AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Interesting; hadn't thought of that and only saw two of them on the entire route. They didn't seem to be in significant debris flows, but who knows what a flash would ultimately bring. One was here: 38°22'13.5264" N 109°41'36.9177" W

For all the BDRs, we air down near the beginning somewhere (i.e. on the first stage, whenever it gets to be bumpy enough that my passenger starts to complain), and then we don't air back up until the very end. We run 17-18psi, and keep paved speeds to 50mph or lower. Tires make a difference too of course with pressures and whatnot, so this is with 255/85R16 ST/Maxx, load E.

I will note: I have *heard* that anything faster than about 20kph is bad for tires (heats up the sidewalls and kills the tires), but I've never had an issue and I know plenty of folks who air down more and go faster than I do. Really, they barely look aired down at 18psi, even though I generally run them at 40psi.

Hate those MFers.

 

They definitely don't feel that way about you.

 

I’ll have to see if I can figure it out.

I was guessing and wonder why, if it is a cover of sort, there’s no marking on it. You would think any sort of bore hole, test well, what ever would be marked or just sealed up and forgotten.

Isn’t this the second or third strange hole you’ve seen?

 

Didn't realize we run the exact same tires, but I will second this. I also run 40 psi on road, and go to 15-20 off road, depending on road conditions. I just leave them at that until it is time to head home.

The only thing I notice is a 3-4 psi increase on my dashes readout, which is reached slowly over time as I drive on pavement.

 

This is an indication of increasing temperatures in the tires due to increased rolling resistance. It can lead to tire wear and potentially, tire failure. It can also cause increased wear on bearings/gears etc.

Dan’s recommendation to keep speeds down mitigates the risk and is a great reminder of the importance of tire pressure.

 

My tire pressure (as does everyone elses) changes all the time, even at street pressure when driving normally. Your tires gather heat when you use them.

I never mentioned excessive speed either.

 

Yeah, I run mine at 37 cold, and they heat up to 40 to 41. About 4 psi seems normal. That said, that's about a 10% increase. An increase of 4 psi at a starting pressure of 17 to 20 is a 20%+ increase, which may indicate that the tire is getting much hotter. Or not, I don't really know, I just enjoy using math sometimes.

 

That's correct and when you drive at speed on under inflated tires, as we have been talking about, temperatures can increase beyond what the tire is designed for causing accelerated wear and possible tire failure.

No, you didn't. I did and in the context of a comment Dan made. In fact, I even prefaced my remark with "Dan's recommendations". Did you miss that?

 

You know, I must have misinterpreted you originally.

My apologies.

 

I don’t have a clue as to what that cover is. My weak google-fu turned up someone asking the same question in a 2013 trip report on another forum. Only thing I could find on it

I did learn there is an aircraft crash site in that area if you weren’t aware.

 

The crash debris is a little off the road.

 

I checked out that trip report in my search. Looks like you guys had a good time. Except for that busted rear diff

 

Dewey Bridge to Wellington - There are No Dinosaur Bones | UTBDR Stage 3
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

Stage 3 of the UTBDR - from Moab to the Book Cliffs to the San Rafael Swell.​

Pulling away from Dewey Bridge a little after 6:30pm, we'd already been on the road for 12 hours and we were spent. Unfortunately - as long as we wanted to continuing making forward progress on the route - there was no real elevation to be found until the beginning of the following stage, and we knew there was no way we could make it that far, even if we drove long into the darkness.

So, we resolved to keep an eye out for any location that sported a view and offered exposure to any breeze that might be present. Ideally, it wouldn't be more than an hour or so, so we could take a quick nap before enjoying sunset as we ate a cold pasta salad dinner that we'd prepared before we left home.

After crossing UT-128, we were greeted by a series of black buttes cascading into the distance.​

The landscape here in the Yellow Cat Mining District was textbook high desert - hot, dusty, and covered in golden grass and sage.​

It took less than 30 minutes to reach these old mine cabins.​

Built of old railroad ties, the spikes were still embedded in the walls.​

A little drafty these days.​

After poking around the cabins a bit - I'd visited them several years earlier, but if pressed I would have suggested that they were in an entirely different location - we continued our search for an acceptable camp site. The trail now climbing slightly towards Dome Plateau, I mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that if we continued for another 90 minutes - off the BDR route - we'd run into the most epic camp site I've ever experienced. Not that either of us wanted to spend that much more time in the Tacoma...

Climbing up and around Dome Plateau, the La Sals began to peek up in the distance.​

All day we'd been seeing this Princes plume (Stanleya pinnata) waving in the breeze.​

Layers of color.​

Then, as we traversed a cliff line to the north of Dome Plateau, a short spur led out to the edge. I'm always a fan of camping on the edge - the closer the better - and I don't think it surprised my copilot in the least when I suggested that we'd found our home for the evening.

A rock or two leveled the Tacoma, and five minutes later we had the tent deployed and our Kindles in hand. With two hours until sunset, we had a little more than an hour of relaxation before pulling out dinner and enjoying it from our vantage point on the cliff's edge.

The view wasn't half bad as the last rays of the sun shown on the La Sal Mountains in the distance.​

A few minutes before sunset we wrapped up our evening preparations - face washing, teeth brushing, and gathering of fresh clothes for the following morning - and climbed into the tent. With only screens for across the tent windows and doors, the warm breeze felt fantastic as we lay atop our bedding.

I'm not sure how long I read, but it was still light as my eyes shut, sleep coming quickly.

The following morning...

Hazy skies, and another warm day on the way.​

Mr. Cricket had taken up residence in the CVT cover. Those legs propelled him more than 20 feet when I tried to catch him for breakfast.​

Our camp site at the lowest elevation so far - a mere 4991 feet - there was no dilly dallying around as we packed up camp. Still, though we climbed into the Tacoma only 15 minutes after the fiery ball crested the horizon, we were already sweating!

Our day started out by crossing the Yellow Cat and Poison Strip areas. Carnotite (Uranium) mining in the district began in the early 1900’s with one of the earliest claims being the Telluride mines. Filed in 1911, the Vanadium Ores Mining and Milling Company worked these mines through the mid-20s even as additional claims were filed in 1915 by the Pittsburgh Radium Company for the Pittsburg, Memphis, and Mollie Hogans mines.

Large scale Uranium mining began in the 1940's and took off in the mid-1950s. By the early 1960's, however, the demand for Uranium dwindled as the market had been oversupplied.

Across the plains.​

Driving through the Poison Strip, a small area cordoned off with barbed wire caught our attention. Wondering if there was an old vertical shaft, I popped out of the truck for a closer look and was immediately greeted by the most awful smell - and that's saying something given that after several days of heat, it already smelled pretty human in the Tacoma!

This is what was cordoned off, and was the source of the smell. The Poison Strip gained its name because of the arsenic in the soil, which killed the sheep that grazed the area.​

Marker 4222233V0102, placed in 2018.​

A little ways down the road, this ore bin was once fed from an incline shaft just out of frame to the left. The shaft has collapsed and is filled in, but the remnants of a wooden collar and an old cable line are still strewn about.​

Continuing to work our way west and north, we rose and fell over hilly badlands of tan and gray Mancos shale - the deposits of a sea that once covered the western interior of North America. To our south, distant views of Arches National Park dotted the skyline as the road eventually crossed I-70 and headed towards the Book Cliffs.

The iconic formations of Arches National Park would need to wait for (yet) another trip.​

Heading towards the Book Cliffs (and behind/on top of them, the Roan Cliffs).​

Closer.​

I was really looking forward to the Book Cliffs. Not for any specific reason - I had no hikes planned, and only a couple points marked as interesting stops - but likely because I'd read trips reports from others, the details slipping easily out of my aging mind.

Still, driving through a series of canyons, and onto Sagers Bench, we were smack in the middle of all sorts of geology, and @mrs.turbodb was quick to relate the details as she read from the Roadside Geology of Utah.

This sweeping wall encompassed many of the Mesaverde sandstone, siltstone, and coal layers that were once deposited along the shore of a Cretaceous sea.​

At one point, the road passed between these two sentries, the perfect spot for us to stop and have breakfast. Obviously. ​

Our time in the Book Cliffs would last until lunch - largely because the road wound its way along the undulating folds; 30 miles as the crow flies quickly turning into 60 miles of trail. It's a section of trail that one might consider skipping - a beeline to Green River affording an opportunity to refuel vehicles and relax in the shade of a downtown park. But doing so would mean skipping Sego Canyon - a worthy destination full of history - and there was no way we were passing this one by.

Heading up canyon we were amazed by the number of train bridges that crossed the wash. We counted more than a dozen!​

Our first stop was at the Sego ghost town. Inhabited between 1910 and the mid-1950s, it was a coal town; the bridges we encountered, part of the Ballard & Thompson Railroad - a spur from the Denver and Rio Grande Western - built by the founders of the town to transport the coal.

At the height of coal production, from 1920 to 1947, 800 tons of coal were being mined per day, with the train making as many as nine round-trips a month to the town.

The town's most serious problem - almost from the beginning - was a diminishing water supply. The water table was dropping, the creeks and springs drying up. By 1947 production costs exceeded income, and the company decided to close down. The miners that once had numbered 125 had been reduced to just 27.

The only above ground structure still standing in Sego is the old hotel and dance hall.​

Hey bud, you lookin' for a room?​

We did find one in-ground dugout as well.​

After wandering around a bit - or really, wandering for @mrs.turbodb and hiding in the shade of some Cottonwood trees for me - we headed towards the main attraction, for us, of Sego Canyon - the rock art. As usual though, we were distracted within minutes, the old Sego Cemetery just off the side of the road as we headed west.

The Sulley family, undated.​

Giovanni Ascani, 1883 - 1918.​

With most of the headstones blank - a testament to the harsh conditions that still exist here in Sego Canyon - there wasn't much to really see at the cemetery, so after a few minutes we were back on our way to one of the coolest rock art sites we'd see on the entire BDR.

Stunning views the entire time.​

Pictographs always seem a little more fleeting to me - as compared to petroglyphs - so I was pretty jazzed to see the pictographs on this panel. Little did I know...​

Nearby, a mix of old and new.​

Smith Vinger, Aug. 14, 1881.​

And then we really got into the thick of it. One of the things that makes the rock art of Sego Canyon special is that it contains several distinctive styles that are attributed to different people and time periods. The oldest art belongs to the Archaic period and dates to between 6,000 BC and 2,000 BC. Nomads, the Archaic were hunters and did not build permanent habitation structures, living in caves and in small brush shelters built out in the open. Near the end of this time period the Barrier Canyon Style emerged, characterized by large human-like (anthropomorphic) forms, some as tall as nine feet. Often with vacant looking or missing eyes, the frequent absence of arms and legs, and the presence of vertical body markings, they are sometimes seen with antennae, earrings, and with snakes in their hands. The ghost-like images are some of the most unusual and always a special find.

An enormous panel of Barrier Canyon pictographs, high above the wash.​

Ghostly eyes.​

At the very right of the large panel, the small dark figure repeatedly drew our attention.​

It was around 600 AD - and until 1250 AD - that the Fremont culture thrived in the region. Part-time farmers, they lived in scattered semi-sedentary farmsteads and small villages, never entirely giving up traditional hunting and gathering for more risky full-time farming. They made pottery, built houses and food storage facilities, and raised corn. Their petroglyphs also depicted unusual figures and were characterized by sharp edges, square or rectangular heads and triangular bodies.

A Fremont panel.​

I really liked the jewelry that these two were adorned with.​

Between 1300 - 1880 AD, the Ute people lived in Sego Canyon and they too added art to the sandstone cliffs. Prior to the arrival of Mexican settlers, the Utes occupied significant portions of what are today eastern Utah, western Colorado, and parts of New Mexico and Wyoming. Though never a unified group, they consisted of numerous nomadic bands that maintained close associations with their nearby neighbors, until they were forced onto reservations in the 1880s.

A Ute panel of pictographs, characterized by horse and rider figures.​

Energized by our latest discovery - so much so in the case of my copilot that she promptly took a nap for the second half of our drive through the Book Cliffs - we made our way to Green River for a relaxing lunch in the shade of a downtown park. It was 11:30am as we enjoyed turkey sandwiches and fresh cherries and discussed the plan for the rest of the day.

Spoiler: we were driving the Utah BDR.

As we neared Green River, we dropped back down to the base of the Book Cliffs, their sharp edges retreating to the north as they shed debris over the millennia.​

I must say, we didn't really know what to expect between Green River and the end of the stage - not that we were in any way close - in Wellington. To our (admittedly untrained) eyes it seemed to skirt the around one of the most wonderful places in Utah - the San Rafael Swell - as it picked its way north, perhaps due to the fact that one could lose themselves in the fabulous uplift for weeks, never actually completing the route!

Despite the fact that we'd never really climb up onto the enormous anticline of sandstone, we did catch a glimpse of the Swell's eastern fins as the route turned north.​

Sill (Manco) shale, you are not fins of the San Rafael Swell, stop trying to look like them.​

This portion of the trail - winding up Cottonwood Wash between Mexican Mountain and the Book Cliffs - followed the Old Spanish Trail and several information signs placed - seemingly in the middle of nowhere - by the BLM afforded us a bit of history as we passed through.

An old dugout at Smith's Cabin nestled into the colorful landscape, just off the route.​

Face rock.​

Skirting around the northern edge of the Swell, we could see Chimney Rock from quite a distance. With no idea whether we'd pass it or not, I probably took ten photos at various points along the way, just to be sure I didn't miss one of the most obvious landmarks in an otherwise relatively monotonous terrain.

Eventually, we got pretty close to Chimney Rock.​

Now headed west, it was clear that large portions of the trail were built on an old rail grade. With cuts through hillsides and built-up sections across washes, a lot of work went into what we'd later find to be the Spirit Railroad extension of the same company that we'd seen earlier in the day as we'd visited Sego Canyon.

In 1881 the D&RGW railroad company decided to extend their line through the San Rafael Swell. The line was planned to leave Green River, UT, travel up Cottonwood Wash, across Buckhorn Flat, and to a junction near Huntington. From the junction, the line would split and go north to Price and south through Salina Canyon to Salina.

Though the railroad was never completed, hundreds of locals worked on the project and an impressive amount of railroad bed was prepared. Ties were even cut in Tie Canyon near Huntington and floated 20 miles down to sell to the railroad.

RoadTripRyan​

It was fun driving along this old rail grade, marveling at all the work the old timers put in.​

An old water cistern - or perhaps a kiln - along a raised embankment of the old grade.​

Our speeds stayed relatively high through most of this section, the roads reasonably graded with the exception of a few washouts here and there. It was @mrs.turbodb who recognized the landscape first - mentioning that we'd been here previously.

I, on the other hand, was sure we had not.

We won't spend too much time on who was right, but the last time we'd passed through, we'd noted the existence of the Jurassic National Monument - unfortunately closed - as we'd raced home from our trip to the San Rafael Swell.

This time, however, we seemed to be in luck as we reached the turn off from South Desert Lake Road just before 4:00pm. Only open April to October, Thursday to Sunday, and 10am to 5pm, it seemed that the stars had finally aligned on this Friday afternoon!

Dino bones, here we come!​

We arrived at the visitor center twenty minutes later and after a quick bathroom break, we gathered up our hiking gear, slathered ourselves with sunscreen, and headed into the visitor center to find out where the biggest, baddest, bestest, Tyranosaurus Rex bones could be found.

We were greeted warmly as soon as we walked in the door, and politely told that we were too late. They'd already closed up for the day, and unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to go on any of the hikes out into the monument.

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"But," she added, "I'll be happy to give you a tour of the visitor center, and I won't even charge you the entrance fee."

I suppose this was a kind gesture on her part and might have saved us $10 whole dollars if we didn't already have our America the Beautiful pass (good at all National Monuments), but we didn't mention it and ultimately enjoyed our private tour.

Allosaurus - not T-Rex - were the prevalent predator in the area. Note: this is not a real skeleton.​

As the history of the site was explained - mostly a fascinating geology lesson for the one of us with an entire collection of Roadside Geology books - I couldn't shake the disappointment that we weren't going to see any bones poking out of the ground. Coupled repeated references to the process of unearthing, then molding, then casting replicas of the bones that they did find, I finally asked whether - if we'd arrived even earlier in the day (as we'd already arrived during open hours), "were there any dinosaur bones to see on the hikes?"

"Not really. But the Dinosaur National Monument in Vernal has a wall of bones on display."

I was blown away. Here we were at the Jurassic National Monument, home to the densest discovery of dinosaur bones in the world, and no matter when we'd shown up, there were no bones to be seen in the wild!

Goodness gracious, what is this world coming to?

There were two real bones to be seen in the visitor center, and I took a photo of each. A consolation prize, as it were.

Triceratops tail spike.​

Triceratops back plate.​

Of course, the reason for the lack of million-year-old bones is obvious to those who think about it for a few more seconds than I did at the time - not everyone is respectful of such artifacts, and their presence would surely attract looters to a site with so little security. Frankly, it made me even more appreciative of the bone I'd found in the wild, a couple years earlier.

It was just before official closing time when we departed the visitor center for the final few miles to Wellington and the end of the stage. It was sweet relief as we knew that we'd be heading higher as the BDR climbed into Nine Mile Canyon and the Uinta Plateau, the elevation affording a bit of relief from the blistering heat we'd battled all day.

The mounds south of Wellington - miniature Book Cliffs - afforded some nice views.​

A no-frills finish to Stage 3.​

After filling up with fuel, there was no question about whether to continue, the only question was "how far?" You see, we knew that we were heading into a spot that - only a year earlier - we'd spent an entire day exploring; a day that had been rushed due to an imminent snowstorm. While we weren't at risk of any of the white stuff today - we'd have welcomed it in fact - we also weren't sure how we could possibly do justice to what we were about to experience in the little time we had left in the evening...

 

Wellington to Currant Creek - Tiniest Deer and a Big Miss | UTBDR Stage 4
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

Stage 4 of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route - through Nine Mile Canyon (sort of), and through the Uinta Mountains to ... Wyoming?​

Shortly after 6:00pm, we pulled out of the Chevron station on the outskirts of Wellington on our way to Nine Mile Canyon. We were surprised when we discovered that Nine Mile Canyon was on the Utah BDR because when we'd visited - a little more than a year earlier - we'd spent an entire day in the canyon, completely overdosed on rock art, and still hadn't seen but a fraction of what it has to offer.

How then, could the BDR creators possibly expect riders to get a feel for this special place? The answer, we'd discover, was not the one we'd have come up with.

The approach to Nine Mile Canyon is arguably even more beautiful than the drive through the canyon itself.​

The marker at the official beginning of Nine Mile Canyon, where there is nothing that is actually 9 miles.​

Often described as "the world's longest art gallery," the 46-mile long Nine Mile Canyon provides visitors with a myriad of opportunities to enjoy more than one thousand rock art sites that have been identified in the area, though archeologists believe that 90% of the art may yet be undiscovered!

Most of the rock art was created by the Fremont culture and the Ute people well before the canyon became a main transport corridor in the region during the 1880s. Settlers established a number of ranches in Nine Mile Canyon, and even a short-lived town named Harper. Today, much of the canyon remains private ranch land, though the rock art of the canyon is protected and largely viewable by the public.


Often described as "the world's longest art gallery," the 46-mile long Nine Mile Canyon provides visitors with a myriad of opportunities to enjoy more than one thousand rock art sites that have been identified in the area, though archeologists believe that 90% of the art may yet be undiscovered!

Most of the rock art was created by the Fremont culture and the Ute people well before the canyon became a main transport corridor in the region during the 1880s. Settlers established a number of ranches in Nine Mile Canyon, and even a short-lived town named Harper. Today, much of the canyon remains private ranch land, though the rock art of the canyon is protected and largely viewable by the public.

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Just reaching the canyon took us the better part of an hour, so there was no way that we were going to be able to visit - much less enjoy - even the most well-known of the rock art sites along the 46-mile route before finding camp. Additionally, though we'd gained a few thousand feet of elevation - making the temperatures much more pleasant - to reach the mouth of the canyon, we'd lose that same elevation as we explored deeper into gallery of rock art.

Still, we're - though really, I shouldn't blame @mrs.turbodb at all - a stubborn bunch, and I felt bad calling it quits two hours before sunset when the temperatures were so pleasant. So, we left a few of our belongings in the spot we hoped to call home, and set out to see a few of the petroglyph panels along the first twelve miles of Nine Mile Canyon.

Long-necked sheep of Brundage Cove.​

First Panel. Named because it's the first panel on some self-guided driving tours.​

Clearly the sheep in this area have gone extinct, or the giraffes have lost their horns.​

Follow the leader.​

Cheerleader panel. (left) | Jazz hand man. (right)​

(very) Happy man leading a horse.​

This pronghorn (left) and bird (right) were likely added to a preexisting Ute panel - depicting a man leading a horse - by a rancher.​

Just visiting these few sites, we had less than half an hour until sunset. It was only at this point that we realized how the BDR was going to "solve" the problem of allocating an entire day to exploring this magical place: the route was going to bail out of the canyon at the first possible chance, leaving the remaining - and frankly, best - 36 miles of rock art completely unexplored.

Lame.

Heading back to camp, we mused about the decision. Ultimately we decided that it probably wasn't all that surprising - the BDRs often skip the "best" stuff in an area in order to optimize around the lowest common denominator, or getting from point A to point B with as little risk as possible. It's the tradeoff they make when they are building routes for the masses, and one of the reasons that we always value the side trips and detours that we add along the way.

Even with all the green grass - and there was tons - this guy was looking a little hungry.​

We got to camp and setup just in time to watch the sky turn pink. Hot dogs and sweet fresh corn on the menu.​

After a tasty dinner and a quick look around for any hidden etchings - which we didn't find - we set about our usual nightly routine and climbed into the tent just as the stars were making themselves known. Temperatures were perfect, somewhere in the low 60s °F, and a gentle breeze blew through the netting that kept the nasty little blood suckers from feasting on us throughout the night.

The following morning...

We were up at sunrise - or even slightly before - to get an early start on the day. This wasn't going to be our last day on the trail, but with stages 4, 5, and 6 remaining, we figured that a couple long days might be enough to complete our trek through Utah to the Idaho border.

Having already explored "the entirety" of Nine Mile Canyon through which the BDR passed, we didn't stop at all for the first ten miles - simply passing by the rock art we'd checked out the evening prior.

However, our fast pace changed as soon as we hit the BDR's bail-out road at Argyle Canyon. Within just a few dozen feet, we realized that the artists who wandered these canyons didn't discriminate between one canyon and the next - or, while they may have preferred one over the other, none were off limits. For the next two hours, our progress slowed dramatically as we glassed the varnished sandstone and climbed from one panel to the next.

The figures on this panel were interesting, but I thought the rock formation itself was even better.​

​

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Ralph Allen, July[sp] 7, 1934
Native American Indian etchings weren't the only ones adorning the canyon walls.​

A familiar theme.​

We really enjoyed this panel that was deeply etched, but also heavily varnished in the years since it was created.​

I climbed to this vantage point to admire the green valley, not even realizing when I took the photo that I wasn't the first to admire from here.​

Eventually - as we climbed out of the canyon - the walls decreased in height and the valley floor stretched wider and wider. There was no rock art here, but the grassy pastures and ranches nestled into stands of cottonwood trees made for plenty of pauses along the way.

Pastoral.​

From Argyle Canyon we climbed onto the Uinta Plateau, our path along Reservation Ridge affording us views of the Wasatch and Uinta Ranges to our west and north. There - as we were stopped for breakfast - a Jeep pulled up and out hopped a couple of locals. One in his seventies and the other in his teens, we shared stories of our explorations, the grandfather regaling us with stories of roadless ridges and dog hunting of years gone by. As were we, these two were out making memories and thoroughly enjoying their morning.

Up we go.​

(Hazy) views into infinity.​

Continuing on our way, we were engaged in a conversation about how - no matter what BDR we find ourselves on at any given time (and this isn't just true of BDRs) - every single person has been friendly and engaging. Perhaps we've just been lucky, but these chance encounters always add so much color to an area that we're constantly looking for folks to run into. Fire lookouts, BLM or USFS or NPS employees, or anyone out enjoying the same things we are. And then...

Whoa!
Whoa-Whoa-Whoa-Whoa!​

The smallest baby deer we've ever seen darted out in front of the Tacoma. I was sure he was a gonner as I slowed to a stop, my eyes glued to the side view mirror.

Not more than a foot tall, I was relieved to see the little guy wobbling through the belly-high grass. I'd somehow managed to slow down just enough - or he'd swerved just so - in order to miss him.

If I stand still, can you still see me?​

Nothing to see here, I'm a tree.​

https://www.youtube.com/embed/bxPMzwfGbeI
A near miss.​

After a couple photos and ushering the fawn back to its original side of the road - in case mama came looking - we continued on, eventually heading down through Timber Canyon and along the Strawberry River, temperatures rising once again as our elevation dropped from 9,300 to 6,000 feet.

Our descent was far from uneventful. Now nearly at the end of the stage, we ran into one of the first closed gates of the trip. Thinking nothing of it - and perhaps even grateful that it wasn't a flimsy barbed-wire contraption - @mrs.turbodb hopped out to open it up. Calling me over after a few minutes of fiddling, we ended up struggling with the chain for 10 minutes - someone having squeezed a carabiner through a link, with no consideration as to its later removal - before impersonating the UTVs we despise so much.

Skinny 1st gen Tacoma diet for the win.​

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Wheeeeee! It's all fun and games until the A/C idler bearing starts whining.​

Powerful water carried quite a bit of material down canyon last winter!​

It was only when we reached the bottom of the canyon that encountered the road closed sign. Not for the path we'd travelled, but for the only other route that we might have taken from Reservation Ridge to the end of the stage at Currant Creek. Without that narrow cattle guard, nearly an entire day would have been lost to retracing our steps... or somehow destroying that damn carabiner.

For now though, we enjoyed the valley as it opened up around the Strawberry River, grand walls towering towards the sky, folks camped here and there, and children splashing in the muddy water.

A colorful battle between wet and dry.​

Splash of color. (Purple Thistle)​

Before long we hit pavement, the end of the stage only a few miles north. Hungry, we looked for any shade we could find, the best spots already occupied by campers and their 25' toy haulers.

Lunch would just have to wait.

End of the stage.​

 

Wow!

I've never seen a deer that small... until about 2 months ago. Similar circumstances. My cousin and I were headed to check out a campground in central Oregon and had a Chihuahua/deer run across the road. Fortunately we had plenty of space between us and the deer. We pulled over and saw the fawn by momma. I didn't bother to take a pic because I only had my phone and it was far enough away it would have been a pixelated mess.

I thought deer were bigger than that at birth. I guess most are. This one was also very agile but when momma easily stepped over a log the fawn ran up and down the length of it. We watched for a couple of minutes and then left. Checked out the campsite and on the way back I kept an eye out but didn't see them again.

 

Currant Creek to Evanston - Finishing Wyoming's BDR | UTBDR Stage 5
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

Stage 5 of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route was the greenest of them all, through the Uinta Mountains.​

It took us longer to find a lunch spot than we expected, swarms of mosquitoes attacking us as soon as we ventured into the shade along the side of Currant Creek. While the pesky little buggers didn't seem to phase the deet-drenched RVers, we prefer almost anything else - wind, rain, and cold - over those damn blood suckers, and so we pushed on to higher ground before breaking out the sandwiches that @mrs.turbodb has prepped before leaving camp just before sunrise.

Snow still lingered in the hot summer afternoon as we enjoyed sammies above Currant Creek Reservoir.​

Our bellies no longer grumbling, we wound our way along well-graded forest service roads that ebbed and flowed through the tall trees and high mountain meadows. It was hot here at 8,000 feet - in the upper 80s °F - but the green grass and bright wildflowers suggested that this was a new phenomenon. Only days earlier, spring had not yet given way to summer.

Sweeping turns are easily taken at speed.​

Through dense groves of aspen, this must be a sight to behold for those running the route in the fall.​

Even the clouds were cooperating.​

Fremont Geranium.​

Chiming bells (Mertensia paniculata)​

The driving here was nothing like we expected from a state that we generally associate with slickrock and desert mesas. Gone were the ruins and rock art, snow and rambling streams decorating the hillsides. Only the license plates of those tucked into the trees and nestled into shady nooks reminded us that this wasn't Wyoming or Colorado.

We continued to climb.

At 9,500 feet, we surfed the ridges.​

By 10,000 snow supplanted trees; winter trying to hold on in the heat of summer.​

As we neared Soapstone Mountain we had a decision to make. It was 3:30pm and we'd covered about half the stage since lunch. While we could - likely, if we pushed into the evening - cover the remaining 70 miles or so before sunset, we knew that camping above 9,500 feet would be significantly more pleasant than baking in the oppressive heat at lower elevations near the end of the stage. Still, we figured that we'd take a slight detour - one that @mrs.turbodb had found - to the top of Soapstone Mountain, and then we'd find camp somewhere a bit further along the route as we climbed even higher through Bald Mountain Pass.

But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Unlike all the roads that had allowed us to cover half a stage in a quarter of a day, the road to Soapstone Mountain was slow going. Nothing difficult, it was simply narrow, uneven, a little bit muddy, and just technical enough to keep the weekend warriors from toting their trailers and hauling their UTVs the couple of miles to the top.

Well, that's quite the view.​

What we discovered at the top threw a wrench into our plans. It was way too early to stop for the day, but how could we not stop when we found a place - at the end of a road - where the generators, SxSs, and constant parade of RVs could not be heard?

It was, we decided, time to slow down. It was time for a nap. And then dinner. And then sleeping. First though, we admired nature's garden that flourished around us.

We didn't see many of these Hairy Clematis, but the few we did were very vibrant.​

Fields and fields of Forget-Me-Nots reached up towards the sun.​

Gathering up our Kindles and opening the tent as wide as could be - every screen called into action - we lay with a gentle breeze blowing through the doors, whisking away the heat of the afternoon sun. I read for a full five minutes before the weight of my eyelids was too much to resist; @mrs.turbodb only a little longer.

Ninety minutes before sunset seemed like a good time to make dinner, my alarm chiming gently a few minutes before that. Like us, the mosquitoes - thick here in the water-rich environment - were in search of nourishment, forcing us into the cab for a delicious pasta salad as we watched the clouds roll by.

As the sun raced towards the horizon, its rays shown through the haze hovering over the hills.​

As they'd been all afternoon, the clouds put on a show to rival the best fireworks display.​

Just as the sun set to the west, we climbed up the ladder for the final time. It'd been a lazy evening, completely out of the ordinary. And it'd been fantastic - a reminder that slowing down and enjoying those special places is worth so much more than speeding to the next destination.

Our favorite camp.​

The Following Morning...

My favorite sound when I'm sleeping in the CVT tent is the pitter patter of rain on the fly, especially when I know that the storm will pass in the night, a breeze moving it along and drying the tent by the time I need to put it away in the morning. It's also nice - in a slightly different way - to hear mosquitoes buzzing around while knowing that it's perfectly safe on "this side" of the netting.

It was midnight or later when I finally pulled the covers over my body, the refreshing breeze making for an even more pleasant sleep. And with no alarm, we didn't wake again until well after sunrise.

After packing up, it was through fields of flowers that we descended from Soapstone Mountain.​

We - or at least, I - hadn't realized it the afternoon before, but a reasonably long stint of pavement began only a few miles further along the BDR. Winding through a high-mountain pass under the watchful eye of Bald Mountain, the place was buzzing with people, even at 7:30am in the morning.

Had we tried to find a spot to camp here, we most certainly would have been disappointed - but having enjoyed our own private peak, our spirits were high as we pulled into the Provo Falls parking area for breakfast.

The Provo Falls have several levels, the upper-most flowing gracefully over terraced granite.​

The middle falls roaring over mossy rockery.​

A side chute below the middle falls.​

Swatting mosquitoes as we shoveled cereal into our mouths, we hung around just long enough after eating for a few photos. In that time, five vehicles carrying 17 people cycled in and out of the parking area, each of them spending even less time than us, as they hurried along their way.

Soon enough, we did the same.

Stopped in our tracks at the sight of Mt. Watson.​

Here, we were travelling the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway - a stretch of pavement that reminded us of our time in the Snowy Mountains exactly a year earlier as we explored the Wyoming BDR. With high peaks - at 11,943 feet, Bald Mountain is one of the highest peaks in the western Uinta Mountains - and glassy lakes, there was much to admire, and we didn't hesitate to get out and look around.

Mt. Watson (left) and Notch Mountain (right) were enjoying their morning reflections on Teapot Lake.​

Where there are people, it seems there are crows. Easy pickings, likely.​

Yellow lilies were sprinkled like salt over the hillsides.​

Soon enough we were back on dirt for a short alternate section of the route designated as "expert." Certainly more technical than pavement, it was mostly just a bit bumpy, though an 18" deep water crossing might be more difficult for a dual-sport bike than for a four-wheeled machine. Regardless of the difficulty, the route was - once again - full of fantastic views - as we followed the meandering trail.

Another aspen tunnel. Brilliant green now, surely spectacular later.​

Away from the blacktop, we had the place to ourselves.​

Stitchwort.​

The best kind of roads lead to...​

...warming huts.​

Once the Whitney Ranger Station, this cabin is open year-round and stocked with plenty of firewood.​

Well-kept by respectful visitors.​

Now nearly through the Uintas, @mrs.turbodb raised an issue that she'd been thinking about - and frankly, mentioned a few times - since she'd gotten her first look at the route and each of the stages: for some reason, the Utah BDR was about to, not only enter Wyoming, but end (and then start) a stage there.

Certainly seems a bit fishy to me.

However, we'd have plenty of time to dwell on the question of whether we were running the final segment of the WYBDR when we actually got there; for now we had a few more miles of mountains to cover. Albeit, not as quickly as we expected.

The last of the Uintas.​

Jacob's ladder.​

As we crested the final ridge, I spotted a wagon-looking-trailer-camp tucked away in an adjacent meadow. "A sheepherder's hut." I mentioned nonchalantly to my copilot, and something she didn't pay much attention to.

Until, that is, we were stopped in our tracks.

Anyone else love lamb chops? ​

Driven by herders with the help of their dogs, we'd eventually discover that these tasty snacks were dropped off more than 30 miles - and 2,500 feet lower - than their preset position. No idea how long it took to drive them that far, but at least there's plenty of meat for dinner. We proceeded cautiously.
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Did I hit any tasty ones?​

We didn't get dinner, but it was certainly an experience being in the middle of a herd that size, and though I joke, I was glad to get through without running over a lamb or starting a stampede into the Tacoma. Certainly the herders seemed glad that we proceeded so slowly through their flock.

Now picking up speed, we lost elevation quickly as we dropped down through the Thousand Peaks Ranch, sheep shit whizzing up onto the wheel wells as I tried to avoid the worst of it. Still, we were lucky, not everyone riding the road today had wheel wells to catch the crap.

​

The only two-wheeled BDR rider we'd see in the entirety of Utah. And this guy was almost in Wyoming.​

A few minutes later, we entered Wyoming. The roads here were wider, and we couldn't quite put our finger on what was different... until we could.

Lots of skinny pedal along East Chalk Creek Road.​

Ah yes, that's the Wyoming we know. Black gold!​

Evanston, the end of the stage - and the spot where we were fixing to have lunch after suffering through all those tasty kabobs and chops and meatballs that had teased us on the road - was only ten miles away and with wide roads giving way to pavement, we covered that ground quickly.

A little late with the signage, Wyoming.​

After filling up with fuel and popping into the local grocer for a few supplies we'd exhausted over the first five days, we found some grassy shade near the high school and pulled out the camp chairs. As I munched on Fritos, @mrs.turbodb assembled turkey-and-salami sandwiches and we pondered the final leg of our journey!

 

Evanston to Garden City - Almost to Idaho | UTBDR Stage 6
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

The final stage of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route. Doesn't start in Utah; doesn't reach the Idaho border. ​

It was a balmy 83°F as we wrapped up lunch under a shady tree in Evanston, Wyoming, ready to start the last stage of the Utah BDR. As we did, a rider on a dual sport BMW rode by, his head on a swivel as he saw the Tacoma and pulled into the lot.

"I live just up the road, you guys are welcome to come over for dinner and a shower if you'd like," he said.

We politely declined, but still spent more than 15 minutes chatting, yet another friendly soul we met on this trail. He'd never heard of the BDRs, but - in addition to his bike - was a Tacoma owner who knew the area well, giving us several suggestions of amazing camp sites and fishing holes.

We headed out a few minutes later, the beginning of the final stage - like so many other BDRs - rich with pavement. I don't know the real reason for this increase in pavement as a BDR comes to a close, but we often joke about it and wonder if the folks on bikes are just ready to be done after days of exposure and rough trail.

We crossed back into Utah - still on pavement - just before 2:00pm.​

Definitely in Utah.​

Twenty-five minutes later, guess who's following the double yellow line?​

Headed almost due west on UT-39, we eventually turned north into the fringes of the Monte Cristo Mountains. Part of the Wasatch Range - the range running north-south just east of the greater Salt Lake City area - we quickly climbed back to 9,000 feet and the familiar green mountain meadows we'd experienced over the last 36 hours.

@mrs.turbodb informed me that as I snapped this photo, I was standing next to a No Parking sign. I never even noticed it, and wouldn't have cared anyway.​

Nearly every tree here was the perfect Christmas tree, and the clouds were looking fantastic.​

Winding our way along ridges - when we weren't plunging down, then back up the other side of a canyon - the views up here actually felt monotonous. Certainly, that was due to the proximity of this stage to the last - had they been separated by the red rock of southern Utah, the glorious green hillsides would have allowed the perfect respite from the scorching sandstone.

All alone, again.​

This beaver was busy - the entire creek over the course of about three miles, one dam after the other.​

One benefit of the familiar views and well-graded roads was our ability to make great time through this final stage; after just more than 90 minutes we'd completed three-quarters of the stage. So, when my navigator mentioned that a short side trip she'd discovered to the top of Temple Peak, there wasn't really anything to do but check it out!

Unlike the rest of the route, this road - and its loose-rock, 35-degree incline - finally gave us a bit of excitement.​

A nice camp site along the way.​

The Balsalm arrowroot were vibrant and in full bloom as we reached the top.​

Looking south, over the land we'd just traversed.​

An hour later, the end was imminent as we reached pavement at US-89. We'd take this pavement to the finish line in Garden City, but not before crossing under the highway for a final 1.6 miles of dirt.

It's not often we find ourselves driving under the freeway.​

Final approach.​

Success!​

Frankly, the end was a little underwhelming, and not just because of the pavement we'd endured for nearly half of the shortest stage on the route. For us, finishing the route in Utah - rather than across the border in Idaho - seemed like a pretty big miss given the main goal of a BDR: traversing backroads from one border to another.

We couldn't let it stand, and I hope most BDR riders find themselves feeling the same. After nearly 900 miles, we were fewer than two short. We headed north.

One of the coolest state markers we've seen.​

OCD satiated.​

We'd made it. From Monument Valley to Fish Haven - or officially from Mexican Hat to Garden City - we'd completed the Utah BDR, even running both versions of stage 2, in six days on the trail. I'm not sure if it was our fastest route - Washington may have been similar - but it certainly wasn't our slowest.

And that presented a problem. We weren't due back in Las Vegas - to drop off the Tacoma and hop on our flight home - for another four days. Sure, the drive back would take a long day, but even adopting a leisurely pace, that'd still leave us with three full days to fill along the way. In triple digit temps.

Or, we realized, we could drive home. It'd add five hours of driving over the trip back to Vegas, but we'd essentially manufacture three days of doing whatever we desired once we got home.

It was no contest, really. And it was time to air up!

 

Gotta Love Utah | UTBDR Epilogue
Part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2023) trip.

After completing the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route, we're up to seven BDRs since we started running them seven years ago in 2016. Through the running of each one, @mrs.turbodb and I are - as you can imagine - regularly comparing the current BDR to the past ones. I finally started writing some of these comparisons down, and - of course - I now feel obligated to carry on that tradition into the future.

TL;DR - The Utah BDR really is an iconic route. While it largely hugs the eastern side of the state, there is great variety in the terrain, perhaps more so than any other BDR we've run. Each stage - with the possible exception of the northernmost (Stage 6) - brings the opportunity for "firsts" on the route. There's one catch though - if, like us, you've explored much of southern Utah prior to running the UTBDR, you may find it a bit repetitive, as it visits many of the "mainline" attractions in that part of the state.

And so, let's get into the details!


The Roads
The mix of roads for the UTBDR was nice. For those following the "main" routes for each stage (vs. taking the "expert alternates" when they are available), nothing along the route was difficult for a high clearance 4WD vehicle and at least the vast majority of it could have been done with 2WD. Full size vehicles and even those towing an off-road trailer should make easy work of the route.

Switchbacks of the Moki Dugway.​

That said, the "expert alternates" - especially the alternate route through Lockhart Basin on Stage 2 - were some of the best segments of the BDR for me. Part of that was due to them being "new" to me, but part of it was due to the variety in terrain that such a route affords. While I wouldn't recommend running them as an unexperienced solo vehicle, I would highly recommend taking these alternate routes if you are in a group. Note: some of these alternate routes could be too narrow for a full-size vehicle, and I wouldn't recommend a trailer.

If you wonder, "Where's the trail?" you might be on an expert alternate route.​

There was certainly pavement along the route - but I wouldn't say it was overwhelming. Something in the 10-15% range, usually at the beginning or end of a stage where the target audience (dual sport cyclists) would be looking for food and lodging.


The Scenery/Landscape
There's really no denying that Utah was the winning state in the landscape lottery. Right off the bat, the experience of driving through the Valley of Gods is spectacular, the bright orange buttes towering over the landscape. From there, the climb into the La Sal Mountains - through dense forest and over a 10,000-foot pass - is such a dramatic change that you'd be forgiven if you thought you were in a different state entirely. These changes continue - through the Book Cliffs, Uinta Plateau and Mountains - with ample opportunity for short detours along the way, where rock art, Native American ruins, and grand vistas are waiting to be discovered, just off the main route.

Variety is the name of the game.​

Not the Utah you were expecting, but just as fantastic.​

The best time of year to do this trip? In my opinion there are two:

• I think the absolute best time would be during the fall, when the aspens are changing color. Several stages along the route pass through aspen groves, and each of the mountain ranges have numerous aspen along the trail as well as in groves visible from the route. These will be spectacular as they shimmer in the fall breeze. You'll have to time it perfectly to catch the leaves before they fall, but you're sure to be rewarded.
• We ran the route as soon it was passable. This is - essentially - spring, even though it likely occurs in late June or early July. At this time, the first two stages will be full - or as full as they get - of water, and everything in the final stages (in the mountains) will be green; the wildflowers will be in full bloom. The risk here is that it might already be very hot as it was for us.

Highlights

1. The La Sal Mountains (Stage 2). The La Sals gave us a welcome break from the heat and a change from the slickrock scenery that dominates the first third of this route. But, there were two things that really made the La Sals special: first, the view from their glorious green hillsides covered in wildflowers and snow down to the orange slickrock and Moab Ridge - a contrast is hard to appreciate until it's experienced. Second, our re-route - due to snow blocking Geyser Pass - over La Sal Pass was more beautiful, more exciting, and frankly, the way the BDR should have been routed for the best experience.
   
   
   
   A magical descent.​
2. Lockhart Basin (Stage 2 Alternate). This wont be a highlight for everyone, but for anyone looking for a challenging route with expansive red rock views, the 70-mile jaunt along the edge of Canyonlands National Park will not disappoint.
   
   
   
   Well worth the effort.​
3. Sego Canyon (Stage 3). There is so much rock art along the first three stages of the UTBDR that it is essentially ignored in favor of making forward progress. Sego Canyon - while slightly off the route - is more than worth the hour it takes to experience.
   
   
   
   An ancient canvas.​
4. Wildlife. This will change from year to year and place to place, but always be on the lookout - we very much enjoyed seeing moose, deer, sheep, bighorn sheep, and numerous flying creatures over the course of the trip.
   
   
   
   Yes, I am the cutest little deer that you have ever seen.​

Lowlights
It's really hard to come up with meaningful lowlights for the Utah BDR as I feel that many of them are particular to our personal situation.

1. Nine Mile Canyon (Stage 4). Even more than Sego Canyon, Nine Mile Canyon is a magical place. The fact that the BDR passed through part of the canyon, but both skipped the majority and never mentioned stopping at even the most obvious panels was a huge miss in our book.
2. The Final Stage (Stage 6 - Evanston to Garden City). As a final stage, this one was a let down. The terrain was essentially the same (though slightly less dramatic) as what we'd seen on the previous stage. (Note: this stage might be better if the route was run north-to-south) The fact that it ended before reaching the Idaho BDR was just lazy. And, like many final BDRs, the pavement-to-dirt ratio on this was simply too high.
3. The "mainstream-ness" of the first two stages (Mexican Hat to Monticello to Dewey Bridge). This is particular to our situation, but we'd seen much of what these stages had to offer on previous trips to southeast Utah. If - like us - you've explored the area around Moab and on Cedar Mesa before, know that you might not see much "new" stuff on the BDR. On the flip side - if you haven't explored the area, this lowlight could quite possibly be the highlight of your experience!

 

What a great trip through my home state! Lots of memories brought up through each stage of your trip. I will definitely need to put some tracks down on several of these roads and share those past experiences with my wife.
If you ask me I'd say you're welcome back anytime.

 

When are you going to write your comprehensive guide to the BDR's for 4x4 vehicles. I would buy them.
Include nearby attractions, point out the things the original group missed or just left out. Explore the possibility of alternate, and/or more scenic last sections.
Sell the booklets in your web-store, rather than Amazon or other large platform.
It could even help fund more exploration, and keeping the Tacoma going.