the pines and peaks of the deserted park. The shutdown rendered our plans useless although further trespass unlocked the beauty of our would-be cabin and surroundings. Calm and quiet, we took in what was rightfully ours before continuing on. As the rain passed, a rainbow greeted us at Quail Creek State Park for the night.

Another day of shutdown forced upon us we explored the Red Cliffs National Conservation Area. In each passing step a new object of beauty appeared, affecting the landscape in unique ways. We passed over fossilized dinosaur tracks and I questioned the mark that I am to make. A quick dip in the canyon river brought me back and we set back to camp.

The next morning I carved through the canyon towards Zion as the sun flirted with the peaks, kissing and hugging with warm embrace. The park was open and we were of the first to enter. Our site was monumental, a walk-in with the backdrop of a cliff that would catch the sunset. Setting camp before the morning dew had its chance to dry, we set out for the day.

We hiked to Angels landing, forgoing the chains laid out in search of the union connecting nature to man. Venturing into the narrows, we waded towards the ever-closing walls through the freezing water as the sky grew darker. To fully experience Zion you must spend days there, intoxicated by her beauty. I had but a sip, a taste of what she has to offer.

Our route towards the Grand Canyon took us beyond the ever-changing cliffs, a merging of hues from white to red. There was more desert, filled with orange and the occasional spot of blue, an oasis of double-wides and party boats across the land. At each passing gas station sat a begging dog, a metaphor for the town.

We reached the rim road and pulled off at each stop and outlook. To see the canyon is overwhelming, an overdose of beauty. Her expanse is so wide that clouds form and obscure the view to the other side. As we reached the village, the sky opened and the rain began to fall. We headed south.

The morning was cold and I rode fast to close the distance of the day. Tucked low to my machine, I was a blur to the former sights and outlines experienced now in different light. Past Flagstaff, through Albuquerque and beyond, the sun cast my shadow and I was ahead of myself. To the south-east lie my final destination, a smudge on the map I could erase. Tomorrow this will end and something new will begin. We set camp that night at Ute Lake State Park. Serenaded by coyotes and lonesome owl, we’re all alone.

Early the next morning I wake to say goodbye to my father, a plane waits to bring him home. I'm back in my concrete canyon, alone again. A final junction where I'm left wondering if I should turn and never look back.