Moving from Moab and into Indian Creek

It wasn't that we left Unaweep Canyon and the Fruita area so much by choice but rather rapidly dropping temperatures 'persuaded' us to move on. The cold is much less tolerable when there is no escape from it. Dinner and breakfasts were prepared hastily as pre-frostbitten fingers encouraged limited explore to pre-dusk and post-dawn air temperature and winter hats were slept in which caused the ever-irritating itchy scalp.

We arrived in Moab on a Monday- our little trick to avoid the crowds of this increasingly popular autumn getaway. Our plan proved as ill-conceived as Kennedy's Bay of Pigs invasion as the Monday in question was Columbus Day. Utah has a rich history of controversial customs dating back to the middle of the 19th century and continues this legacy, apparently, by allowing its residence a full week off from vocational obligations- to commemorate the eradication of some early American indigenous populations by 15th century Italians in search for precious metals and spices- by touring sandstone arches. In short, Moab was busy. Busy like the DMV the day before the Minnesota State Government shut down. And the civility of the town was like the San Diego Zoo on "Animals Without Cages Day," a federal holiday that I just made up (hey, if Columbus gets a nonsensical holiday, than so do I). After performing several non-lethal ju-jitsu moves on some small (but surprisingly strong) children and coming up victorious in an equal number of heated thumb wars, Juliet and I were able to secure a campsite for the night. Features of our campsite included: extremely close proximity to neighbors, even closer proximity to the highway, and the headlights of passerbys waking us up all night in 5 minute intervals. All this and more for an $8 fee made payable to our dear friends, the Bureau of Land Management.

The next day we decided to go to Arches National Park. On the north end of the park is a place called "Devils Garden" which features a 7 mile loop that promises views of a half-dozen arches. The trail is divided into two sections splitting the loop in half. The first half offers generous views of the park from a highly elevated trail following natural slickrock that winds through magnificent arches and the "other worldly" landscape of towering sandstone walls below. The second half of the loop is called the "primitive trail" which offers really nothing at all save three miles of low elevation desert sand walking where the only sight-seeing involves the illusions of your dehydrated imagination. We would highly recommend that the main trail be walked out to "Dark Angel," a looming stand-alone pillar, and then backtracked back to the trail head.

Among the more notable events to happen to us in Moab was the meeting of a couple from Alaska, Kenn and Judy, who shared stories of their travels across Canada and the US and gave us an invite to spend some time in Alaska next summer.

To illustrate one last impression of Moab I can refer to the slogan of one City Councilperson Hopeful who's campaign simply read, "Locals First." This is a town that has literally been hijacked by tourists and the businesses that offer touristy sorts of things. Nevertheless, Moab in the off-season would offer much for the traveling recreation enthusiast.

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Two days in the hustle and bustle of Moab was a bit of a culture shock and was enough reason to move on. Juliet had her sights set on Indian Creek, 60 miles south of Moab, which sports crack climbing that is described as "laser cut." These uniform, hand-wide, partitions are the only feature on an otherwise featureless piece of 20' x 100' windgate sandstone. There are literally thousands of these partitions which invite climbers from all over the world to practice the delicate dance of hand jams and body positions necessary to gain temporary immunity from the forces of gravity. While Indian Creek was more popular than we were expecting, it was a far cry from our Moab experience. Indian Creek offers little other than rock climbing and so those that are drawn to it have something in common.

Our first day in Indian Creek we decided to check out the "Scarface" wall. Climbing routes are rated on a scale that runs from 5.5 through 5.15 and can be broken down roughly as follows: 5.5-5.7 are beginner, 5.8-5.10 are intermediate, 5.11-5.12 are expert, and 5.13 and over are professional. Climbing in Indian Creek is considered "traditional (trad) climbing" because you need to place all of your own protective gear as you go. This requires an element of knowledge and abilities that reaches beyond the normal skill set required for other types of rock climbing. Crack climbing technique also requires a specialized skill set and so traditional crack climbing is vastly different from the kind of climbing that I was use to doing indoors in the middle of a Minnesotan winter. Juliet, on the other hand, had been to Indian Creek before and to say, "Juliet likes crack climbing" is an understatement comparable to, "fish like water." She flourishes at crack climbing to the amazement of onlookers.

Indian Creek is referred to as a "friendly" climbing destination. This is not so much because people are there to make friends, but the consistency of the laser cut cracks often requires redundancy in gear. A person who wanted to be self-sufficient, gear-wise, in Indian Creek could expect to spend thousands upon thousands of dollars. A much cheaper solution is to swap and share gear with others climbers- hence climbing in Indian Creek mandates a certain amount of "friendliness."

Matt and Tim would be our first taste of such friendliness (which turned into genuine friendship). Matt, a charismatic and gregarious character that would become our unofficial climbing coach, had graduated from law school, took the bar exam, and was awaiting the results. Tim, who is quick-witted enough to keep Matt honest and on his toes, is a PhD fellow at a biochemistry lab. Through a healthy dose of humor and encouragement they pushed both Juliet and I to learn new techniques and to climb to our fullest potentials. By the end of the first day, Juliet had cleaned the infamous Scarface route and worked up Annanuki. I was inspired, too, cleaning my first 5.9 and 5.10.

It was only our first day in Indian Creek when we had been "inspired" (worked to death) by Matt and Tim. We needed a rest day. We had been told of a work day put on by the American Alpine Club and the Bureau of Land Management to help clean up Indian Creek. We decided that our rest day could be eight hours of shoveling, raking, and fence building in the desert sun. While restful it was not, we did meet many wonderful climbers from all over the area and the country and it was a good opportunity to give back to the many folks that came before us that secured access to Indian Creek as an established climbing area.

We were sad that Matt and Tim needed to leave the next day, but we were able to say goodbye and hope to meet up with them someday after Matt has made a bunch of money being a corporate lawyer that tries to convince the public that smoking cigarettes doesn't kill people or that eating McDonald's doesn't lead to childhood obesity (just kidding, Matt, you'll probably be one of those good, noble lawyers that stands up for those defenceless murderers or something charitable like that). Seriously though guys, we had a great time climbing and hope to do it again soon.

Indian Creek is an amazing place that we just couldn't bare to leave. And so we didn't. We are still in Indian Creek climbing, making new friends, and taking in the desert beauty.

The fence that banked Jon and I a TON of good Karma

A very productive 'rest' day

Jon on 'The Keyhole' 5.10. He thought, "Since Juliet got it..."

The deep swimming hole that gives Indian Creek its fifth star

There is no such thing as buyers remorse when it comes to cams

As usual, Jon doing yoga before some hard climbing

In the shade on 'Renegades a Funk' 5.10 

Me feeling like a kid again on a 5.8 chimney

What a pleasure to have met Kenn and Judy

There's Jon photoshopped in front of a professional picture of an arch. Just kidding, I seriously took this :)

What a life

Resupply day

Scarface 5.11. Couldn't have done it without the encouragment (and cams) of Matt and Tim. Thank You

Matt (red helmet) + Tim (white helmet) + Dan (not pictured) = Awesome

Jon moving up in the trad world. His first 5.10

The Fruita of our Labor

Our protagonists find themselves in Fruita, Colorado at noon on a Friday. Fruita, a small town at the base of the Colorado Plateau, is renowned for mountain biking. Curious events transpire...

We don't have many rules when it comes to traveling, but we have begun to develop a set of guidelines to make our lives easier. One of those guidelines is: DON'T TRAVEL ON A WEEKEND! Our arrival in Fruita was a bit of a gamble. When you're not familiar with the place you're in you need to figure out where you're going to stay, what you are going to eat, and what other supplies you might need. These complications can be compounded when in the desert as you need to figure out how much water to take while camping. On a Friday at noon, you need to figure these things out in a hurry before the weekenders beat you to it.

To get a grasp on our new surroundings, and to do it quickly, we did the most sensible thing we could think of in a bike town: stop at the bike shop. Over the Edge Sports is where it all began in Fruita... literally. The founder of this little bike shop in the heart of downtown invested a great deal of his youthful energies into constructing the trails and the atmosphere that made Fruita synonymous with mountain biking. Hundreds of miles of trails cover the spectrum from yawn to terrifying.

"18 Road is the place to be," we were told, "but you better hurry- it's Friday and the camp sites fill up quick. " There's nothing like a sense of urgency while traveling to make you act rashly. We left the bike shop and headed due north out of town, grossly ill-equipped with consumable goods, and made the 15 mile trip to the North Fruita Desert with promises of free camping and excitement on 2-wheels.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is responsible for the upkeep of the North Fruita Desert including the 18 road campground. For those who don't know, the BLM was originally formed during World War I as a special opts agency whose mission was to destroy battlefront roads in hopes of impeding enemy tank progress. Apparently, their approach to road maintenance hasn't change much. If Dwight Eisenhower had contracted with the BLM to construct the national interstate system, your daily commute to work might share certain similarities with an X-Games motocross competition. While the facts stated above are all fictitious, the point made is not exaggerated: BLM-managed roads are generally in terrible shape and should be driven on very slowly and with extreme caution unless you feel like being particularly charitable to the local car mechanics. A mountain bike trail of similar technical magnitude would certainly have the posted disclaimer, "Experts Only" superimposed on the image of a skull and crossbones.

As I said before, rash actions often transpire from a sense of urgency- and so we drove, FAST! White-knuckled and speaking in not-so-elegant tongues we put our poor little truck through abuse that a thousand oil changes and an equal number of car washes may never make up for. When the dust had settled (literally), we desperately attempted to win back the truck's trust and affection and, like a parent pulling the "Disneyland Card" as the ultimate restitution, we even made promises of premium gasoline. Our truck developed a small squeak behind the passenger-side door that crescendos when driving over bumps- a nagging reminder that we messed up and owe it big time.

But we did get a campsite and stayed for five days and it was absolutely gorgeous. The campsite itself is located at the base of the Bookcliffs, a vertical rock formation reaching hundreds of feet into the air and stretching for miles and miles in either direction. From the base of the Bookcliffs the landscape slopes slowly downhill for 15 miles until the city of Fruita is reached. At night, the sprawling lights of the city in the distance reminded us of a luminescent Canal Park from the viewpoint of Central Hillside in Duluth. For the record, the campsite never filled up during the weekend.

Any details I could write about mountain biking at 18 road would only paint a partial picture of the experience, because it is just that, an experience. The biking is fantastic, but the area offers something for all of the senses that can't be captured in words. It's about feeling solitude in the context of a small camp-based community, about being isolated in the backyard of a small unspoiled town, about being able to bike from your campsite to one of many trails that can revitalize the youthful spirit. It's a little like being a kid and coming across the largest most intricate playground you've ever seen while knowing that you never have to go home- the biggest problem is figuring out where to start.

The best part about Fruita is that there is no limit to what can be done and the town is still unspoiled. When I say unspoiled, I am referring to the absence of certain characteristics often shared by recreation-based towns caused by overcrowding. Overcrowding brings camping fees, international chain stores, and a sense of competition (rather than cohesion) for camping space. Juliet and I have noticed that humans shed trash like dogs shed hair- it's a simple function of our socio-physiology. Humans have been largely unconnected with the natural environment and so are unfamiliar with, and unaffected by, the consequences of our presence in natural places. It's one thing to make a mess of a man-made environment like your kitchen, but a broom and a bottle of windex can't clean up the desert.  Fruita is unspoiled in this regard- the local shops still rule, camping is abundant, and the types of people attracted to this destination generally understand the delicacy of this seemingly tough ecosystem. 

Juliet and I made a side-trip to Rabbit Valley, 17 miles west of Fruita. Rabbit Valley still sports some famous mountain bike routes including some slick rock riding on canyon rims. Dispersed camping throughout this area gives a true sense of isolation and made for a very enjoyable two days. Juliet and I had ridden bike for 6 consecutive days finishing with the Western Rim trail, a twenty mile loop touring the top of a canyon. By mile 15, it was clear that we needed a break from biking. We finished up our ride for the day with a plan to head back into town and search for some climbing in the area.

Note: the term "mountain biking" has been used vaguely for the purposes of this post. "Mountain biking" may denote one or more of the following activities: changing a flat tire, replacing brake and gear cables, repairing broken bike chain, replacing brake levers and gear shifters, tuning derailleurs, banging on various bike parts in hopes that mechanic failures will be resolved, resiting ritual bike chants in not-so-elegant tongues, and/or walking a bike up a hill with a near vertical grade.

Beyond the biking that is well-documented in the Fruita area is a canyon called "Unaweep." Unaweep canyon hosts a barely-known series of granite walls among a sandstone majority. It was only by chance that we stumbled upon the Unaweep canyon on mountainproject.com which stated, that while the area has been developed over the past 40 years as a climbing destination, the number of climbs offered by the area far outnumber the climbers who venture there. In fact, mountainproject estimated that for every developed climb in the area there exist 10 more undeveloped. A drive down Hwy 141 through the heart of the canyon will resolve any doubts of this claim. There is tall granite everywhere offering both trad and sport climbing in a variety of pitches from grades 5.6 to 5.12. The BLM owns an abundance of land in this area and so free and dispersed camping is easy to find. We stayed at a brand new trail head in the Dominguez Recreation area and never had neighbors. The recreation area itself can be explored by foot, bike, or canoe.

With the Fruita area offering opportunities for nearly every recreational activity imaginable, I find it hard to believe that it isn't more popular of a destination for young adventurers or college spring breakers. I fear that might change in the future, but until then, the area is one that could be explored for a lifetime without instilling boredom and without the pitfalls of the Southwest's more popular tourist-towns such as Moab. Again, as we began to get comfortable in Fruita we decided that it was time to leave. Next stop, Moab of course!

"Mountain Biking" in 18 Road

Lunch at Dominguez Campground

Sunday Wall in Unaweep Canyon

Climbing "Don Juan"

Coming down from "Banditos"

Cactacular Spectacular

Commercial spot for mountainproject.com

Pitch 1 on "Pantheon"

Just made it up "Pantheon" before dark... now for the decent

Our cozy little trail head spot for 4 nights.

Onward to Moab.

Happy with Hospitality

We left Fort Collins on September 24th, leaving behind a town that both Juliet and I felt as though we were bonding with. The weather couldn't have been better, both bike lanes and microbreweries are in abundance, and we even began making friends. As we began to get comfortable in our not-so-new surroundings, we decided that we had better move on before we found ourselves signing an apartment lease.

It's worth mentioning that while enjoying the very intimate atmosphere at the Equinox Microbrewery, we met two guys whose kindness and hospitality remind us that maybe the world isn't such a big, cold, and lonely place after all. Juliet and I had passed by the Equinox several times while wandering the main drag of the town. Upon peering into the windows it became clear that this was very much a local hangout nestled dangerously close to the tourist traps of chain restaurants. We had made it a goal to tour some of the nationally renowned microbreweries that has made Fort Collins famous over the past decade. Among the heavy hitters in the line-up was New Belgium Brewery as well as O'Dell, the lesser known, but certainly not lesser neighbor of New Belgium. To complete our brewery mini-circuit we decided to go investigate what seemed to make the Equinox so special. For one, it's tiny. The owner, we were told, hand schleps bags of grain, malt, and hops around the back of the store to truly hand-craft every batch of beer that runs through the taps. For two, the Equinox has no "staple" beers. Every beer is subject to rotations. It is a double edged sword knowing you might never get bored of the same beers, but also realizing that your new favorite will only be around for a limited time.

Juliet and I were just finishing up an epic game of battleship. I only had my little scout ship remaining, while Juliet, dominant throughout most of the game, had been slowly reduced to her submarine. From out of the corner of her eye Juliet saw a man enter the patio area and as he desperately scanned the crowd for an empty table to sit, Juliet invited him to join us. Reluctant at first, the man took a seat because it was a better option than standing there awkwardly having declined our invitation.

Mark, it turned out, was a very successful entrepreneur who was from Fort Collins but had lived in California for a number of years. During that time, he met Brian, a good friend who would join our hardy crew later in the evening. Mark, his wife, his 8 year-old son, and Brian all lived together. Suffice it to say, the house Mark had built left nothing to be desired in terms of elbow room and may have been featured on an episode of MTV Cribs. Here's a summary of said episode: blah blah blah, lakefront, blah, spiral staircase, blah blah, custom carved wood door featuring crane, blah blah, Ferrari, blah, wine cellar, blah blah, elevator, blah, hot tub, blah blah, load bearing fish tank pillar, blah blah. But Mark had never led on to how successful he was. When he invited us to come and stay at the house he simply said: "here's my card, I wrote the address on the back. Feel free to just drive by and if you feel like stopping and getting a hot shower and comfortable bed to crash on then so be it." For all we knew at the time he resided in a studio apartment but in the end I guess I'm glad we took our chances.

Brian, being a native Californian (hopefully California is still around by the time we get that far west), was BIG into beach volleyball. And it just so happened that open games were happening in town that night. So did we go and play beach volleyball in bare feet and t-shirts and shorts at midnight during the last week of September? Of course we did. And it was awesome. Thanks again to Mark and Brian. It isn't everyday that two people will treat two strangers like family and how refreshing it is to be received with such generosity. We couldn't have been luckier.

But bye-bye Fort Collins. For each thing we accomplished in Fort Collins we added three more to the to-do list. Highlights: the HUGE and beautiful city park, breweries abound, the Equinox, new friends, proximity to the mountains, swimming in Poudre Canyon (picnic rock), and the way cool Miramont indoor climbing gym (college night = $5 w/ access to pristine showers!), plus special guest appearance by Peter Dodge. We'll be back.

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Up on a mountain side is the small town of Leadville, CO. It is located south of I-70 at the base of Mt. Albert, Colorado's highest peak. So what's in Leadville worth blogging about? Well, a lot of lead I assume and lead has proven useful in many of the manufactured products that we all use on a daily basis (eat your heart out Silverton). But what brought us to Leadville was our friend Sara, and the High Mountain Institute. No, it isn't a place where a bunch of hippies were exiled to sing coom-bye-ya and do tye-dye at 10,000 feet. It is an alternative private school for 11th graders. Our friend Sara assists in teaching science to these students. During our two day exile, I mean stay, at HMI, we were forced to, I mean had the pleasure of: 1.) waking up before the sunrise to make breakfast for fifty whiny teenagers, 2.) spending a very hot day planting trees (wait, isn't winter coming?) in soil that had the consistency of hardened cement, and 3.) sharing close living proximity with the sights, sounds, and smells, of giardia-infected staff members. Thanks Sara, we'll make sure to visit again real soon.

But all kidding aside, Juliet and I agreed that what they are doing at HMI is really something special. I've actually never used the words "11th grader" and "happy" in the same sentence before, but the evidence was convincing. Smiling, laughing, high energy, willingness to cooperate and use teamwork. Yep, these kids actually looked genuinely happy. It's amazing what a little bit of sunshine and a sense of belonging can do to a young person. Now if only we could take lessons from such a school and apply them to the prison-like public school system. Hmmm... I feel a dissertation coming on.

Thanks Sara, the HMI staff, and kids! We had a blast (and we don't mean the giardia-induced kind)! What a beautiful area to be in. Just simply a gorgeous mountain town without the commercialization, destruction of landscape, and overcrowding often associated with the more developed mountain towns (I'm looking at you Vail).

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Onward! To Fruita Colorado where the mountain bike trails flow freely down the foothills of the Rockies like water down the Mississippi. Stay tuned for beta on the Fruita area as we learn the hard way what you can learn from the comfort of your own home!

Comments, suggestions and rude remarks can be sent to: julietandjon@gmail.com

Mark's back yard

Yup, we got lucky...

Brian, Juliet, Mark himself

Juliet and her new friend

O'Dell = Awesome

Taking in the moment...

O'Dell inner-workings

Self-explanatory

Cut and shave = $10!? Thank you Boulder

High Mountain Institute

Sara. Again self-explanatory

Playing hookie from shoveling dirt

Mt. Albert on the left

Goodbye Sara! Goodbye Leadville! Thank you!!