Used our new motorcycle map to plan a nice scenic route to the national parks in the south of Utah. We found two great roads that we would have never otherwise found: the Alpine Loop, and Skyline Drive.
As we got close to the Skyline trail, we walked into a gas station looking for lunch. We found a little sandwich shop in the back, with about ten people sitting in booths. I walked in before Mike did, and all conversation stopped. You could just about see the dust devils go up and the door swing behind me. All ten of them looked at me, and then looked down at their food. There was one table next to us with a set of grandparents and two adolescent kids. The grandmother told the two boys not to look at me, which I assume is because I was wearing a tank top (and my riding pants and boots).
Mike and I weren't sure whether we wanted to attempt the Skyline drive, because it was a long dirt road (50 miles?) that runs along the ridge line of a mountain range on the east end of the populated valley that contains SLC, Sandy, Povo etc., and we weren't sure what shape it was in. Halfway through lunch, Mike asked the room if anybody was a local and if they could give us any advice about the trail. Once he broke the ice, they started peppering us with questions (Where are you from? OMG! Where are you going? What are you riding? What have you seen so far?). The grandfather gave us some great advice on trails and roads between there and New Mexico, and told us how lucky he felt to be able to work alongside his children and grandchildren in a bakery he built. One of his sons is on a mission in Mexico City for the LDS church, which makes him really proud. By the end of the conversation, his wife piped up and asked me what we do for work- she said she was a nurse for 25 years, which surprised her grandson. The grandfather said he had taken a four wheeler up to the trail recently, and that it was in good shape. That was enough for us.
Mike and I weren't sure whether we wanted to attempt the Skyline drive, because it was a long dirt road (50 miles?) that runs along the ridge line of a mountain range on the east end of the populated valley that contains SLC, Sandy, Povo etc., and we weren't sure what shape it was in. Halfway through lunch, Mike asked the room if anybody was a local and if they could give us any advice about the trail. Once he broke the ice, they started peppering us with questions (Where are you from? OMG! Where are you going? What are you riding? What have you seen so far?). The grandfather gave us some great advice on trails and roads between there and New Mexico, and told us how lucky he felt to be able to work alongside his children and grandchildren in a bakery he built. One of his sons is on a mission in Mexico City for the LDS church, which makes him really proud. By the end of the conversation, his wife piped up and asked me what we do for work- she said she was a nurse for 25 years, which surprised her grandson. The grandfather said he had taken a four wheeler up to the trail recently, and that it was in good shape. That was enough for us.
Skyline drive took us over 10,000 ft for the first time on our trip, and probably the first time in Mike's life. After about 6 miles the "improved" section of road ends, and Skyline drive turns into a dirt road not much better than a Jeep trail. Mike scouted ahead a mile or so, then turned back. With weather on the horizon, street-oriented tires, Naomi's limited off-road experience, and being a long way from help, we doubled back on Skyline Drive back to the paved RT 31, which was spectacular in its own right.
We planned on camping, but the weather was gray and threatening, the landscape looked foreboding in the light, and we only saw another soul every 10-15 minutes of riding--we were each getting a bit less enthusiastic about camping, which we only reluctantly shared with each other. We called an audible, got onto I-70, took advantage of its 80mph speed limits and high-tailed it for the closest civilized town, which happened to be 50 miles away. We grabbed a cheap motel in Richfield, had a good steak and burger dinner next door, and crashed for the night.
We planned on camping, but the weather was gray and threatening, the landscape looked foreboding in the light, and we only saw another soul every 10-15 minutes of riding--we were each getting a bit less enthusiastic about camping, which we only reluctantly shared with each other. We called an audible, got onto I-70, took advantage of its 80mph speed limits and high-tailed it for the closest civilized town, which happened to be 50 miles away. We grabbed a cheap motel in Richfield, had a good steak and burger dinner next door, and crashed for the night.