With the Check Engine Light, on and the tires low, self and fellow traveler, Miss B., made it up to MOab last weekend to rendezvous with Big Gay Randy who prefers to go by: Randini Hill. – The guy that road there, mostly off-road, from Flagstaff, in 14 days. I’m only now getting my shit together to make mention of it, and as expected, it was a Randy tour if I’ve ever been on one. Friday night late, we parked the car in a dirt lot north of town, between a semi trailer, a broken down bus, and a trailer park. This was to be home for the next two days. No shower, no water, not a goddamed thing but dirt and thorns.
Saturday came early with coffee and typical, overpriced watered down Utah bullshit for breakfast. A pile into a stretched Vanagon for $20 bucks, got us a 20 mile shuttle into the La Sals south of town. From there, we rambled through some jumpy ass Hazzard trail network back down to the Porcupine rim trails. We were out there in the desert, ripping a bumped out sweet trail, and only saw about 15 tourists. Nothing like seeing a gaggle of Spanish speaking business men, all high fiving each other at a vista, or hearing someone who you just past mutter “who’s riding this????” when your miles from anywhere. We bottomed out that day, to return to beer, smoke, and chillin in the dirt lot… It all was a fine sampling.
Sunday would be my moment of age. We hit the Poison Spider mesa late that morning after chilling with the Chile Pepper peeps, mooching their fine espresso. The day was hotish, and we arrived on top of the mesa close to noon maybe. The jeep road faded right, and Randy took a left. We hit some social slick rock section that was to circumnavigate a bunch of bullshit sand. Randy said the general rule of the route was simply to meander northwest and avoid any dirt… stay on the rock.
So I roll for a bit getting used to the bike, and the new dynamics of slickrock riding with the superb traction, just minding my ride. And then he was gone. 70 yards away, he was at the top of a 30 foot deep, slickrock halfpipe, To one side, was dirt… and shrub and catus. A no go. To the left, was the slow fade of off an camber slickrock to a 300 foot cliff less than 20 feet away. I said no. I said no. I dropped in already knowing it was too much. I pitched out to the forced left on the off camber slope to the edge of that cliff. No momentum, I planted the foot on the ground hearing the scrape of a now useless cleat. I had completely lost it. All the revelations of some midlife epiphany came through: “kid, rest of life, wtf, slow the fuck down, enjoy your longevity, I WANT TO LIVE!”… all of it. I became more gripped by the moment as I had time to think about everything, and the moment. All my shit luck as of late, and this point here, where if I missed a beat, I would be very close to death without a savvy arguement.
Randy walked down casually and picked my bike up, and rolled it to the top. My face was now 2 inches off the deck, the fifth point nearly kissing the ground. I muttered “fuck Randy, fuck”. He then walked around on the off-camber, back and forth and said “it’s really all just mind over matter”, and I realized that. I began bouncing between the what if, and the what now. I picked shallow dimples in the rock, and crawled away from the edge. Got on the bike, turned around and left. I walked through the shrub bullshit, and found another route back to the nice wide jeep road, and walked through plenty of sand to get to the same place. Randy followed quietly. We then dropped in on the Portal at a few hours past noon, where we sat for a while just on the edge, where I still had to calm my mind.
I’m not down on luck, but I don’t need to die for a stupid mistake like a misplaced foot, or a tire that doesn’t hold. I was too old at that point. What was rideable, and easy, was overshadowed by consequence, and all I could see, was the consequence. And as simple as it started, it ended. That day, after the revelation, We said adios, and Miss B. and I got back in the beat down Subaru, and blazed town. We grabbed coffee in Mexican Hat, had a right rear blowout around Cameron, and arrived in Flagstaff 5ish hours later, 3000 feet colder, and me, a bit slower and a bit wiser.
Happily I am back to the grind again, and again it is friday.
September 12th, 2008 at 10:58 am
Living the dream… even it is just between classes on a Friday morning. Rubber side down.
September 13th, 2008 at 7:02 am
That looks like nothing but fun
September 13th, 2008 at 10:39 am
Gnome-
I think I walked that exact section of Poison Spider. Long fucking drop to the river, yo.
Me, I’m out to the San Rafael Swell end of next week, can’t wait.
Mikey
September 29th, 2008 at 9:58 am
Having been a long lost friend of Randy, i gotta tell you, I love being able to find him doing well and living his love. i don’t hear from him often enough, but love checking in on him here. Thanks for keeping me in the loop with your postings. tell that guy to email me sumtime! :)
Peace from Kansas
September 29th, 2008 at 10:07 am
Will do.
June 19th, 2010 at 9:44 am
This was very interesting, with much of the credit to you the poster. Would love to hear more about this from you. If you would not mind would you email me, I believe you have my email with this comment and we can talk that would be awesome. Thank you so much look forward to hearing from you.