Hite Recreation Area --> Torrey (40 Miles West of Hanksville)
After a meal of delicious apples and cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast, I rode up the road to the water spigot to fill my canteens. Jerry stopped by in his truck and told me that his wife Debbie would open the market for me two hours early! She might as well have been God and me Moses, and her Snickers bars and Pop Tarts………. Manna from heaven. Debbie told me about all the cyclists that had been through over the spring and summer but she was particularly surprised to see me considering I was the first rider in several weeks, I was alone, and one of only a handful she had ever heard of riding east to west.
So I said goodbye to Jerry and Debbie and rode across the Dirty Devil River that had been cutting through the White Canyon along my ride for the last 80 miles. A small Cessna followed me out of the canyon on the climb out and led me into a space of true nothingness on the way to Hanksville. Jerry sounded his siren as he passed me in his truck a few hours after I left Hite. Sadly, the screech of his siren was as close as I came to a real human conversation all morning. I finally pushed into Hanksville and consumed some nasty gas station calories for the first time in 150 miles. I got lots of scared looks in the gas station from those that saw me roll in from the incredibly desolate and distant east. I guess people don’t know what to say to a guy whose only obvious interest in punishing himself….
Another sweet national park lay ahead so I left the stares of Hanksville and moved on towards Capitol Reef National Park. While coasting through the canyons of the Park the Fremont River ran along the road falling into pools filled with European tourists. There were Belgians, French, British, Germans, and Swedes but not a single American. I stopped a particularly beautiful waterfall to take a dip and wash off in case I didn’t have the chance to later that night. There were five young children and their moms swimming below the roughly twenty foot falls. The moms, Pearl, Mary, and Jeanine, were from Minnesota and of course they had sweet Great Lake accents. After I swam for a bit and cooled off I pulled some tricks off the falls for the kids. They laughed and cheered as I flipped through the air off a cliff above the Fremont Falls. I said goodbye and headed back up to the road to grab my bike. On my way up the cliffs I met a beautiful young Belgian couple that had been enjoying my escapades from the cliffs above. In broken English, they ask me where I was biking to and were excited to hear I was headed to San Francisco because they were too.
I ran into the Belgians everywhere the rest of the day. We searched for petroglyphs on the walls of the canyons together, picked fruit from some roadside orchards together, and stopped at the very same viewpoints to take identical pictures. I really liked the Belgians and each time they got back in their car we said goodbye in an unsure way, unknowing if we would see each other again.
I pulled into the tiny but beautiful burg of Torrey without my beloved Belgians, and found a sweet little camping ground with showers! A bathroom! And soft grass camping sites! The desert had made me fairly dusty so these small comforts blew my mind. I walked down to a sweet Café and had a ridiculously delicious dinner compared to the Top Ramen that I was accustomed to. As I ate I listened in on the multilingual conversations of the foreign tourists surrounding me. I swear by the end of my dinner I could understand French. There I was in the middle of Utah seeking to take the pulse of America with my journey, and all I was learning was that the French don’t laugh like the guys named Pierre in cartoons, “hoh hoh hoh hoh.” But none the less, it was a great dinner and I had coasted easily through 103 miles for the day. I crawled into my tarp tent and passed out.
So I said goodbye to Jerry and Debbie and rode across the Dirty Devil River that had been cutting through the White Canyon along my ride for the last 80 miles. A small Cessna followed me out of the canyon on the climb out and led me into a space of true nothingness on the way to Hanksville. Jerry sounded his siren as he passed me in his truck a few hours after I left Hite. Sadly, the screech of his siren was as close as I came to a real human conversation all morning. I finally pushed into Hanksville and consumed some nasty gas station calories for the first time in 150 miles. I got lots of scared looks in the gas station from those that saw me roll in from the incredibly desolate and distant east. I guess people don’t know what to say to a guy whose only obvious interest in punishing himself….
Another sweet national park lay ahead so I left the stares of Hanksville and moved on towards Capitol Reef National Park. While coasting through the canyons of the Park the Fremont River ran along the road falling into pools filled with European tourists. There were Belgians, French, British, Germans, and Swedes but not a single American. I stopped a particularly beautiful waterfall to take a dip and wash off in case I didn’t have the chance to later that night. There were five young children and their moms swimming below the roughly twenty foot falls. The moms, Pearl, Mary, and Jeanine, were from Minnesota and of course they had sweet Great Lake accents. After I swam for a bit and cooled off I pulled some tricks off the falls for the kids. They laughed and cheered as I flipped through the air off a cliff above the Fremont Falls. I said goodbye and headed back up to the road to grab my bike. On my way up the cliffs I met a beautiful young Belgian couple that had been enjoying my escapades from the cliffs above. In broken English, they ask me where I was biking to and were excited to hear I was headed to San Francisco because they were too.
I ran into the Belgians everywhere the rest of the day. We searched for petroglyphs on the walls of the canyons together, picked fruit from some roadside orchards together, and stopped at the very same viewpoints to take identical pictures. I really liked the Belgians and each time they got back in their car we said goodbye in an unsure way, unknowing if we would see each other again.
I pulled into the tiny but beautiful burg of Torrey without my beloved Belgians, and found a sweet little camping ground with showers! A bathroom! And soft grass camping sites! The desert had made me fairly dusty so these small comforts blew my mind. I walked down to a sweet Café and had a ridiculously delicious dinner compared to the Top Ramen that I was accustomed to. As I ate I listened in on the multilingual conversations of the foreign tourists surrounding me. I swear by the end of my dinner I could understand French. There I was in the middle of Utah seeking to take the pulse of America with my journey, and all I was learning was that the French don’t laugh like the guys named Pierre in cartoons, “hoh hoh hoh hoh.” But none the less, it was a great dinner and I had coasted easily through 103 miles for the day. I crawled into my tarp tent and passed out.
Day: 103.02 mi
Total: 687.33 mi
Elev. Climbed: 3900 ft
Elev. Difference: 3200 ft
Elev. Peak: 7000 ft
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