Hans

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So we pedal above the muddy Colorado River, winding over the Navajo sandstone on a seemingly never ending singletrack. Not much to talk about. The group spreads out as each finds their line and pace. The technical grows to hike-a-bike and we rest in the midday shade and smile at each other knowing we're already burning with only one third of the trail behind us. The good part was that after a couple more miles and a bit more hiking. We were welcomed to enjoy the blessed Colorado River for some much needed cooling down.

Refreshed and revitalized, we're back in the saddle and looking over vast stretches of desert with comments like. "See that ridge over there in the distance, our campsite isn't over that one, but the one after that." In all reality only Tap and Chris knew how much longer we had to go.

It never seemed to end. We got to the fire road only to wind several more miles under the now punishing sun. Suddenly the Suburban is in site and we stop to be quenched by icy Frescas! How could they know I worship the stuff? Of course it was the best damn thing any of us had ever tasted as we gulped it in the shade along with a couple Cliff bars.

"The technical grows to hike-a-bike and we rest in the midday shade and smile at each other knowing we're already burning with only one third of the trail behind us..."

The end must be near I thought. Wishful thinking. Several more miles breaking from singletrack to fire road and back again. My tunnel vision at this point means I can't see beyond the next hill. Just make it up the next hill. There must be some kind of descent after it. I've lost my shirt and my gloves and my Gregory hydration backpack is hanging off my shoulders. I'm surprised that in my delirium I'm still keeping up.

Berm

The camp comes into view as a majestic apparition above the Colorado River, spawning a desert view that instantly calms the soul. We're instantly offered beers and I'm too tired to remove my shoes. Dinner was an extravagant feast of pork chops, salmon, steamed broccoli, spuds, more beer, margaritas, etc. The Mountain Hardwear gods get busted out and we all get to inspect and soon sleep in these new sleeping bags, on their new ground pads, in their new tents.

We put in over 25 miles, but I feel like it was 40. Maybe tomorrow will be easier. Doubt it. Either way it couldn't be any sweeter. Needless to say, even though I'm squinting into a screen after all this, it's impossible to think of anything outside this encompassing beauty. As night falls, we are blessed with the natural lightshow of a storm in the distance. Tomorrow brings on Kokopelli stage two, stay tuned.

—Hans Prosl, delirious in the desert for MountainZone.com

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