Today: 108.2 Miles – AVG Speed: 12.7MPH - Top Speed: 33.5MPH
Total: 4,459.75
Over old ground we go, then. I won’t go into the details of the ride, per se. It was much like the outbound trip with the addition of the final 27 miles of crash day. The main difference being that the ups were downs and the lefts were rights. My hands were feeling much better, though. Not back to the thigh-rubbing perfection of old just yet, but the bulk of the healing seems to be complete. I am a man reborn. Sort of.
At 7pm I arrived at the gates of Zion, which despite the dramatic images these words conjure, was a rather subdued affair. I stayed at a campground on the edge of the park ready for an early start in the morning to get into Zion proper, but when I awoke my plans were kyboshed as the heavens opened. It was an impressive downpour even by these monsoon standards. Now, you know I have a Gremlin type aversion to moisture from on high so I stayed cooped up in a laundry room for a couple of hours reading until the rain subsided, but the clouds did finally break, and with that, I made the short 10-mile trip to the South Campground. The ride was as enjoyable as when I had come through the park over a week ago, but the place had an altogether different feel as the low clouds covering some of the mountain tops created a far more engaging picture. As last week I had to wait for a pick-up truck to escort me through the tunnel, and instead of waiting around I opted for a short one mile hike to catch sight of one of the most iconic views in Zion where I wouldn't be disappointed. From here I could see the entire canyon. I tried focusing on the various flora and colours the view offered, but it was the low clouds that made it such a unique vision and as I hope the pictures convey, it was a scene that had me in its grip for sometime.
Once I had gone through the tunnel and enjoyed the downhill to the base of the canyon I entered the campground to set-up my dwelling and after some jiggery-pokery attempting to drive my warped pegs into the solid ground I went into the adjoining town of Springdale to have some lunch and pick up some supplies. Outside of the supermarket I got talking to a chap named Tyler who worked for the National Park Service. We had a short chat and as I was saying goodbye I heard the sweetest words these lugs of mine have heard in some time.
“Hey man, do you want to go to a party tonight?”
Fuck, yes.
It was the birthday of Shannon, and the venue was within Zion itself. Tyler and about 30 of his pals all work in the park on a seasonal basis and live in a hidden street. It was as if I had been welcomed into the fold of a team of superheroes and invited to view the secrets of their hidden lair. Except these superheroes wore converse and the lair was a semi with three bedrooms and just a short hop from the nearest Shell garage. They supplied food, music and tequila. Lots of tequila. The party progressed as parties tend to do; rowdier and more bafflingly obscure as the hours wore on, culminating in a nasty head-wound for one of the more eccentric guests. He’s all right now, though. Probably.
I also met Florian in the campsite before Tyler picked me up. He was on a bike tour from west to east, and despite some initial resistance I convinced him to throw off the shackles for one night and join in the fun. A German national with a strong accent, I took great pleasure in eavesdropping as the attendees mispronounced his name. Floyd was a good one, but Michelle’s deduction of Flugel was my personal favourite. What a great name that would be. Flugel, eh? It sounds like some kind of Austrian woodwind instrument. The rest of the night is a bit of blur, but it’s fair to say I wasn’t totally with it, as at 4am I decided I needed to go “home” as opposed to taking up the offer of sleeping on a comfy couch. There’s nothing like the lure of a tent to tempt a man.
As I was heading back into town this morning I bumped into Kip, Kenny and a few others from the party, all of who looked a little shaky. This won’t be a regular affair, though as I’m off tomorrow. I’m entering the last leg now, there’s no doubt about that, but I still have plenty of miles to put in and they shall be given full respect. This cyclist is not for turning. Unless there’s a bottle of tequila to be torn into, of course
Total: 4,459.75
Over old ground we go, then. I won’t go into the details of the ride, per se. It was much like the outbound trip with the addition of the final 27 miles of crash day. The main difference being that the ups were downs and the lefts were rights. My hands were feeling much better, though. Not back to the thigh-rubbing perfection of old just yet, but the bulk of the healing seems to be complete. I am a man reborn. Sort of.
At 7pm I arrived at the gates of Zion, which despite the dramatic images these words conjure, was a rather subdued affair. I stayed at a campground on the edge of the park ready for an early start in the morning to get into Zion proper, but when I awoke my plans were kyboshed as the heavens opened. It was an impressive downpour even by these monsoon standards. Now, you know I have a Gremlin type aversion to moisture from on high so I stayed cooped up in a laundry room for a couple of hours reading until the rain subsided, but the clouds did finally break, and with that, I made the short 10-mile trip to the South Campground. The ride was as enjoyable as when I had come through the park over a week ago, but the place had an altogether different feel as the low clouds covering some of the mountain tops created a far more engaging picture. As last week I had to wait for a pick-up truck to escort me through the tunnel, and instead of waiting around I opted for a short one mile hike to catch sight of one of the most iconic views in Zion where I wouldn't be disappointed. From here I could see the entire canyon. I tried focusing on the various flora and colours the view offered, but it was the low clouds that made it such a unique vision and as I hope the pictures convey, it was a scene that had me in its grip for sometime.
Once I had gone through the tunnel and enjoyed the downhill to the base of the canyon I entered the campground to set-up my dwelling and after some jiggery-pokery attempting to drive my warped pegs into the solid ground I went into the adjoining town of Springdale to have some lunch and pick up some supplies. Outside of the supermarket I got talking to a chap named Tyler who worked for the National Park Service. We had a short chat and as I was saying goodbye I heard the sweetest words these lugs of mine have heard in some time.
“Hey man, do you want to go to a party tonight?”
Fuck, yes.
It was the birthday of Shannon, and the venue was within Zion itself. Tyler and about 30 of his pals all work in the park on a seasonal basis and live in a hidden street. It was as if I had been welcomed into the fold of a team of superheroes and invited to view the secrets of their hidden lair. Except these superheroes wore converse and the lair was a semi with three bedrooms and just a short hop from the nearest Shell garage. They supplied food, music and tequila. Lots of tequila. The party progressed as parties tend to do; rowdier and more bafflingly obscure as the hours wore on, culminating in a nasty head-wound for one of the more eccentric guests. He’s all right now, though. Probably.
I also met Florian in the campsite before Tyler picked me up. He was on a bike tour from west to east, and despite some initial resistance I convinced him to throw off the shackles for one night and join in the fun. A German national with a strong accent, I took great pleasure in eavesdropping as the attendees mispronounced his name. Floyd was a good one, but Michelle’s deduction of Flugel was my personal favourite. What a great name that would be. Flugel, eh? It sounds like some kind of Austrian woodwind instrument. The rest of the night is a bit of blur, but it’s fair to say I wasn’t totally with it, as at 4am I decided I needed to go “home” as opposed to taking up the offer of sleeping on a comfy couch. There’s nothing like the lure of a tent to tempt a man.
As I was heading back into town this morning I bumped into Kip, Kenny and a few others from the party, all of who looked a little shaky. This won’t be a regular affair, though as I’m off tomorrow. I’m entering the last leg now, there’s no doubt about that, but I still have plenty of miles to put in and they shall be given full respect. This cyclist is not for turning. Unless there’s a bottle of tequila to be torn into, of course
I did fancy this, but I'm not one for surprises.
The tip of Zion canyon can be seen in the distance.
My neighbours for the night.
Angry sky.
Thinking of starting a metal band. Who's in?
Morning rain.
The Gates of Zion.
Just beautiful.
The magnificent Zion canyon.
And again.
Once more.
Kip tucks into some juicy melon.
He's fine.
Can I offer anyone 3 doses of constipation? Only $2.49. Go on.
Nearly there.
RSS Feed