AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I was also told 2 gallons, and I suppose that it's nice to have extra on hand in case a bunch is spilled or you need to "redo" a shock or something. Personally, I did not use 2 gallons, I only needed one (and had a bit leftover). It is that oil that you've linked at shockseals - or at least, though it looks as though they've changed the containers. Seemed like good stuff.

As for an ADS-specific parts storefront, I used to use the ADS website, but when they were acquired by Holley, they took all of that down. A bummer too, because they used to have tools listed as well. My guess is that a phone call can still get you what you need, but it's a bummer that things got harder to use. Of course, you're welcome to grab the tools from me, if you want to borrow them or if I'm around when you do the work.

 

Thanks. Pretty much as I suspected. And will likely take you up on the offer of help and tool use. Yeah, was looking at the Holley Performance website for ADS parts but did not find anything. They do have a 'brands' list and ADS is on it, but it is only a link to the same ADS website.

 

Good stuff, that Utah trip brings back lots of memories of hiking around San Joan County with my Grandpa as a kid.

 

Curse of the Pahranagat
Part of the Curse of the Pahranagat (Jun 2023) trip.

A few months ago, I headed to Nevada in search of several rock art sites along the Pahranagat Trail. After starting out with a bang in Arrow Canyon, my search in the South Pahroc Wilderness was a total flop, as I didn't find any rock art at all! After popping into the local BLM office for some tips - which they couldn't share - I aborted my plan altogether for an alternate, ultimately amazing, itinerary.
Returning home, I had a "brilliant*" idea. Like many other Americans, I watch and read a bit of news here and there, and one of the things I've heard about over the last several years are these requests to our government for information that might otherwise be hard to find. You know, a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request.

Now, before I get too far into this story, I think it's best to be up front with a rather important spoiler:

On the final morning of the trip, as I turned on my camera to take the first photo of the day, I noticed that it wouldn't focus properly. After about 15 seconds, a message appeared on the screen.

​

Well, shit.
​

Now, I have two high-quality microSD cards in my camera - exactly to protect against a situation like this - the idea being that every photo gets written to both cards, so that in the event that one fails... no big deal.

​

Redundancy.​

Naturally however, I'd never re-enabled this functionality after disabling it on our previous trip to Owyhee, when I setup the camera for what turned out to be a pretty cool Milky Way timelapse.

So yeah, it's my fault.

The funny thing is, it's not even the rock art photos that I'm going to miss. In fact, I could probably retake all of those in a few hours, now that I know the locations. Rather, there was an afternoon photo - looking north across Upper Pahranagat Lake as some thunderstorms rolled through - that had really interesting lighting. That's the one I wish I still had, but even without it, life will go on.
Who knows, maybe out of curiosity I'll even pay an exorbitant amount of money to get the data on the microSD card recovered. I've always wondered how that process worked, and what's another $1K when I just had to buy a new fridge?
​

Anyway, back to the story with a few photos from @mrs.turbodb... now, where was I? Ah yes, I was the genius who'd just filed his first FOIA request.

I had no idea how long I'd need to wait for a response, but my request had been quite clear, so I hoped that it wouldn't be more than 6-8 months. You can imagine my surprise then, when I received a response only 2 months later!

Page 1: Basically, my request.

Page 2: A one-liner reply (more on this later), and boilerplate.

Page 3: Boilerplate and a signature.​

I was unsurprised, disappointed, and glad at the response. Disappointed in that the one-line response was - essentially - a URL to the public rock art guides that I'd explicitly stated I already knew about and was not looking for. Unsurprised mostly because I would have been surprised if it were this easy to uncover "unknown" rock art sites. And ultimately, a little glad that this was the same response any other "unknown bozo" one would get to such a request.

Plus, in addition to the official letter response, I also received the following via email:

In addition to the link provided in the response letter, the Archaeologist at the ******** Field Office is providing the following information:
"Generally speaking, by law, we do not release cultural resource site location information to the general public. This information is protected under National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA), Section 304 (and subsequent DOI regulations and policy). The ******** Field Office and ********************************* manage several public rock art sites. They are all only a few miles away from the area the Requestor specified. We have brochures in the public room for these sites. If the Requestor would like one or all of these brochures, we'd be happy to send them by mail. Additionally, we also have a few booklets about Lincoln County Rock art sites in the CFO public room. If you have questions about the cultural resources we manage here in Lincoln County let me know. I have a passion for local archaeology. Please contact, ************, Archaeologist, BLM ******** Field Office <span class="at-redacted" style="letter-spacing:-7px" title="redacted: 775-726-8140">▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮</span> (*******@blm.gov) with any questions."
​

I thought this addition was very cool, and so I immediately contacted the archaeologist and we had what I considered to be a wonderful (even though I never got any of the information I was looking for) conversation. Perhaps the most important element of that conversation was this series of paragraphs:

I'm grateful that you appreciate the limitations around sharing such sites with the general public. I'm prohibited to tell you locations by law, regulation, policy, and ethics. There's another reason to consider. Although they are a lost language, every rock art site (or as they are otherwise called, rock writing) are sacred spaces to Indian tribes. Each and every glyph is a message from their ancestors. The public sites are created in consultation with local Indian tribes. They have agreed to allow these sites to be observed by the general public as examples their ancestors’ story telling and communications. So while you are perfectly welcome to wander around as you have, other than the public sites, I simply cannot tell you the locations of sites that you don't already know. Consider discovering these sites as part of your adventure.

Also, I hope that you, too, as an adventurer and chronicler respect the laws and considerations that I must abide by not revealing the specific locations to your readers. Photos of the panels don't reveal the locations. But photos of the surrounding landscape, or even rock outcrops can be used to "line up" the locations like a "rock art gunsight." Show your readers the messages from the ancients but allow them their own path of discovery.

I encourage your continued exploration of public lands. And I sincerely hope you research, visit, and discover more of these fascinating messages from the past.
​

So often, it's easy to get caught up in and focus on the "finding" of rock art, on "going to" a historic site, or "capturing" an iconic view. The reminder that the experience, the wandering, and the discovery that are most important elements of an adventure is one we should all embrace as often as we can.

My initial attempt to "find" the rock art foiled, there was another reason for a trip to the area as well: I'd driven the Tacoma home after my recent Three Days of R&R trip to Utah for a bit of maintenance, and we needed to get it back down to Las Vegas, a much more central starting point for most of our adventures. I figured that with a few days to wander around, we were likely to find something even if we didn't find everything, and at the very least, we'd have a good time in beautiful country.

As always, the first day was a slog. Pulling out of the garage just after 8:00am, we didn't stop for more than a few minutes over the course of the next 14 hours, eventually finding ourselves in northeastern Nevada, just south of Wells.

Calling it a night, we setup camp just east of Spruce Mountain, and climbed out of the already warm tent just before 8:00am the next morning to continue south towards the Big Rocks Wilderness and Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge (PNWR).

The Orange Mallow was out in full force as we headed south. (photo credit: mrs.turbodb)
​

It was a couple hours later that we turned off the highway and headed off on a dirt track - Little Boulder Road - that would deliver us to the north end of the Big Rocks Wilderness. A beautifully sunny day, temperatures were still pleasant enough that I enjoyed hopping out of the truck for a photo here and there - the Tacoma winding its way amongst the ranges, the ranges stretching far and wide below pillowy white clouds.

Out to take another picture! (photo credit: mrs.turbodb)
​

Rolling along at 15mph, it took another couple hours to reach the end of the road and the beginning of our first hike. Naturally, I'd stopped a half-dozen more times along the way, the most interesting of those leading to a slow-motion dance with a Short Horned Lizard that happened to catch my eye as it scurried off the road.

This wasn't the lizard we saw this time, rather it is one of only two other horned lizards ever I've seen (both of which were on the NMBDR).
​

After eating lunch - some turkey sandwiches and chips, kept cool by the new Dometic fridge - we set off. The road we'd travelled ended about halfway up a canyon, and I hoped to find a single rock - covered in art - somewhere further up canyon.

The rock art I hoped to find. (photo credit: Sam Styles)
​

Ultimately - after more than a few miles climbing up and down over boulders in what had become rather sweltering heat - we were unsuccessful in our search. Big Rocks Wilderness, it seemed, wasn't going to give up its secrets so easily! I found myself wondering if this would be my second trip to the Pahranagat Valley without finding any of the rock art I was looking for.

Thankful for the air conditioning, we explored our way south along the edge of Big Rocks, soaking in the views - the clouds for our entire trip were splendid - and investigating side roads as they presented themselves. It wasn't until we were ready to call it a day and make our way to camp that we finally stumbled - completely by accident - on two rock art sites!

One with pictographs and the other with petroglyphs, it was awesome to finally find a couple of the needles in this impossibly large haystack, especially as they were sites that we'd had no clue about at all!
And with that, we headed south - to the PNWR - where we hoped to find a camp site along the lake that we could call home for the next couple of days.

Our view from camp the following morning.
​

Somehow - even arriving at sunset - we ended up with the best camp site of the bunch. While this isn't either of our favorite camp areas - it's simply too close to the highway - I think we'd both admit that we very much enjoyed sitting in the shade of the cottonwoods over the course of the next 36 hours.

Now Friday, we had only one hike planned, and I knew it wouldn't take us all day. That was just fine with me, because - as I've previously mentioned - reading my Kindle under the cottonwood was a much more pleasant experience than picking my way over black volcanic boulders, hot from the 94°F temperatures and beating rays of the sun.

In fact, after setting out at 9:00am to explore Black Canyon - and area I'd searched for petroglyphs on my last visit but come up empty - it was only a little after noon when we climbed back into the air-conditioned oasis that is the cramped cab of the Tacoma. Having successfully found the petroglyphs we'd hoped to see, we crossed our fingers that no one had moved in on our shady spot along the lake. Luckily for us, they hadn't!

One of the Pahranagat Man petroglyphs we found in the area. (photo credit: mrs.turbodb)


A dotted-hunter holding an atlatl (left), and another anthropomorphic figure, atlatl in hand (right). (photo credit: mrs.turbodb)
​

After a few hours in the shade - reading and napping the name of the game - it was a relief to see thunderclouds moving in. Still more than 95°F, we welcomed the intermittent rain and gusty wind that blew over the water before cooling our camp.

In fact, when it was clear that the remainder of the day would be more clouds than sun, we even ventured back to the Black Canyon for a second time in the same day. It wasn't that we were looking for rock art that we missed - though we did find some of that too - rather, there were a few panels that were half-in-half-out of the sun on our first visit, and I hoped that with the sun behind the clouds, I could grab photos that were a little less contrasty.

Frankly, it was a huge success. Not only were the petroglyphs easier to capture, but the dark thunderclouds made for a dramatic series of shots. I think. You know, because of the whole "microSD card" thing.
Returning from our second experience of the same hike, we once again enjoyed our shady site until our stomachs reminded us that it was time for dinner. A reasonably quick ordeal - we've got the whole taco-ritto thing down to a science - we wrapped up the meal with a little more than an hour until sunset. And, not wanting to spend another night next to the highway - which, even with earplugs was not an enjoyable experience - we made tracks for a spot I'd found on my previous trip to the Black Canyon.

A few miles from the highway and sheltered by low hills, the silence was deafening. Or, maybe we were simply deaf from the constant hammering of engine brakes and drivers veering into the rumble strip over the last 24 hours. Whatever the reason, we soon found ourselves sleeping soundly for the next 12 hours.

The following morning...

Climbing down from the tent just before 9:00am, we didn't have anything planned - except for delivering the Tacoma in Las Vegas - on this last day of our adventure. Needing to burn a couple hours, we decided that a hike around the Upper Pahranagat Lake would be a nice way to get a different perspective on this place we'd called home for the last couple of days, and soon we were strapping on our water, slathering ourselves with sunscreen, and gathering up cameras and binoculars for the three-mile loop.

After a half mile - as we were crossing a damn that forms the southern end of the lake, we noticed that someone had aligned two of the binoculars in a rather humorous orientation. Pulling out the camera to snap a photo, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong.

I've already told this part of the story.
​

In the flick of a switch, I knew that this trip would no longer be cunningly titled, "The Rock Art I Was Looking For." Rather, it would extend my "Curse of the Pahranagat."

Hoping I could solve the issue with my computer later - which, we all know by now, I couldn't - I swapped in my second microSD card and clicked off a couple photos before we continued on.

Looking through either binoculars will reveal the same common species: bird brains.
​

Ultimately, this was a rather dismal hike. While we'd known that the trail along the eastern edge of the lake was the road that passed by all of the camp sites, we hadn't realized - and definitely didn't expect - the "trail" along the western edge of the lake to be a powerline road, more than 100 yards from the lake itself. That far from the water line there are no cottonwoods - and thus no shade - and even @mrs.turbodb commented that it seemed rather "lazy" to connect two dusty gravel roads and call them a "birding trail."

Still, it wasn't entirely without excitement.

You look like a rattlesnake but have no rattle. Are you a Gopher Snake?


This lizard was enormous - about 8" long from snout to hind legs - and liked to puff up his blue neck as he kept a close eye on me.


Fancy too, always wearing that black tie.
​

After passing a few folks fishing - for blue gill and catfish - we wrapped up the loop a little before noon, temperatures once again climbing into the "it's getting a little too hot" range for those of us used to dreary gray skies of the Pacific Northwest. We had a 90-minute drive from our current location to Las Vegas, and where cold drinks and In-N-Out burgers awaited our arrival.

And from there, a much-more-pleasant-than-driving-for-two-days, two-hour flight home.

 

I've read more than a few instances of cameras having issues with format, whether refusing to read or write the card. First and foremost, always format the card in the camera. In theory, you can also use disk repair tools to try and fix the card. There have been some claims that Canon made changes to firmware which are not compatible with some CF card controllers. I haven't experienced that yet.

 

Nice Gopher snake, they can get pretty big. I've heard them call Bull snakes or Blow snakes more than anything. It's my understanding that they prey upon rattle snakes and as a kid my parents incouraged us to let them go in the crawlspace under the house. I've seen them shake their tail against leaves on the ground to mimic a rattle snake when threatened. Growing up we also let the horned lizards loose in the house to eat bugs. We've always called them horney toads even though they are obviously not toads.

 

Congrats on your nomination Dan.

 

Huh. Well, here's to hoping that I don't have the issue again. Definitely makes me more careful to have it recording to both cards now.

LOL, those are great stories. This guy was doing the tail thing - which I too have seen before. Part of what scared @mrs.turbodb, given the similar coloring. She was worried that it just lost its rattle, hahaha.

Huh, cool. Have been out of town since Monday exploring the Siskiyous and so I'll have to look into what that's all about. Kinda neat.

 

My dad was inducted in 2018.

 

We Arrive and it is Hot | UTBDR Prologue
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

As always, we wanted to run a Backcountry Discovery Route (BDR) this summer, and I'd had my eye on Colorado or Utah as both are always beautiful states through which to travel. This would be our seventh BDR in as many years, the original Oregon BDR being one of the very first trips we'd attempted with the CVT roof top tent.

With record snowfall across the west, we realized a few weeks before our departure date that Colorado was completely out of the question, and even portions of the Utah route could still be blocked by snow.

Still, the Utah BDR is an iconic route. Meandering 871-miles through the Valley of Gods, climbing the Moki Dugway, picking the perfect route through the rough roads of Lockhart Basin, and winding through four mountain ranges along the eastern edge of the state (Abajo, La Sal, Uinta, and Wasatch), there's no doubting the spectacular scenery along the entire route.

Not everything was as it has been on previous BDRs, however. As has been the case for many of our trips this year, our journey began with a flight from Seattle to Las Vegas, half-full packs hanging off our shoulders as we left the house on foot. We'd save more than 14 hours of driving this way, instead enjoying the ultra-luxurious seats that are Spirit Airlines economy class. You know the ones I'm talking about - no padding or ability to recline. But the snacks are free if you find them in the seat-back pocket in front of you.

Landing mid-afternoon, it was 111°F as we walked out of the Las Vegas airport, the stifling heat raising several questions that we struggled to put out of our minds. Questions like:

• Will the fridge be able to keep the food cool?
• Will it be too hot to get out of the Tacoma to take photos?
• Please, please, please, let's hope that the air conditioning works through the entire trip.
• Why in the world did we leave the pleasantly warm (85°F) Pacific Northwest for this?
• Why? Just why?

It was a tad roasty for us, even if our Uber driver assured us that, "105 °F is totally workable."​

From the airport, a quick stop at In-n-Out for stomach sustenance and the grocery store to fill the new Dometic CFX3-45 that I'd recently acquired, Then, A/C blasting, we hopped into the Tacoma for a 10-hour drive along the Utah-Arizona border to the starting point in the southeast corner of the state: Mexican Hat.

Along the way - as we passed through Apple Valley - we got a sneak peak at some of the views that Utah has on offer.​

After passing through Monument Valley, we would arrive at Mexican Hat just after 3:00am the following morning, the bright light of a full moon shining down on the formation for which this town is named.

Perhaps due to the temperatures, we had the place to ourselves.​

Knowing that the most pleasant time of day to travel would just before sunrise, I set my alarm for only a few hours later. We wouldn't leave before the fiery ball rose above the horizon, but we would try to get a few miles under our belts before it was able to raise the temperatures into the triple digits.

My plan - poorly thought through as I look back now - was that early mornings would allow for early evenings, enabling us to enjoy a relaxing dinner in camp. The problem - as is likely obvious to anyone reading this - was that with sunset around 9:00pm, "early evening" was perhaps the hottest time of day - a time when we most definitely preferred the comfort of the air-conditioned cab.

For now though, anticipation - and six-or-seven days of travel to complete the six-plus-one stages of the route - was the name of the game, and we both fell asleep dreaming of what lay ahead.

Stage 1: Mexican Hat to Monticello - 174 miles
Stage 2 (expert alternate): Lockhart Basin - 78 miles
Stage 2: Monticello to Dewey Bridge - 148 miles
Stage 3: Dewey Bridge to Wellington - 170 miles
Stage 4: Wellington to Currant Creek - 106 miles
Stage 5: Currant Creek to Evanston - 127 miles
Stage 6: Evanston to Garden City - 97 miles

An iconic route.​

 

I think you are purposely trying to make me jealous now!
I will be looking forward to this trip report.
I have a goal to run more of the discovery routes, having only done Washington at this point. It is going to be a while before I get to continue in that, trying to get a business started up, I will just have to experience through forums and blogs.

 

Mexican Hat to Monticello - Back in Time | UTBDR Stage 1
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

The first stage of the UTBDR meanders - like the San Juan River - through some of Utah's most recognizable landscape.​

It's hard to say that it was way too early when my alarm went off at the base of Mexican Hat, but it's safe to say that we'd gotten way too little sleep given our arrival at this place only three hours earlier. Still, with daytime temperatures in the triple digits, we were no dummies - though one might argue otherwise given our voluntary arrival to such conditions - and planned to get as many miles in while it was still relatively cool outside, as possible.

To our south, Monument Valley, which we'd passed through - in pitch darkness - only a few hours before.​

As the sky brightened on our first day, we soaked in the red rock that would become so familiar in the first half of the route.​

In finding a place to set up camp in the wee hours of the morning, I'd hoped that we could stop somewhere in Monument Valley - still on the Arizona side of Utah's southern border - so that we'd begin the first day of the BDR by crossing into Utah. Unfortunately - and probably obviously to anyone who's done even a little bit of research on the area - Monument Valley is completely on Navajo Nation land. And, while there's a bit of BLM sprinkled here and there, it's hard to get to - at least in the middle of the night - and we weren't in any shape to hunt. So, our first order of business upon packing up camp was to head a few miles south to the town named for the rock where we'd camped, and the official start of the UTBDR.

Here we go!​

Officially underway, our first order of business was to slow down our rate of progress by abandoning the route, peeling off the trail in order to visit one of the more dramatic overlooks of the San Juan River. We were early enough in the morning - still before 7:00am - that the ticketing booth wasn't open, allowing us to eat a free breakfast with a colossal view.

The meanders never end at Gooseneck State Park.​

A place where the views are down, rather than up.​

A bit of cereal in our bellies and the air already starting to heat up around us, we were soon back on the trail and headed for the Valley of Gods. Like much of the first two-and-a-half stages of the route, we'd visited this valley on previous adventures, but the mesas never cease to impress. Still, we took fewer photos this time, hoping to put a few miles between us and the starting line; knowing that we had a few more extracurricular activities to enjoy before wrapping up even the first stage of the BDR.

The view from the highway is impressive.​

Seven Sailors.​

Battleship Rock.​

Lady in a Bathtub.​

Surprisingly - or at least, unlike the previous times we've visited - we encountered very few other people in our hour-long traverse through the Valley of Gods and approach to the Moki Dugway. This would be the first time I've climbed the curvy, 10-mile road to the top of Cedar Mesa before late afternoon, and I was looking forward to experiencing it - literally - in a different light. It's also a place that would benefit significantly from the perspective that a flying camera would afford.

Clinging to the cliff's edge.​

A colorful climb.​

Our second detour awaited as we reached the top of the Moki. A few months earlier, I'd camped below Cedar Point as I explored Johns Canyon, but while I'd looked up at Muley Point, I'd never gotten to the top - too many other destinations vying for my interest. Today - as temperatures began to climb into the uncomfortable range - we'd change all that. We'd also - it turned out - find all the folks who are usually in the Valley of Gods, a few thousand feet higher, trying to escape the blistering temps.

A quick stop at the top of Cedar Point - and another view of the Goosenecks gobblygook - before heading over to Muley Point (the point to the right).​

Looking out from Muley Point into the spring green of Johns Canyon, and a road I'd thoroughly enjoyed as I'd searched for Rock Art earlier in the year.​

The local riff-raff had much more energy than we did in this heat. (Western fence lizard)​

From one off-BDR jaunt to the next, we headed north on UT-261 through the heart of Cedar Mesa - Bears Ears National Monument omnipresent in the distance - towards Snow Flat Road. Still on the route at this point, we headed east as we exited pavement, pausing briefly to air down to 16psi for the remainder of the trip. This was a place I'd been before - solo - on one of my trips in search of the prolific Ancestral Puebloan ruins that decorate this land. It was a place I'd thoroughly enjoyed, and was excited to show @mrs.turbodb. It was, The Moonhouse.

Note: Visiting Moonhouse requires a permit, and it's day use only. A maximum of 20 permits per day are issued on a first come, first-served basis. From March 1 through June 15 and September 1 through October 31 (high use seasons), 12 of the 20 spaces are available to reserve at the Cedar Mesa and Bears Ears National Monument Permits Recreation.gov page at least five days but no more than 90 days in advance of the entry date. The eight remaining spaces may not be reserved in advance and are only available by walk-in at the Kane Gulch Ranger Station on the morning of the hike. Permit fees are $5 per person during the high use seasons, including a $6 transaction fee for reservations. All permits (including reserved permits) must be picked-up in person at the Kane Gulch Ranger Station during the high use season. The maximum group size is 12 people.

From June 16 through August 31 and November 1 through February 28 (low use seasons), Moon House permits must be reserved at the Cedar Mesa and Bears Ears National Monument Permits Recreation.gov page before arrival.

For more information, check out BLM Utah Cedar Mesa Permits and Passes Information.

​

Good morning Bears Ears.​

As we hiked out to Moonhouse, we ran into the first of what would be a week-long extravaganza of spring flowers. (Red Penstemon | Penstemon eatonii)​

As we descended into the canyon, we got our first glimpse of the ruins, strategically nestled into the sandstone.​

A short stint along the bottom of the canyon lacks nothing in the drama department.​

Three doors.​

Two views through one door.​

Pedestal door. (left) | It's not all rocks and mud. (right)​

While there's no questioning the ruins themselves, my favorite attribute of the Moonhouse is the rock art. There aren't grand panels of life-sized figures, or intricately etched shaman to be found. Rather, the rock art seems to decorate the space as though it was a home. Understated, yet elegant.

A red and white snake is centered between the outer wall and inner rooms, almost like a welcome sign above the door.​

Along the wall to the inner rooms - and echoed elsewhere throughout the ruins - a white band with circular and triangular accents still gleams brightly.​

From behind the protective wall, and orange glow and views to the canyon rim.​

Not far from the main structure, a small round granary was nestled into the water-worn sandstone.​

It was nearing noon as we reversed our descent-climb direction through McCloyd Canyon, our sights set on the back half of the Tacoma we'd left in a small bit of shade we'd found near the trailhead. There, @mrs.turbodb whipped up a couple turkey sandwiches with the fixings we'd picked up the previous afternoon, the new Dometic fridge humming away in the 100°F heat to keep everything at a perfectly acceptable 37°F.

Bellies once again satiated, we flipped the air conditioning lever to MAX and resumed our adventure down the eastern flank of Cedar Mesa. Our next planned stop was the petroglyphs at Sand Island Recreation Area - just west of Bluff - but of course I can travel more than a few miles without exiting the truck to marvel at the world around me, and this time was no different.

Plus, it allowed a bit more time for my copilot to enjoy her early-afternoon siesta.

​

One of my favorite landmarks in Cedar Mesa - and perhaps my favorite geological formation of them all - is Comb Ridge.​

I love how this 80-mile long monocline looks like the backbone of the earth.​

Onto pavement for a few miles as we climbed up UT-163, from one side of Comb Ridge to the other.​

Technically, the Sand Island Petroglyphs aren't on the UTBDR route either, but they are close enough to be worth a quick stop.​

One of the most interesting things about the gigantic panel is that there are many layers of petroglyphs. Each is more - or less - patinaed than the other, giving some hint as to the order of their etching.​

Given the heat, we opted to skip the Upper Petroglyphs - a spot we'd visited a couple years earlier on our way to the beginning of the New Mexico BDR (NMBDR), though in cooler weather we'd both encourage explorers to visit some of the most unusual petroglyphs we've ever seen!

Instead, we once again retreated to the cab - a theme that would be reinforced over the course of this adventure - where it was warm but bearable, unless one was unlucky enough to have the sun streaming through their window. Which, somehow, usually, happened to be the case for me.

Heading north, along the east side of Comb Ridge, in Butler Wash.​

There is so much to see along the length of Butler Wash that we didn't even consider looking at any of it. Hikes to ruins and rock art sites range from a mile to more than five miles off the road, sometimes scaling the entirety of the sandstone monocline to the top of Comb Ridge. It's an area where we could - and have - spent days just exploring the nooks and crannies. And yet, on this particular day, our desire not to bake under the mid-afternoon sun far outweighed any desire to discover anything we'd missed on previous adventures.

Even with the heat, some of the geology was too dramatic to just pass by.​

The clouds were cooperating as well, though we wouldn't have turned down a few drops of water.​

Eventually we reached UT-95, crossing over the pavement to much more mountainous terrain than we'd found ourselves to this point in the journey. We'd entered the south-eastern Abajo Mountains. A checkerboard of BLM and Ute Indian land, this is another place - as we worked our way along Elk Ridge - where Native American rock art and ruins are plentiful. Today though, we were there to enjoy the mountains themselves.

Perhaps we'd find some respite from the heat if we could get high enough into the Abajos.​

Cottonwoods rustled in the wind as we began our climb into the mountains.​

Within just a few miles, we'd transported ourselves from the sandstone of Utah to the forests of the California Sierra.​

In fact, we gained more than 4,000-feet of elevation in the next few hours as we wound our way north through the Abajo Mountains toward Monticello. At the beginning of the day I'd been a bit worried that we wouldn't be able to complete all 174 miles of the stage in a single day - especially with the three side trips taking up a few hours - but suddenly it was looking as though we might actually pull it off.

And that wasn't necessarily a good thing, either.

At significantly lower elevations, if we had to find camp along the second stage of the BDR, we'd certainly be less comfortable - temperature wise - even if we might shorten the trip by an hour or two.

Not that it mattered. Our concern about where to stop was a clear case of counting chickens - a point I'll get to shortly.

Golden Aster along the route as we climbed in elevation.​

Fields of Lupin covered entire hillsides as we reached elevations that were just now reaching spring.​

Getting higher.​

At nearly 9,000-feet, lush meadows dotted with aspen would surely be stunning come fall!​

By the time we reached the high-point at Jackson Ridge - just under Abajo Peak and only about 10 miles from the end of the stage - it was nearing 7:00pm and we'd decided that we ought to find a camp site. That would allow us to enjoy dinner in a much more pleasant 85°F, and would afford us nighttime temps in the 50s °F rather than something completely unbearable.

There was even still a bit of snow on Abajo Peak - though we'd never reach it at near 11,000-foot elevations - on this part of the route.​

And then, completely out of nowhere, we hit a gate. This wasn't just any gate, it was one of those big, bad, metal gates that you can't really do anything about except for cry when you run into them.

Wait, what?​

At first, I thought it was a mistake - I mean, we hadn't run into any - and I mean any - snow as we'd climbed to this point along the trail. The road - a gravel, well-graded one, easily passable by a sedan - was heavily traveled by folks trying to get to Monticello. And seriously, it was already mid-summer - the 4th of July!

I think @mrs.turbodb captured the moment perfectly from her vantage point. ​

On the bright side, the closed road - which I'd discover the next morning to also be gated and locked at the other end - made it easy for us to pick a camp site at what was essentially the highest elevation of the day. A few miles back, we'd passed a scree field that extended out from a bend in the road - the perfect spot to get us off the dusty gravel and set up camp for the night. So, that's just what we did!

This Red Velvet Ant (actually a wasp) had no time for a photo - she was in a rush to get home as well!​

After a dinner of fried chicken wraps - yum, we should do that again (!) - we putzed around at the edge of our personal scree field as fireworks popped off 30 miles away in the night sky above Blanding. They were too far away to hear, and not much larger than the eraser of a #2 pencil, so I think we only watched a few of them before opting to catch up on the sleep that we'd missed before setting out on this scorching journey.

As the sky turned pink, this was a whole different view than we're used to seeing in Utah!​

The following morning...

It was a little hazy as the sun crested the horizon east of Blanding.​

We slept fantastically on our perch in the Abajo Mountains, but we knew that it'd be another early morning - both to take advantage of lower temps, and because we had a 45-mile reroute through Blanding and Monticello in order to reach the beginning of stage 2. As such, we opted to skip breakfast for the time being, retracing some of the path we'd taken the evening before, now in a different light and nearly unrecognizable!

Back down the mountain we go. So much greener this time!​

Well hello, Rocky Mountain Columbine. Aren't you enormous? (about 3" across)​

We made good time down the mountain, and after filling up at the Maverik in Blanding - a convenient place for a bathroom break as well - pavement carried us the 22 miles to Monticello and the beginning of stage 2.

Except that we weren't planning to do stage 2. Yet.

 

What a spectacular view.

 

Lockhart Basin - Edge of the Needles | UTBDR Stage 2 (Expert Alt)
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

Before running the official stage 2 route, we were headed to the alternate (red), a more difficult trail through Lockhart Basin.​

Of all the stages on the Utah BDR, I was most looking forward to the expert route through Lockhart Basin. This stretch of road piqued my interest for a couple reasons: first, it skirts along the edge of Canyonlands National Park, an area that never ceases to amaze me, no matter which district I happen to be visiting at any given time. Second, it was a segment of the M~U~D trip that Monte @Blackdawg and Mike @Digiratus ran back in 2016, and - even though I didn't know either one of them at the time - I'd been captivated by the views they'd shared in their trip report.

We'd be running it in the opposite direction, and surely the trail would be a bit different some seven years later, but as we approached Canyonlands from Monticello, there was no denying that we were in for a treat.

The perfect breakfast view, overlooking the Needles District.​

Every time I've driven through Monticello, or into the Needles District, I've seen the signs for Newspaper Rock. Yet, it's always been after midnight on the tail end of a 20-hour drive, and I've been significantly more interested in finding somewhere to close my eyes than checking out some petroglyphs in the dark.

This time, however, was finally different! It was just before 9:00am, we just enjoyed our breakfast with a view, and we had the place almost to ourselves.

A good place to stop in for local news if you're passing through.​

Harry and his horse got a 7-point deer in the late 1500s. Allegedly.​

Watch out, there's a bear roaming around town.​

The gossip section. No one actually has snakes growing out of their head.​

Was the wagon wheel invented here?​

On a nearby face, a different patina.​

It was - as mainstream panels go - a nice one. Lots of recognizable images, spectacular contrast between the patina and figures, and relatively little vandalism over the years. Still, while this should most definitely be a pit stop, I urge anyone who is into rock art to venture a little further off the beaten path. There is so much better stuff out there, and all you need to do is look!

For us, it was back into the truck - already with the air conditioning running - for the 10-mile approach to Canyonlands along UT-211.

The views along Indian Creek were amazing, and much of the land leading up to the park boundary was apparently private - large ranches sprawling out across the valley.​

Looks like we're in the right place.​

Even if it looked well-graded and smooth, I was excited as we turned off onto Lockhart Basin Road. I stopped a few times for photos - as the green valley gave way to red sandstone - a distant mesa getting closer by the minute.

The well-known Needles Overlook.​

Crossing this usually-dry stream, we literally left the last Prius we'd see on the near side.​

Into the sandstone.​

From this point on, I think it's safe to say that the road got progressively trickier for the next 70 miles or so, until we eventually reached the northern end of the road where it forks off to Chicken Corners and the Colorado River. That was (mostly) just fine by me, though there were a couple places where I had to get out and scout a line, and by the end we were both ready for something a little higher speed. For now, though, we enjoyed the views.

The power of water. Junction Butte (left) | Grand View Point (right)​

One of the nice things about having a copilot on a trip like this is that as I'm concentrating on driving - and being distracted by constantly hopping out of the truck for photos - she likes to pan around on the map for interesting information that I may have missed in my route planning. It was exactly that in-the-field investigation that uncovered an arch just a few miles down a spur to our west. Only a little after 10:00am, it seemed like just the kind of thing we ought to check out.

Not the largest arch we've seen.​

Pelican Arch is well-named.​

From Pelican Arch, we continued generally north, the road hugging the base of the cliffs; fingers left to slowly erode by the mighty Colorado River.

Despite the scorching temperatures, what little vegetation existed out here still had on spring colors.​

Not to be outdone by a measly pelican arch, this Circus Seal was balancing a platter on her nose.​

Half-an-hour later, we came to a sign that I recognized from my brief perusal of the official movie of the UTBDR. It was one that - not really knowing the geography of this area - I'd expected to run into at the beginning of the trail. One that promised our first views of the river.

We'd reach Hurrah Pass in time, but for now, it was six miles to water!​

Let's hope we don't end up like this guy.​

Green stripes. Probably not radioactive.​

We made pretty good time as we headed down Lockhart Canyon, the temperature rising as our elevation dropped. Winding our way through towering walls, Cottonwood trees began to pop up here and there as we got closer to the river. A good place for lunch, we mused, though in the end we decided to push on in favor of getting a few more miles behind us before stopping to rest.

The road jogged in and out of the wash as it made its way toward the Colorado.​

Our first glimpse!​

Ultimately - though there was a bit of excitement as a bighorn sheep galloped away from our squeaky steed, I'm not sure I'd recommend the 12-mile roundtrip through Lockhart Canyon. While the scenery was spectacular, it wasn't any different than what we were already experiencing in Lockhart Basin, and there was no good access to the Colorado River once we reached the bottom - not that we were planning to take a swim or anything.

Making our way back to the main trail, two things were on our minds:

1. Lunch.
2. Wondering how we were going to keep from dying in the heat when we stopped for lunch.

With no Cottonwood trees to provide shade, we began scouting the shadows of various rock outcroppings and canyon walls for enough room to set up our chairs. Unfortunately, shadows were few and far between at 12:30pm and it took a few miles for us to find something suitable.

Up and around we go, in search of a shadow.​

Just because we wanted to stop and take a break didn't mean that the views were going to cooperate. They just kept coming and coming.​

Forty-five minutes later, I noticed a perfectly positioned outcropping that provided just enough shade to keep us from melting. Pointing the cab of the truck away from the sun, we left the engine running and the A/C on full blast as @mrs.turbodb rushed to assemble the turkey sandwiches - with In-n-Out peppers - that have become our favorite sustenance over the last several months.

It was our quickest lunch of the trip - from stop to start, not more than 20 minutes - so eager were we to get back into the mid-80s °F that our air conditioning struggled to provide.

First down one set of stairs.​

Then down another.​

Back on the trail, things were starting to get a little interesting as we found ourselves no longer meandering slowly along a bumpy road, but rather picking a line through several boulder fields. These are sections that I'm sure have always been rough, but that haven't gotten any better with what I'm sure has been increased in the last couple of years. Many of these areas sported bypasses, something we were having none of, as I got out here and there to make sure that I knew the proper line before proceeding.

A little bit of flexy.​

In one of the smoother sections of road, we passed this strange contraption. I'm all ears if someone can suggest what it is.​

No matter where we were, views were in ample supply - both in front of us...​

...and behind.​

For two more hours we carried on along the base of the cliffs. I'm not sure how, but @mrs.turbodb managed to sneak in her after-lunch nap as the truck jostled and bounced its way along the rocky terrain. Once distant views grew nearer. The La Sal Mountains peeked out of the haze. And all the time, we were surrounded by glorious formations.

The La Sals taunted us with their patches of snow.​

Following a drainage.​

The sentries of lower Lockhart Basin.​

Looking out over Chicken Corners and past Pyramid Butte.​

The final section of trail was perhaps the sketchiest. Following a steep drainage, recliner-sized-rocks and three-foot-tall ledges were the name of the game. I turned to @mrs.turbodb and mentioned how glad I was that we were going downhill rather than up, "I'm not sure we'd have made it the other direction," as I hopped out of the truck to inspect the lines and snap a few photos.

I'm sure that instilled all sorts of confidence.

More technical than it looks.​

Ultimately - or perhaps obviously given the existence of this story - we made it to the bottom of the drainage without an issue, the Tacoma flexing in all the right ways, the tires gripping in all the right places. I was sweating, @mrs.turbodb had her hands on the oh-shit-handles, and we were both ready for something a little less exciting.

And some elevation. Mostly we wanted to gain some elevation.

Elevation wasn't in the cards - at least not immediately - but it did turn out that we were at the northern end of the technical section of Lockhart Basin Road. Marked by a trail sign to Chicken Corners - something we had no desire to explore - the rest of the route along the Colorado River and into Moab was nicely graded and significantly smoother.

Not sure why it's called Chicken Corners, but we're not going to find out today.​

A much smoother descent.​

A green ribbon through a dusty desert.​

Only a few miles before crossing over to pavement, a marker for the Birthing Stone caught our attention. Reasonably near Moab, this site that was defaced in 2021, though the BLM has since removed the graffiti. Having recently visited the Birthing Cave in Mojave National Preserve, our curiosity was high as we pulled over to the side of the road to see how this site would relate to that one.

Almost all, if not all, of the rock art on Moab’s Birthing Rock was made by the Basketmaker people of the northeastern Colorado Plateau. The presence of Basketmaker rock art on most of the Plateau indicates that this culture lived in the region for almost 2,000 years, c. 1,000 BC to 1,000 AD. Major cultural shifts occurred around 300-500 AD and the Anasazi transition in the San Juan Basin around 800 AD. The quantity of rock art indicates that the largest populations of Basketmakers were found around Moab in the north, along the San Juan River drainages in the central region, and along the Little Colorado and Puerco River basins in the south and southwest. Each area’s bands used idiosyncratically local rock art designs, but there are many other designs and design elements that were similar and used across the entire region to express identical concepts and intent. This suggests social intercourse and cultural overlap between and among the different bands of the tribe over a wide area for a long time.

The Birthing Rock: An Analysis​

For an in-depth analysis of the Birthing Stone, check out this archived essay which analyzes each glyph individually and in the context of other rock art sites in the area.
The Birthing Rock: An Analysis

​

Many - including us at the time of our visit - interpret this as a birthing scene, but this anthropomorph holds a Moab Vagina between her legs, not a baby.
(For more on the Moab Vagina, see the essay above.)​

A mother giving birth. Below her belt is a severed umbilical cord and a one-armed baby boy who is attended by a long-legged Heron and two figures to his left. The tears coming from her eyes are probably due to labor pains. The large atlatl laying across her belly indicates early Basketmaker provenience.​

Trapman glyphs. Often misidentified as "centipedes" (including on the BLM’s Birthing Rock sign). They actually represent a trapping entity and/or an intention called Trapman. Nets and fences were often used, along with confining topography, to capture game.​

The center panel contained a figure with an unmistakable Moab Vagina - an inverted U with dots - in the anatomically correct position, removing any lingering doubt regarding what this design represents.​

The west-facing side of the Birthing Rock is notable for this simple, elegant design on a heavily patinated surface. This is the surface that was defaced in 2021.​

The Birthing Stone behind us, it was nearing 5:00pm, and it was hot. We'd managed to complete stage 2's alternate route, but the technical terrain had consumed nearly the entirety of a day.

To make our lives just a little easier, we headed into Moab to top off the gas tank, pick up a few things at the grocery store, and grab a bite to eat - at Wendy's - before deciding where we were going to search for camp.

It was going to be a warm night in Moab.​

The key - as had been the case the previous evening - was going to be finding some elevation. We hoped that wouldn't prove too difficult, though we knew that we'd have to contend with all the other folks who'd flocked to Moab as well. Hopefully they'd stay close to town, in their air-conditioned RVs.

Not that we'd have minded an air-conditioned RV ourselves. Perhaps with a shower.





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Beautiful photos as usual. Thanks for sharing.
My daughter and I enjoyed the Lockhart Basin scenery mid June 2023 with much more pleasent temperatures. That “more technical than it looks” section (white arrow in the photo) is definitely a challenge going uphill. I am sure you would have figured it out.

 

Monticello to Dewey Bridge - Blocked by Snow | UTBDR Stage 2
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

Lockhart Basin in our rearview mirror, it was time for the main Stage 2 route through the La Sal Mountains.​

Having wrapped up our brief time in town with a quick meal and a refreshingly cold Coke - kept icy cold in my favorite stainless steel vacuum cup - and chocolate frosty from Wendy's - it was time to find some respite from the heat. A hotel room - with a shower - for instance.

Sure, it wasn't triple digits anymore, but no one wants to sleep in this, either.​

Alas, there was no hotel room in our future, though we have been known to take a shower in the middle of a hot - or what we thought was hot at the time but was only in the mid-80s °F - Backcountry Discovery Route through Idaho. Being only the second day of our trip however, our "we smell like human," meter wasn't yet ticking off the chart, so it was straight to camp for us.

6,978' is a whole lot better than Moab. Still, higher would be better.​

We passed through - or rather, by - the town of La Sal as we climbed into the foothills surrounding the La Sal Mountains, the sun sinking to our west. In the 45 minutes or so since we'd left Moab, we'd found a couple promising looking spots on the tablet that weren't too far off our route but were far enough from the highway to minimize any noise that might hamper our beauty sleep.

Overlooking Doe Canyon and Colorado in the distance, we ended up in what would be @mrs.turbodb's favorite camp site of the entire trip.​

Nestled between the trees, and on a road that clearly doesn't see many visitors, we took a few minutes to wash our faces and enjoy the pastel sky before climbing up the ladder and onto our bedding. Even at 8,052 feet it wasn't exactly cool, but the 75°F temps sure felt fantastic after a long day in the sun.

I'm not sure how long @mrs.turbodb lasted, but I don't know that I even turned a single page on my Kindle before my eyelids closed and I was out for the count.

The following morning...

Nature's alarm.​

Though we planned to be at higher elevations - at least, for a few hours - we still wanted to get an early start to our day in the La Sal Mountains. We'd heard through the BDR grapevine that a couple of riders had run into snow along this section of route just a couple days earlier and figured that we'd be glad for a couple extra hours if we had to re-route in a significant way.

We were lucky that there were no active fires along the route, but you'd be forgiven for thinking there were with the color of the light this morning.​

We rolled out of camp just after 6:30am, the landscape dramatically different than the red rock we'd encountered the previous day. As we continued to climb through the foothills of the La Sals, green grass and wildflowers were the name of the game.

Oh, and cows. So. Many. Cows.

I don't really mind cows. Frankly, I enjoy berating them through the windshield, and honking at the young ones that are not used to vehicles. "Dumb cows," I'll exclaim for no other reason than it makes me feel good.

I do mind all the cow shit on the road, however. Running over it sucks once because it gets all over the truck; twice (or more) when getting out of the truck to take pictures and having to smell it all over the undercarriage; and a third time when I wash the truck and the pressure washer blasts the wet-again cow shit back into my face.

​

The cows always seem to get the last moo. Or at least, their shit does.

Anyway, trying my darndest to avoid the liquid cow shit on the road, we continued to climb, the views getting better and better as the temperatures got milder and milder. It was fantastic!

Our first good glimpse of Mt. Tukuhnikivatz (left) and Mt. Peale (right).​

Fifteen minutes later, we were much closer to Mt. Peale and I couldn't resist another shot.​

Despite my ranting about cows - not the last of this trip, mind you - this really was a splendid section of trail. Spring was in full-force up here, and we stopped several times on our way towards Geyser Pass to revel in the colorful surroundings.

Warming up.
(Painted Lady - Vanessa cardui)​

Following the sun. (Balsam arrowroot)​

Unfurling. (Iris)​

A field of flowers. (Iris)​

Climbing through 9,500 feet, the scrub oak and meadows gave way to some of the largest groves of Aspen that we've ever encountered. As beautiful as this place was - sunlight filtering through fluttering leaves - it must be truly spectacular come fall. A reason to return, for sure!

Filtered light.​

A break in the trees gave us a glimpse of Mt. Mellenthin.​

And then - as we suspected - snow. We'd hoped out loud that the warm temperatures of the last several days would have melted it, and I'm sure that it was melting faster than normal, but when there's this much of the white stuff and the road shrouded in shade most of the day, it's going to take more than a couple of days to make a meaningful impact.

Getting a little tight, even for a first gen Tacoma.​

At this point, I thought it prudent to grab a shovel and walk a bit.​

Ultimately several smaller drifts gave way to one more than three feet deep that covered the entire road. With no existing tracks, we probably could have shoveled our way through in an hour or so, but as swarms of mosquitoes descended on our sleeveless appendages, we quickly concluded that - for us at least - this route was impassable. It was time to find another way 'round.

Taking another look at our maps, we determined there to be three choices:

1. A couple miles back from our current position - and at 600 feet lower elevation - a series of roads peeled off to the east, eventually working their way back to Geyser Pass.
2. Nearly back to the highway - UT-46 - the main road split. Our fork, to Geyser Pass, was clearly the primary route, but La Sal Pass Road would also take us up and over the mountains, albeit at significantly higher elevations.
3. We could tuck tail and run a third option for stage 2 of the BDR - one we hadn't even considered in our planning - the "winter bypass."

While the smart money would have been on the winter route - a little ironic given the triple digit temperatures we'd been fighting - we're glutton for punishment and so opted to give the shortest reroute a try first.

Diving off Geyser Pass Road near Dark Canyon Lake, we failed quickly. Though much of the land here was public, a few private chunks were sprinkled throughout, locked gates blocking our passage.

Several mountain cabins nestled into the trees along the lake shore, certainly a nice place to pass the time!​

With no other choice, we headed back the way we'd come - retracing nearly all of the 19 miles and 3,000 vertical feet that we'd climbed in the previous couple of hours. We ran into a group of dual sport riders - three weeks into riding the TransAmerica Trail - and gave them the low-down on the situation, letting them know that our heavy beast wasn't going to make it through, but that they might be able to walk their bikes over the white stuff if they got as much weight off as possible.

We never saw them again, so maybe they made it!

At any rate, we'd nearly resigned ourselves to taking option 3 - the "winter bypass" - but as we neared the turn to La Sal Pass Road, we took one more look at the map and decided that it was worth a shot, even if it was a long one. After all, we were on and adventure. Oh, and if it worked, we'd keep ourselves in the higher elevations longer - something we were definitely keen on doing!

Heading up to La Sal Pass, we got a good glimpse of South Mountain (left) in addition to the ever-present Mt. Peale (right).​

As had been the case on Geyser Pass, it was absolutely stunning to see the transformation from early summer to full-on-spring as we gained elevation. We'd reach just over 10,700 feet as we crested La Sal pass, our surroundings idyllic, and each of us questioning why the BDR route didn't utilize this trail. Even better, by following all the right undulations, the road remained in the sun nearly the entire time, its surface dry as a bone. Even 600 feet higher, it was smooth sailing!

Well, not smooth sailing - the bumpy, rutted descent on the west side of the pass was a little worse for wear, especially compared to the well-graded Geyser Pass Road - but that was just fine with us as we enjoyed the colors and temperatures at these higher elevations.

Near the pass, fields of wildflowers decorated the meadows under South Mountain.​

The Rocky Mountain Columbines were out in full splendor.​

So unassuming, the world's largest dandilions reached for the sun before their evil transition to seed. (Yellow Goatsbeard - Tragopogon dubius)​

Fields and fields of Lupin.​

Dainty roses were fragrant along the side of the road.​

Of course, the Sego Lily - Utah's state flower - couldn't be forgotten, the deep purple framed so brilliantly by the white petals.​

We'd later discover that La Sal Pass was the original route of the UTBDR, likely changed when the Pack Creek Fire passed through the region in 2021. Charred trunks still covered the hillside as we picked our way down through Dorry Canyon and Brumley Creek, the road - perhaps last used for fighting the fire - getting sketchier and sketchier.

Undergrowth beginning to return. Eventually, the scrub oak will be back.​

I think our reaction on seeing these guys in the road was, "what the..." Strangest cows we've ever encountered, and with those horns, I wasn't mumbling "dumb cows," too loudly!​

Eventually, after one rather sketch-tastic off-camber section that I failed to snap a photo of, but insisted that @mrs.turbodb exit the cab as I crossed, we linked back up with Geyser Pass Road for the final descent back into Moab.

I've never really seen - or at least noticed - Moab Rim before. Fantabulous!​

Back in civilization.​

As we glanced at the clock, it happened to be lunch time. Convenient given that we were once again at 4,350 feet and it was hot! We found a tasty little taco truck - Tey's - and proceeded to order a few breakfast tacos and a carne asada burrito. Both were delicious, consumed ravenously as we reveled in the string of water misters that'd been strung across the canopy under which we sat. Naturally, we forgot any sort of photo, but we'll certainly be returning any time we're in town!

Having consumed two meals in the same town - and on the same trip - we were feeling a bit like the dual sport riders for which the BDRs are technically created. Those guys can't carry as much as we can - and certainly can't lug along a Dometic fridge - so stops in town for fuel and sustenance are required. It was pretty nice, all things considered!

But we couldn't postpone the inevitable and soon enough we were back on the route, heading into the Sand Flats Recreation Area just east of town.

I don't know if it has always been the case, but this is the first time I can recall a BDR taking a toll road, the BLM entrance station charging $5.00/day per vehicle. Well worth it, I suppose, for all the folks who come here for some of the most well-known trails in Moab.

And of course, we figured - while we're here, we might as well give one of them a try. So, throwing the BDR track to the wind, we peeled off the well-graded main road, and hit the slickrock surface of Fins 'n Things.

I think we're the first ones to climb this fin, ever!​

Staying on trail wasn't ever very hard.​

There were a couple steep sections and ledges which I never captured all that well, but my favorite part was when @mrs.turbodb looked over at me and said, "oh hell no." Judging by her reaction, my response caught her a bit off guard, "Don't worry, this is the easy route." ​

A fun little trail, I could see why folks flock to this place. Still, it was a little more commercialized than we prefer, so after speeding through, we were happy to get back onto the main route - into the northern La Sals - and away from the omnipresent crowds.

Leaving Sand Flats for (literally) greener pastures.​

Our ultimate destination was Dewey Bridge via Onion Creek and soon we found ourselves retracing a route that I'd run in the opposite direction on The De-Tour - my very first adventure with Monte @Blackdawg and Mike @Digiratus as we attempted to escape the rain and snow of Montana. Though the rain had followed us south along the route we'd chosen to take - the Kokopelli Trail - Onion Creek left an everlasting impression on my mind, and I couldn't wait to show it off to @mrs.turbodb!

Of course, first we had to get there.

Just a few hours earlier, we'd been on the other side of those peaks!​

The views down into Castle Valley along the Kokopelli Trail were as dramatic as ever.​

I must have told my companion a half dozen times that I recognized this turn or that, and as we followed a sharp bend in the route, I had this strange sensation that going the opposite direction - for less than a mile - might be worthwhile.

A nice view from the Bull Canyon Overlook, just a quarter mile off the route. C'mon BDR planners, you can do better!​

Some of the best dino tracks I've seen.​

Back on the Kokopelli, we crossed from one county to another...where there was no budget for gravel.​

​

The views up here were endless, and I somehow convinced @mrs.turbodb to inch her way out on this protruding rock. Her own "Top of the World" moment, gazing out at Top of the World (third cliff from the left).​

Our last glimpse of the snow-covered La Sals.​

It was nearly 5:00pm as we started our descent into Onion Creek. With a route that runs mostly east-west, we were in the unfortunate situation of driving directly into the sun. That, combined with the fact that I think it's better to run Onion Creek uphill, meant that the experience wasn't quite as breathtaking as I'd made it out to be in my descriptions. Still, as we worked our way down the canyon, there were certainly highlights worth enjoying.

Diving into the canyon.​

We must have crossed the water more than a dozen times as the road and creek were hopelessly intertwined the entire way.​

One of my favorite parts of Onion Creek are the rainbow of colors to be found in the hills.​

Narrows sunstar.​

With no traffic to speak of and the sun in our face, we reached the bottom in a little more than half an hour, popping out onto UT-128 for the last few miles of the stage. This stretch of highway - hugging the bank of the Colorado River - is one of the most dramatic roads I've driven. It's fabulous in both directions, the towering walls and postcard quality views, never ceasing to amaze.

Fisher Towers, a study in texture, light, and shadow.​

Yes, please.​

Layers of awesome.​

Just before 6:00pm, we reached Dewey Bridge and the end of the stage. Built in 1916 - and the only crossing of the Colorado in the area until 1986 - Dewey Bridge was destroyed by a 7-year old boy in April 2008. Camping with his parents about a quarter-mile away, he wandered away from camp and started a brush fire with matches. At the time, the bridge was the second-longest west of the Mississippi; only the Golden Gate was longer.

Keep an eye on your kids and teach them about matches.​

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With Stage 2 in the books, temperatures in the mid-90s °F, and no nearby elevation to speak of, we contemplated what our next steps should be. We briefly entertained the idea of tucking tail and heading back into the La Sals, but calmer heads prevailed and we decided to tough out the heat a few hundred feet higher, where the route would be overlooking Dome Plateau.

But that is another story...

 

Could it be some kind of well cover?

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Yeah, I'd wager a bet that it's designed to divert debris and prevent damage to a well cap in the event of a flash flood.

 

So I just did the ORBDR a couple weeks ago. How did you handle airing down? It went from paved to gravel, dirt, rocky to dusty. Then the dusty road got dusty. The only surface consistent was change. I ended up just leaving my tires at 25psi as my air up/down process runs about 20-30 minutes and I'm too lazy to air up/down every hour or two.

 

Those damned mosquitos...