In the morning Tony, Lorena, Ross, and I all talked, shared breakfast, and detailed our plans for the remainder of our trips. Lorena was only visiting for a few days, but Tony and Ross were touring the West National Parks. They were headed to Zion and then were going to strike North through Utah to Idaho then Glacier National Park, Yellowstone, and back to Seattle. I told them of my hopes to head to Zion then West towards the Ocean and North until I hit Canada. We expressed that we hope to see one another in Zion and to keep the rubber on the road. I said goodbye to my new friends and pushed Kona and myself North towards Utah. As I weaved through the roads on top of the plateau and began my descent to the valley floor below, I reflected on my attitude from the night before.
I had gotten too into my own head and had become a major grump. I tried to avoid contact between people to a point that I felt truly alone. As cathartic as this is for me--because I really have been enjoying the silence--it's not conducive to this trip or even life in general. I want to raise awareness about mental health and meet people and locking myself away into my own head is hypocritical of that goal. And when I did open the gates to meet new people, I only had positive experiences as they either became good friends or good stories. At this point I heard a tired diesel engine working its damnedest to push a big, ugly Bloo Bus along the roads. And with a wave and a honk of the horn my friends in the bus passed and left me with a huge smile on my face. I decided it was in my best interest to talk to people and be friendly. I continued my ride down and was met with some spectacular views.
As the downhill leveled out, I found myself in a much more positive mood and with a goofy smile. I then began cranking on flat land across a dozen miles wide valley. I felt like a lone cowboy, slowly traversing the vast emptiness of the American West. I was heading towards the next plateau, where Zion should be hiding. I could feel myself growing anxious to see and experience this park. All the stories and rumors I hear of Zion only make add to its mystique. Along the way I passed a fellow tourer heading to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I smiled as we yelled to each other in shorthand of our trip. Without stopping we moved from strangers to comrades and then quickly disappeared into each other's horizon. After a short stop for water and food in Fredonia, Arizona, I crossed into Kanab, Utah and began my final push towards Zion.
I stopped in Kanab to resupply on food, batteries, and a fresh pair of headphones. I quietly rode through town with slowly mounting anticipation. Slowly the canyon walls began to climb around me as I began my trek into the Colorado Plateau. The entire time I craned my neck to try and see where Zion could possibly be. While I knew I was still a few dozen miles away and seeing any sign of the canyon would be impossible, I wanted nothing more than to see that it was real. I wanted to witness this mythical place people write and talk about in biblical terms. I was genuinely curious if it was really as beautiful as they say. I cranked on, eagerly searching for the East Temple or the Guardian Angel. And as I crested the pass by Red Knoll Mountain, I saw in the distance tall, unusually red spires peaking behind the jagged peaks and valleys of the plateau. I was close. And I began my descent towards the spires.
I flew down the mountain. The air was trying its best to slow me down but the weight of Kona and I were winning the war on speed. I hunkered down behind my handlebars in the attack position and said a quick prayer. I was going to see how fast I could get Kona and I wasn't sure that after over 3,000 miles of cycling, 2,500 of which in loaded conditions, if Kona's remaining stock parts would hold. I was going to see anyways.
And it's a religious experience.
I rolled into Caramel Junction, Utah happy. While I was behind schedule and was going to have to find a place to camp tonight, I was electric with anticipation for Zion and amped on energy after an amazing downhill ride. After a quick meal in a restaurant, I asked the waiter where a good place to camp would be for the night. He mentioned that the bridge I had rolled over just up the road was technically on BLM Land. He mentioned that the restaurant often feeds cyclists coming through semi-frequently and it's a common question. He added that he himself has camped under the bridge when hiking the trails in and out of Zion. I thanked him for his help, paid for my food, and rolled back towards the bridge. Underneath was a nice flat stretch of sand, a small pile of rocks formed into a campfire ring, and a fast-moving creek that was flowing towards the holy land.
It was a beautiful night at camp.