Buddig & Public in Moab: Once Again We Play Our Dangerous Game

[KCander]

Day One: State to state. No papers.




DATELINE: MOAB, UT

It turns out there is a subculture of BFE-frequenters who feel that no photograph of a freshly conquered rockclimb is complete without the somewhat less than incognito appearance of a testicle or two. How this...tradition, shall we call it?...developed or why the owner of said not-particularly-noteworthy nuts (as opposed to those afflicted with elephantitus, epididymal hypertension, some kind of f'ed up piercing, etc, etc) would feel an inexplicable desire to make their little buddies part of a digitally captured desert vista are questions that, for better or worse, your Moab Messieurs Carl Buddig (uwjberg) and Joe Public (kcander) are not only still themselves wrestling with, but are not entirely sure they truly are in want of answering, and whose retinas vow revenge, once the burning wears off.


But enough about Jeep drivers. This is ADVrider, bitches. We keep our balls in our pants, not out of latent homophobia, but out of the desire to keep them from injury. Because this, friends, is Moab, where the rocks are without pity and brake levers litter the dirt like so many broken, rim-bending dreams. Where the men are men, the enduros are vastly outnumbered by $40,000 purpose-built rock crawling penis extensions, and the beer is only 4.5% alcohol by volume.


So for the drunks in said tube-caged, Hella-lit, smoke-belching winchmobiles, buckle your 5-point strap-on. And for the two-believers, cinch up your HJC and lower your tire pressure; Buddig & Public are losing their Moab virginity.

6am Thursday, Las Vegas, Nevada. While most of the town is commuting home from Caesars in the coke addled, overdraft protected dark, Buddig and Public donned their racing gear and pointed the trusty Nissan north towards the land of canyons and polygamy.










Through the miracle of the modern multimedia, the seven hour drive is covered in the span of one swift roll of a mouse wheel. However, it must be mentioned that, in the course of seven hours (each way) in bucket seats sans radio signals, fueled by tremens-inducing liquid sugar and a host of heart-palpitating confections, conversation topics run a sordid gamut from socio-economics and religion, to “is it true that some dudes sit to take a whizz when they’re a guest at someone’s house in order to avoid splashing?”*


*Incredible and disgusting, but shockingly true, some misguided American males have situationally denied themselves of perhaps the greatest single benefit of manhood, the ability to stand while urinating, with the sad and, frankly, defeatist and dehumanizing idea that this is somehow “polite”. And while it may be true that if your aim is, literally, piss-poor, accidents can happen, I suppose, it is also true that men may be able to perform any number of functions more comfortably without the presence of testicles, but I’m not about to have myself castrated just because I’ve racked my nuts against a gas tank under hard braking a time or three.


Here, we make our stand. Slickrock RV Park, Moab, Utah, approximately 2:30pm, Mountain Time. Because tents are cold and cabins are cheap. They do have a tendency to smell bad after a couple days, cabins, but the risk is worth the reward of baseboard heat.






With a couple hours of daylight remaining and the trusty Suzooks champing at their carbureted bits to stretch their (recently lowered) gears, we make our Moab off-road debut, a quick jaunt from the campground into Arches National Park and up the Tower Arch Trail. “Moderate”, according to Buddig’s Jeep-oriented (read here: drunkards with roll-cages) 4x4 guide book, it’s a short-ish but fun trail with varied terrain and elevation changes. Uwjberg, a self-described Sand Afficianado, decides to take a couple of diving leaps off his DRZ and swim in the sandy bits (traditional when Buddig hits his first few patches of sand of every riding trip – I think he has a fetish for sand in his gear, something about the friction…I’ll let him expand if he feels forthcoming about his gritty proclivities), but otherwise we tackle the trail without incident, stop for a photo op at the end, and motor back down for some nice views of the sun dropping behind the canyons.

















The DR350 draws first blood.





The sun plummets behind the canyons as we snap off a few poserrific last pics and head back to our luxurious accommodations, for a drink, a smoke, and some taillight repair.








Note uwjberg’s MacGuyver-meets-Larry-the-Cable-Guy taillight repair job, making liberal use of the first beer casualty of the weekend, a can of Bud Light. Because Buddig is a man of substance, both form AND function must be taken into account with any repair; that’s how he rolls. I salute you, sir.





Day one ends with a couple of victory churchills and a few cans of Hangover Insurance** for White Rim on the morrow.


**Cheap canned beer that has more water and less alcohol content than the campground well water.








Hasta manana, comrades. Day two coming soon...

[bouldergeek]

Awesome writing and presentation, compadre!

As a Jeep TJ owner, frequenter of Moab and environs, and a KLR beater, I approve of this thread.

[uwjberg]

I knew you were the man for the job, sir. Well done.

...and no, I don't particularly like sand. It doesn't like me either. After succumbing to the first spill or three, sand and I usually come to an uneasy truce, where I ride through but don't have any fun, and sand doesn't cause me to wreck.

Please continue, kind sir!

[SilverDawg]

Seems like I've seen this tail light repaired before. Perhaps that was the Z?
Nice start to the report.

[Red Stripe]

[Gadget Boy]

Oh ya Moab fun!!

[KCander]

Day Two: The Order - Engage The Scenic Drive

The Wyld Stallions of Moab:

Bill S. Preston, Esquire


Ted “Theodore” Logan


The previous evening’s plan had been to partake in the customary bagel & cream cheese and water from an empty beer bottle (packing cups is for SUCKERS) bright and early to ensure road-readiness by 8am. The plan was to tackle White Rim Trail, which, while supposedly a relatively easy trail, was going to be an all-day affair. Hence, we were shat, showered, and shaved (minus the showering and shaving (which, when camping (or cabining) only invites bad luck; the previous day’s ride grime should be kept and cultivated, encouraged to grow, with only subtle form/style enhancements made at most, like a bonsai tree, or the national deficit)) by quarter-to-nine-ish and choking the reptilian Suzooks to life. A slow process at 37 Fahrenheit, by the way, and cause for contemplating the fact that the heated cabin has a nice ramp leading to the front door. Bundled up like Ralphie’s little brother (“I can’t put my arms down!”), tongues frozen to insides of our helmets, we wind-chilled our way to 60mph, my Maxxis Desert ITs shaking in knobbie-chunking fear the entire 22-miles to the start of the White Rim Trail.

And here, the rambling and complaining stops, as the scenery takes center-stage for the next 150 miles and 8+ hours of winding Canyonlands baddassery.





Descent into the canyons









View from the bottom, winding along the river. Hard to believe the Gestapo allow a motorized vehicle to wind along this snaking trail so close to the water. Incredible scenery.







One of the great views of the day.



This ride Joe Public approved.



Blue skies, yellow leaves.







So many amazing rock formations…







The Jeeps come up as we head down.



One of many breaks for trail mix and a hit from the Camelback.







Soldiering on, trying to keep the pace up enough to get back while it’s still light outside, but still have time to enjoy taking it all in.







Another of the best scenes of the weekend, pictures just don’t do this view justice!









So many scenic stops, so little time. And unbeknownst to either of us, so little fuel…









The “tough” spot in the trail (Hogsback?), according to some mountain bikers we’d chit-chatted with earlier in the day. Turned out to be no big deal.



Just a little ways left to go, but the scenery won’t quit!







Trailside tomfoolery towards the end of the trail, just before hitting the pavement again.





Just after hitting the pavement again for the 20+ highway miles back to camp, my DR sputtered and ran out of gas. After flipping to the reserve and laying the bike over a couple of times to get the remaining fuel into the right…er…correct…er…LEFT side of the Clarke, we coasted back to the cabin, the 350 thirsty for fuel and Buddig & Public thirsty for oat soda. The 350 could wait, but we bee-lined for the Moab Brewery for a fill-up.





Back at the ranch, we hit the campfire hard and fast, a long day’s ride earning us each a healthy dose of exhaustion.







Day Three coming soon...

[B-Rod]

Originally Posted by KCander

And here, the rambling and complaining stops, as the scenery takes center-stage for the next 150 miles and 8+ hours of winding Canyonlands baddassery.

Blue skies, yellow leaves.

Bring on some more of that 'badassery'. I love Moab ride reports. You are off to a great start. I had me some lunch at that very tree, but since it is one of the rare shady spots, I'm sure everyone has lunch at that tree. When I was there in September, it was still 95º, so it's rather difficult to imagine the day starting out on the chilly side. I was rucking foasting!

[Thorne]

Wicked....................

[RideDualSport.com]

Your writing is most entertaining! Glad you packed your multi-tool?



Unt for zeee ladeez....

[MrPulldown]

Advrider take me away. The last hours of my work day drag. Thanks for that mini moto vacation.

[KCander]

Day Three: Your Conclusions Were All Wrong, Ryan

Before we can embark on Buddig & Public’s third and final day of Moab mayhem, a defining of terms is in order.

Webster’s defines the word “difficult” as: not easily or readily done; requiring much labor, skill, or planning to be performed successfully; hard; fraught with hardship; trying; hampering; hard to deal with or get on with.

Dictionary.com defines “overconfident” as: too confident.

The previous two days’ trails were labeled, according to uwjberg’s 4x4 guide, “moderate”, at most. White Rim Trail was an easy, if long, ride, with a couple of rocky spots that I would consider “moderate-minus”, at least in the condition we found them in. We heard tell of certain sections of the previous days’ trails being more or less difficult depending on the time of year and weather conditions. To this point, though, we’d handled everything the easy and moderate trails had thrown at us with nary a flesh wound, save for perhaps a bit of sand-in-the-pants chafing on Buddig’s part (pure speculation, I can neither confirm nor deny).

As such, it was onward and upward*** for Buddig & Public come day three.

***downward, really.

Despite an earlier 8am-ish start, the temperature had risen to a downright balmy 39 Fahrenheit.

Through careful, semi-intoxicated late-night planning (some might call it dart-boarding), we’d concluded that a step up in difficulty was in order for day three, and that a little trail called “Fins n Things” would fit the bill. Mostly because it had an affable name that didn’t happen to reference Hell, Diablo, Hades, Devil, Satan, Beelzebub, or any other intimidating-sounding demons or sound like the name of a 1980s buttrock/hairband album.

It all looks very benign, no?


As is almost always the case, these things are steeper than they look, and continued to get steeper as we progressed. I hope the Neduros of the world keep in mind, we are Moab virgins here. Each obstacle we ran across required a bit of inspection before we decided how to attack it, especially in the early going, before we realized that, inspection be damned, Moab, like Ivan Drago, must break you.







One obstacle down and despite the 40-degree temps, the layers were ditched. We soldiered on, first inspecting, then conquering a number of small step-downs, hop-ups, ascents and descents through the slickrock and polishing off the first half of Fins & Things.









At this point, I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that we were feeling pretty gawdamn good about ourselves. This was some of the most technical riding either of us had ever done, and so far, while it was time-consuming and challenging, we’d come through unscathed.

Then, at the beginning of the 2^nd half of Fins n Things, shit got real.

The pics we took do not do justice to this little obstacle, so I’m including a couple of random shots I found of some 4x4s hitting this same spot here, which are a little better at showing the scale/gnarliness. Even so, it’s whole different ballgame for a kid used to riding the wide-open terrains of Eastern Washington and the Nevada desert to hit this kind of jagged, heart-in-throat-inducing rock climbing.







For reference:







So, as I debate the sanity of this dubiously worthwhile endeavor, uwjberg, in a fit of gumption, turns his brain off, hops on his DRZ and tackles it, hell-for-kevlar.



Not to be outdone, or to die trying, I quickly followed, both in projected path and in brain-shut-off. The feeling of dread I felt just before the DR’s front tire hit the first of the rocks I can only describe as a cross between a hummingbird heart-attack and what I imagine I would feel if I looked up into the night sky only to realize that there was a second moon in the sky, which was actually not a moon, but a space station. I remember bouncing farther left than I’d intended, veering toward a massive rock, and knowing I was going to be served up a healthy portion of canine feces if I didn’t pin the throttle and keep my weight back to bounce over it. Somehow, I skidded safely to a stop at the top, and promptly hopped off my beloved DR, which’d miraculously seen me through, up, and over the toughest obstacle I’ve ever had the idiotic audacity to attempt tackling. Off the bike, my feet, legs, and hands were shaking from the excess adrenaline in my system. Ah, the thrill of victory!



From this point, we bounced along, up, over, and around the slickrock towards the finish of Fins n Things…













…at least that was the plan, until the agony of defeat reared its mangey head.

Uwjberg, you see, bounced his DRZ and his body along, down, and directly into the unforgiving slickrock of a steep, solid rock hillclimb.

Nowhere near the toughest obstacle of the morning, Buddig thumped diagonally up a very steep incline, and at just the most exquisite**** moment, Mr. Driz decided it’d be a good idea to go ahead and sputter, cough, and lie down like a diseased dog. As such, Buddig next thumped, horizontally, into a solid slickrock shelf after what must’ve been a four or five foot freefall. From my view atop the hill, it looked a bit like a video game, a la MX vs ATV, “ragdoll physics” in full effect as he slammed into the ground with a comic-book example of a “WHUMP”. Honestly, I thought homeboy mighta broke a rib or three. Instead, he’d broken the fall with his hands, then landed mostly on his left hip. The DRZ took the brunt of the fall on its handguard, which was shoved aside and resulted in a broken clutch perch and destroyed GPS unit.

****fawked up

I attempted to scout an easy route back to the main road while uwjberg lashed himself up a clutch perch.













Hair of the diseased dog. Note the scrapes.







Now, one would think, in an off-road-batshit town like Moab, there’d be a major motorcycle dealership with an entire WING dedicated to the racket of clutch and brake lever repair, wouldn’t one? Turns out one would easier find a plot in a Michael Bay movie.

The helpfully clueless ladies at the nearest convenience store pointed us in the direction of the possibly-closed-for-the-weekend-or-possibly-closed-forever “motorcycle shop” conveniently situated “across from Wendy’s”. The airbrushed, American flag festooned V-twin on the sign was our first clue that this was not going to be the place we needed. The “CLOSED” sign was the second. However, a quick jaunt to the nearby ATV rental business turned up a name: MadBro.

Gawd bless MadBro Sports. These moto-saviors, located some 4 miles out of Moab, were open on a Saturday, and had in their possession one (and only one!) clutch perch that fit (close-enough) a Suzuki DRZ400S.


All was not lost.

Time for flame-broiled burgers and some serious reflection on just what kind of breaks (bone, motorcycle, or otherwise) we white-collar chumps with bills to pay and minimal Flexible Time Off in the ol’ corporate bank were willing to risk. The answer, after a bacon-cheese gut-bomb and appraisal of uwjberg’s quickly purpling hip, was an emphatic “NONE”.

And yet, somehow, we decided we’d give Poison Spider a look. The caveat being that if at at any point it became significantly gnarly, we’d put our egos aside, shove our tails between our legs, and yipe our way back to the pavement to formulate a new plan.

But first, a quick stop for a little bit of culture, on the way to the Poison Spider trailhead.







To its credit, Poison Spider wasted no time in abusing us of the notion of reaching its peak. After tackling the first couple of fairly difficult spots, we reached a point where our scouting ahead on-foot brought us to the realization, that, yes, perhaps if we didn’t die, we could drag our Suzukis, kicking and screaming, over the jagged, stepped, ridiculously steep and unforgiving rocks. At which point, we’d then have to figure out exactly how in the name of Aphrodite’s G-String we would get the bikes back down within the 10 hours before sundown.

As such, we turned tail and ran for more moderate grounds. Moab’s “difficult” trails had defeated us. Could we have persevered and conquered? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Would it have been fun? Negative Ghost Rider. The pattern is full.

So back down we skidded – here are the only Poison Spider pics we nabbed, on a semi-nasty spot in our descent. Those of you who have seen the higher spots know that these spots here were chump change compared to the challenges that proved our undoing above.





After a splash of camelback and a gander at the map, we formulated a new master plan. From our current position at the Poison Spider trailhead, down the road to Long Canyon, up to Gemini Bridges with a detour up the Bull Canyon trail, then back down Gemini Bridges and out to the highway, a nice loop that ought to take us the rest of the afternoon and put us somewhere in the 100-mile range for the day’s riding. Seemed like a decent little plan.

And, lo, it was.

Long Canyon, a beautiful, easy road with a moderately difficult spot or two due to some sandy/rocky sections towards the top of the pass. Turned out to be a great, scenic road that we basically just lucked into, which is usually the Buddig & Public MO. A creedo, if you will. There’s a saying…lucky…good…you know the drill.





















Sweet little tunnel heading up Long Canyon.



Jesus, man.



My pants were falling off all weekend (old pair of pants that are a bit too big now), uwjberg felt the need for digital evidence of my constant pant-pulling-up. Thanks, bro.





Off we go. The bikes I mean. Not the pants. It ain’t that kinda party.









One of the best views of the weekend from the top of Long Canyon. Like I said, we lucked out!













Next, we blasted through Long Canyon to the highway, turned north a few miles, and hit the Gemini Bridges road back east. It was a fast/easy road that allowed us to get through the gears and kick up some dust on the way to checking out the bridges. The bridges were a short little walk down a trail; access to the bridges is now by foot only, due, I assume, to the poor guy who somehow managed to somehow drive his Jeep off of clifftop near the bridges and into the canyon floor some several hundred (or more?) feet below. Yikes.

Hard to see under the “bridges” with the shadows, but it is a pretty impressive sight in person. Great views from up top, too.













Next, we continued east on the Gemini Bridges road, but then detoured up the Bull Canyon road, a rockier, sandier, slightly more difficult little road that bounced up the floor of the canyons we’d seen above from the view at Gemini Bridges. It appeared that at one point the Bull Canyon road punched all the way through to one of the local highways, according to the signs along the trail, but these days Bull Canyon is blocked several miles up into the canyons. We followed it to its end and popped off a couple of shots of the canyon we’d just ridden up. There’s certainly no shortage of spectacular views in Moab. I love me some Utah. And to think all I ever thought it was good for was multiple wives and accurate quarterbacking.









Now in the home stretch. We can sense the end of our adventures and the cold, foaming, cheesy lure of the Moab Brewery’s beer and nachos on our dust-encrusted taste-buds. The Gemini Bridges road is a fast one, and the freeway, below, faster still. The end is nigh, friends.













Thus ends this episode of the adventures of Buddig & Public, men of true grit, both in their constitutions and in their sand-filled riding pants. The evening was capped off by hot food and cold brew, and then of tales of woe and testicle exposure related to us by the Jeep guys staying in the neighboring cabins at the RV park. But I’ve been over that already. Our victory beers were well-earned, especially Buddig’s whose hip damage was already making itself well known.



For my part, I was none the worse for the wear. Mostly. And 100% ready for a second trip to Moab. Totally.

Ah, Moab. It reminds me of the heady days of YZingers, when the world trembled at the sounds of our expansion-chambered two-strokes…

Public OUT.

[dickosaurus]

Cool and amusing ride report and good pics.
We were there last week too. Coming from a steenking 3.2% state, and having been in Utah before, we bought our brews elsewhere and packed them in.

[Hosebag]

Great stuff guys, gotta get back there soon.

Thanks for the tour and the text

[B-Rod]

Originally Posted by KCander

My pants were falling off all weekend (old pair of pants that are a bit too big now), uwjberg felt the need for digital evidence of my constant pant-pulling-up. Thanks, bro.

I had a good laugh at this.

I too was a Moab noob. You guys seem to have about the same level of skill (confidence) as I have. I got skeered on Hell's revenge, although I did all of the hardest parts with easy (but the confidence was never there, so I got the heck out), rode Fin's, lost momentum on the sandy hill, and got stuck, Long Canyon, and plowed into the bull dust in Pucker Pass pretty good (the narrow, rutted, sandy bit at the top of Long Canyon). I feel like I missed out on a lot, but I blame it on riding solo. I'll be back.

Great report.

Fin's