Our Memorial Day motorcycle trips have evolved into an almost legendary status in some of the circles we've run it. Seems almost everybody has heard of them and many have asked to come along, to which we usually say, "Sure! We'd love to have you along." That was why it was such a surprise to have almost everybody back out on the fun last minute, with other responsibilities.
Mark didn't want to miss a double-points race weekend and didn't have the time to revert his 9R from ultra-drag racing machine to sport-tourer extraordinaire; so he opted to stay back. Quite a few others expressed a lot of excitement, but also stayed home with other responsibilities. Greg, a commercial real estate agent, and old college buddy with Nick Ienatsch and Mitch Boehm, rides a Superhawk and said he'd be able to come for one night then was saddened when he found out he'd have to trim his trip all the way back to a day ride. Eric, his wife Dawn, his brand new 919 and a unsullied set of Givi hard bags were a definite yes and Danny with his six-month-pregnant Loretta got permission from their doctor allowing Loretta to go for a motorcycle ride.
This was our first real trip of the year and I was looking forward to finding vacant roads where I would be allowed to get boisterous with my riding and enjoy leaning a motorcycle over onto its side. We shot down I-15 to Spanish Fork, then veered east onto Highway 6. Highway 6 had been in the news a lot and even had signs warning of heavy traffic enforcement. We labored our way over the road slow and guarded. Traffic was relatively light, and we saw nary a cop. We turned off onto Highway 96 that leads to Scofield.
This loop, between Scofield and Huntington, connects three different highways and is labeled the Energy Loop because of all the power plants that are in the area. Utah businessman, David Eccles, used the area to start his logging business in the 1800's and put Scofield on the map. Reports indicate that the Eccles operation used "very destructive methods." Loggers would burn the side hills during the heat of the summer to kill the timber and remove the undergrowth. They then moved in to the "high-grade" lumber leaving the rest to rot. The burning made it easier and cheaper to get the best timber out but the ecological devastation was a very high price to pay. David Eccles' operation left the area devastated after the loggers moved out. Slash and litter covered the ground, leaving wasted wood and fire hazards. The lack of trees throughout this area is still apparent now, over 100 years later. Scofield was eventually established as a town in 1879 due to necessity of living and housing space for coal miners in the area. In 1900 a massive coal shaft explosion claimed the lives of between 200 and 300 miners. By 1920 the population reached its highest point at 2000 people, however, the population started dwindling down in 1941 and now the town boasts about 43 residents.
We stopped for gas, coffee and to clean our visors at the small gas station that serves the visiting public with fuel for their boats and fishing bait for their poles. The log-cabin station offers a smattering of groceries, snacks and various necessities required to compensate for absent minded weekend getaway packers. These small shops always amaze me. The assortment of food, tackle, automotive parts, cold beverages and fresh coffee is amazing. Little places like this are the economy for the town and if they were to pack up leave, I've wondered if the town would be able to survive.
After chatting and enjoying the sunshine we got back under way. As our elevation amplified, the roads grew a covering of light sand and gravel. We were unable to carry much speed and had to resign ourselves to enjoying the view. Temperatures dropped and I was glad that I kept my layer of fleece on under my jacket. Once we started dropping back town, the road grew clean again and our speeds were able to increase.
Unique from last year was the road condition. It was very peculiar. One corner would be thrashed with cold patches, scrapes, holes and uneven surfaces while the very next corner would be smooth, clean and fast. It was as though sections of the road had deteriorated at a much faster rate than others. I had to stay on my toes to ensure I was able to scrub off speed before the gritty corners and maintain a safe, controlled velocity down the canyon.
We got gas in Huntington, then south down Highway 10 toward one of our favorite roads, Highway 72. But we first had to pass through Emery County. Emery County would be dead if it weren't for Utah Power and Light moving into the area in the early 1970's. Before that, Brigham Young had mandated people settle into the area. Sheepherders were the first to arrive until the discovery of coal in the area, which was able to supplement the economy. The 1930's almost exterminated the town as they were hit very hard with the depression
South of Castle Dale, we stopped in the tiny town of Ferron for Gas. The Superhawk's have never been known for their long range so we have always stopped at Randy's Gas Station to top the tanks. It would be an easy way to ruin the trip by getting stranded 50 miles from nowhere (really) and having to hope for the generosity of a local rancher or farmer. Greg was anxious to keep moving so he would be able to get in a much riding as possible before b-lining it back to Salt Lake. We tried to keep our stops short to accommodate him and surely did not want him to miss Highway 72.
Randy's gas station is like an oasis in the desert when you need gas and a
cold drink of water. Little stations like this keep America what it is today.
The desolation of the area was starting to take its toll on us when four and a half miles south of Ferron I was thinking about how empty the place was as a white Dodge Durango turned on a set of blue and red flashing lights mounted on its roof. He was coming towards us when he turned on his sirens. The speed limit was 65 and I snapped a quick glance at my speedometer to see the needle drop just below 70. We have always said that only the last person would stop, but where he made it obvious that he was after all three of us we each felt obligated to stop. (Eric was about 100 meters or so behind us since he was late getting out of the gas station.)
The small town deputy walked up as I was pulling my helmet off and announces
to all of us; "Gentleman, I hate to ruin your weekend but 90 miles an hour
is way to fast for this road! It is open range out here." I replied, somewhat
confused because we were going nowhere near that speed; "Well, it's a good
thing we weren't going anywhere near 90 miles an hour."
"I'll need to see all of your licenses." He apologized to Kris for
calling her a Gentleman. We then pulled our licenses out and handed them over.
I looked around and saw fences on both sides of the road and not a cow, horse,
goat or llama for as far as I could see and in country as empty as this I could
see a long ways.
While the deputy was writing each of us a ticket, we discussed the event. "How
fast were you going?"
"I'm not sure, but I know it wasn't 90."
"I looked down and saw 70 on my speedometer."
"I know we weren't going 90 because I was thinking; why are we going so
slow?"
"There is no way he can give us a ticket, there were three cars and four
motorcycles on the road. How does he know for sure how fast anybody was going?"
None of it mattered, each of us got to sign a paper promising to contact the
court within 10 days to plea guilty of speeding. A handy sheet was also handed
to each of us telling us what our fines would be. Each of us would pay out $125.
That would take $250 out of my and Kris's budget. Ouch! I think we will be pleading
innocent and going back to fight it. I won't fight a legitimate ticket because
I figure that is the price of going fast and I don't' feel good about being
dishonest but we were not going 90 miles per hour. Hopefully this court will
not be a "billy-joe-bob" court where everybody is a "good 'ol
boy." We'll post the results later. We'll probably have to pay double for
contesting Emery County authority.
No sooner had we signed the paperwork, but the deputy was speeding off to go catch another vile citizen who dares exceed the posted limit in his jourisdiction. However, since researching this case, the deputys jourasdiction is being questioned at the time of this citation. By the way, can you see all the cattle in the fields?
We all met up at Freemont Junction, (the town that is on the map and nowhere else) to discuss things before we got back to the ride. Unfortunately, the deputy had already made the road very difficult. I was constantly distracted and in my mind I was continually arguing with the Judge that I wouldn't meet for several months. When I was arguing with the judge, I was unable to ride cleanly. It was going to take a bit to clear my head, so we pulled over to look at the view and talk about the ticket a bit longer and get it out of my system so I could ride without being so distracted. Eric was lucky. Last year he got the ticket that wouldn't count on his record and this year he missed out on this ticket that is probably going follow our driving records for a couple years.
NOTE: The deputy who pulled us over was tragically killed, one year later to the day, when he crossed over the center line while returning home after a night shift and was hit by a coal truck. While nobody likes getting speeding tickets and we may not have agreed with his methods, our hearts go out to his family.
The break was good and we were able to start having some fun. Highway 72 was
completely empty and I was able to relax and start riding. We turned off towards
Fishlake on Highway 25 and there was a few more recreationers hanging out around
the small pools of water and rivers. I dropped speed a bit, but once we started
climbing again, I forgot to go slow and started having fun. 
The view from near the top of Highway 72 looking out to the east over all the red buttes. From hear one can see almost all the way to Canyonlands National Park.
From left to right - Dawn, Eric, Kris and Greg. Despite the deputys best efforts,
he did not ruin the weekend. We were having a great time!
Fishlake is a truly wonderful road. The surface is smooth and predictable and the seemingly endless sequence of uphill sweeping corners helped to draw me into rhythm where the troubles of life disappear leaving only the road and the beauty God has created. After a few minutes even the bike becomes transparent and I was left with only myself - flying over the road and through the corners. Merriam-Webster defines the verb 'to fly' as: to pass lightly or quickly over or above a surface. That is certainly how it feels - to fly a motorcycle. Suspension is working, (thank you Ohlins and Race-Tec) tires are gripping, (thank you Metzeler) and the bike is pulling up the hill strongly (thank you Suzuki.) Highway 25 is a road to experience what it is to pass lightly or quickly over or above a surface; to fly a motorcycle.
When we got to the lake, I had to come back to reality and deal with some light traffic. Many people were enjoying the two lakes that justified the road being built, so we slowed down. The fear of cops was still within spitting distance and we were rewarded for slowing down when we saw two cops pass by without looking twice at us. We dropped back down and turned into Loa where we stopped for Gas. It was nearing 3pm and Greg had to start heading back if he wanted to get home before it got dark. Despite the ticket, Greg seemed to have enjoyed his first taste at Sport Touring and promised to come ride with us again. He had two choices for getting back to Salt Lake, go straight to the interstate and go home with only an onramp to corner or go back up 72 and allow the roads to throw a few curves into his route home. He chose wisely and started his return trip back up highway 72. We were sad to see him go. He would have to wait for another time to feast his eyes on Highway 12 and challenge "The Backbone."
We rode the last few miles from Loa to Torrey where we would meet up with Danny and Loretta. As we were heading out of town another cop went passed and motioned dramatically to slow down. The speed limit was 35 and we were going about 38. I got frustrated and decided to go the rest of the way to Torrey five miles per hour under the speed limit. I don't think the handful of cars behind us appreciated that and I got over my temper tantrum a few miles later and increased my speed all the way up to the speed limit.
The campground appeared from up out of the ground as we rose up the hill into
Torrey. Danny was supposed to be here, but we expected that he would be a bit
late. We went to our site and set up camp then wandered out in front to sip
some suds and enjoy the view. Contrast to last year, we were the only motorcyclists
around save for one couple on a brand new blue 2002 Gold Wing. But we enjoyed
the time waiting for Danny and Loretta. It was blasted hot in the sun but pleasantly
cool (almost cold) in the shade. In the place of last years motorcyclists were
a large group of European bicycle riders wearing much less clothing than Kris
approximated proper.
We pulled into our favorite campground in Torrey and immediatly started setting
up camp. You can tell it is going to be a dry year; the grass is already dying
and it is only May.
Sitting in the shade for too long, we grew cold and retreated back to the sun for warmth. The shadows grew long as the afternoon developed into evening. At the same rate the shadows enlarged, so did our appetites. Then, we all seemed to hear it at the same time. It was the unique sound of a parallel twin. Probably about a mile in the distance, the breeze carried the sound to us. To an average, un-obsessed individual, it was nothing more than a motorcycle, but to us it meant that a good friend (and dinner) was growing near.
Sitting in the shade of the porch, waisting time. Almost sounds like a hit
song. Dawn coerced Eric to buy a serape to keep her warm in the shade of the
porch.
Once Danny arrived we all hugged and greeted each other, very happy for the company. We helped Danny and Loretta set up camp, then in our haste and hunger, we crossed the road to one of the best rated restaurants in the state of Utah; Café Diablo. Kris and I had eaten at the small, classy restaurant once before and were amazed with the flavor and presentation of the meals and vowed to repeat the experience.
Danny was hungry too and couldn't wait any longer to sit down. So he took the
menu and found a nice spot on the grass to decide on his evening meal.
Loretta, six months along, was starting to show her pregnancy, but Eric and myself tried to make her feel more at home by bragging about our midsection bulges. Kris was on hand with the camera to capture the embarrassing moment. Thanks Kris.
Eric and I tried to make Loretta feel better by illustrating that "everybody
is doing it."
The meal was a lot less expensive than I remembered it being and we were all delighted by it. To Café Diablo's credit, the meal was just as delicious as we remembered. A glass of wine later, a very good meal, some decadent desserts and we were ready for bed.
We woke early the next morning, but were slow to get moving. We all went about our morning routines while Dawn did her homework on the picnic table and laughed while we all folded our tents, deflated our air mattresses and tried to fold everything up without dragging it in the dirt.
Danny
was one of the first to start breaking camp. We were impressed with Danny, potentail
fatherhood must be good for him. This was the first time in recent memory that
Danny brought a tent.
Dawn praticed her supervision skills and watched as we set up camp while she
did her homework. I thought when you grew up you didn't have to do homework
anymore?
Once loaded we rode our bikes the two blocks to the breakfast place where we ate breakfast last year. The sun streamed through the south-facing windows and spilled over the tables, floor and filtered through the hanging plants that adorned the corners of the room. The place looked so touristy that it brought back memories of childhood vacations when everything, including the breakfast stops, was a big adventure; the age when McDonalds was the only restaurant I knew. Orders were taken by a sweet old lady and the food arrived by the hand of an elderly man that we assumed to be married to the woman who took our orders.
The food was good and the conversation was too and we were reluctant to climb from our breakfast table to the bikes and start riding again. The fellow who rode in with his wife on a blue Goldwing and had camped just down the way from us, was at the next table to our and conversation sprung up very naturally. He is from the east coast and came out on his 20th anniversary to ride 2000 miles through the west. At home he rode a vintage BMW R75 and was amazed by the Goldwings power and torque and said: "Since we've been in Utah, I've shifted once." We laughed. The Goldwing has earned quite a reputation.
After breakfast we went and gassed up, but just as we were getting ready to leave a long string of cruisers tuned onto highway 12 and started up towards Boulder, Utah. For a sport bike, there is nothing worse than being trapped behind a string of cruisers. The typical cruiser rider goes very slow and uses the brakes during corners. (Very bad.) When there is a string of cruisers, passing is virtually impossible because they are close enough together that you can't pass one at a time but the groups are so large that you need a lot of space with no traffic to get around them all. To avoid the whole thing we decided to go check out the Capitol Reef National Park visitor center, then ride along Highway 24, past Fruita and to the other side of the Park and then return to Torrey. Which is exactly what we did.
Heres, from left to right, Kris, Danny, Loretta, Dawn and Eric at the Visitor
Center, then Myself and Danny.
The visitor's center was a lot of fun, we grabbed a view photos and chatted with a guy on a brand new Aprilia CapoNord. The guy on the CapoNord was from northern California and presented himself as one who had been riding his whole life and had worn out quite a few pairs of tires. He had a lot of fun perspectives on motorcycling and was a pleasant guy to chat with. As we were leaving we waved at the guy and his wife, from the restaurant and campground, getting off the blue Goldwing.
Almost a group shot. Where is Kris? Oh, behind the camera. The scenery is
quite stunning. Even after you have seen it a bunch of times.
The road through Fruita and the Park was great! Gently sweeping bends dodging between towering red rock buttes. Traffic was really light and allowed for simple cornering fun. By the time we got back to Torrey, we needed gas to ensure a reserve free ride across the emptiness of highway 12.
Once the fuel levels were brought to the top we headed south, free from the fears of running up behind a pack of slow moving cruisers. The road was pretty clean, and despite continued fear of discovery by speeding-ticket-obsessed cops, we were having a bit of fun. The road traipses between the Dixie National Forest and BLM lands and is usually devoid of cops. I decided to start out ahead of the group to scan for cops and so I could pull off to snap a few photos of some Canyon Chaser cornering action.
Eric
is pretty good with that 919 loaded up like it is (with luggage - not his wife).
Look at him heal it over and avoiding the gummy worm at the same time. Beautiful!
Despite the number of times I have crossed this road, it still impresses me with its beauty. The USDA Forest Service and the Civilian Conservation Corps built highway 12 in the 1930's during the depression. The road was the first access for Boulder and Escalante, Utah and is one of the most spectacular roads I've seen. Many of the libraries and federal buildings built by the CCC illustrate a great deal of workmanship and quality because people needed the work so they took their time. Highway 12 exemplifies this very well. The road dips, turns and crosses terrain that modern road builders would bulldoze or use explosives to burn through to create a straight, fast road.
There Eric goes again! Does that man ever relent?
We had to stop near the top of 12 to catch some action video of Canyon Chasing a couple great corners. After we figured out how to work the camera and 15 passes later, we got our shots then headed into Boulder for lunch. When we arrived we met up with the former President of the Utah Sport Bike Association, Roger, who was out enjoying the great riding weekend.
See the Video Here: HIGHWAY 12
Warning: Video's may be large and slow to download depending on your connection.
Also Video's may evoke strong emotional reactions causing the viewer to drop
everything and go ride.
Lunch was a special morsel of time. The six of us sat down to enjoy a good meal in a very comfortable milieu. The wood lattice and hanging plants that encased the outside eating area produced a very pleasant temperature. The conversation pretzeled between many topics, many of which involved smiling and laughter. There are few moments like these in life and I snuck away and tried to capture the moment from a little ways away when no one was smiling for the camera. But it was impossible for my untrained photographic skills to confine the impression. Lunches like these make Sport Touring with friends more than valuable; they become priceless and irreplaceable.
It was such a pleasant lunch. Kris, Danny and Loretta enjoying some nutritous
conversation.
After we ate and ribbed each other some more and got back on the road to enjoy the most spectacular part of the road; the indescribable segment that traces the ridgeline of solid rock we have always branded incorrectly as the Devils Backbone. The real name is Hogback but Devils Backbone sounds much more exciting. There is a Hell's Backbone that goes around the Box Death Hollow Wilderness Area, but you need something with knobby tires to explore that.
We stopped at the launch pad of the Backbone and met up with our friends on the blue Goldwing. He was sitting on the side of the road, the bike parked behind him, staring out at the stark beauty of the surroundings. He turned, smiled and waved at us as we pulled up. Half of us got off the bikes to video the other half of us riding the beloved slice of road. Kris, Eric and myself rode off and left Danny, Loretta and Dawn behind. We rode off and got the shots while Loretta started up a conversation with our friends from back east.
"What are you guys doing?" he asked.
"Getting some video for our website." Answered Loretta
"Oh, that's how they get those done. What is your website?"
"We're the Canyon Chasers."
"You are the Canyon Chasers?!?! I just read about you guys in Rider Magazine!
I love your website!!" He was obviously very excited about the discovery.
See the Video Here: HIGHWAY 12
Warning: Video's may be large and slow to download depending on your connection.
Also Video's may evoke strong emotional reactions causing the viewer to drop
everything and go ride.
By about this time, the rest of us had returned from our photo shoot and got to come back in on the conversation. I was getting ready to give him my Canyon Chasers ball cap when he asked if he could ride with us for a bit. He seemed like he knew what he was doing so we said sure and rode off one bike stronger. I took it easy because traffic was a bit heavy and I didn't want to push unknown riding skills, we took our time and looked around a lot. The excitement that came out of the rider from the east coast was infectious. It was a reminder of what it felt like the first time my eyes fell on this dazzling scenery.
Here is where we shot the next video and you can see our friend from backeast standing to the right of Danny.
We stopped at the other end of it all at a very large pullout while the blue Goldwing, sadly, kept going. A few hundred meters farther along, the road crests a hill and suddenly its over and highway 12 becomes another mundane road.
Eric hid his bike behind the rest of us. Apparently Eric didn't understand the
value of synchronized parking. Instead you get a great shot of three super twins.
Then we got a shot of the three Lovely Canyon Chaser Ladies.
Just
like when I was a child I went to close to the edge just to get a look of the
road below. Fortunatly Danny was there to save me from certain doom. Also, you
can see how spectacular the road can be as is crawls over the rugged terrain.
We left and pounded out the rest of 12 until we needed gas again, just this side of Bryce National Park. We had decided earlier to chase down a few more twisty roads and wanted to make up some time to allow for them. We got onto Highway 89 and aimed south towards Long Valley Junction, where we filled up with gas before turning west onto Highway 14. It was here that Dawn came upon an epiphany.
Over fruit pies, beef jerky and Gatorade, Dawn came upon the idea of Canyon Chasers Action Figures! What an inspired idea! They could replicate each rider's bike and have removable luggage and even replica helmets. Instead of it being a Rossi replica helmet, it would be a Kris replica helmet. What a great idea. I wonder how we could get some made up and I wonder if Wal-Mart would be interested in selling them? The idea of Canyon Chasers Action Figures was so alluring it kept me entertained until we got to Cedar Breaks (and long into the next day). If anybody reading this has any information on how to build action figures please contact us.
Dawn was one of the first to walk out to take a look at Cedar Breaks. We actually
arrived at a spectacular time of the day, just as the sun starts providing us
with beautiful orange light.
At Cedar Breaks we all ran out to see the view and chatted with a fellow who pedaled up on his bicycle. This amazed us. Even though many of us have our pasts on bicycles and even in bicycle racing, we now struggle with wanting to ride a bicycle as an alternative to a motorcycle. Apparently this fellow, from Berkley, had decided to ride his bicycle across the country. He had wonderful stories of crossing Nevada in torrential rainstorms, climbing steep mountain passes and the vast emptiness of western Utah. He would ride for a few days, get a hotel every third or fourth day and when he got someplace interesting he would rent a car and explore the area. He had just spent the last three days in Cedar City, driving to all the National Parks in the area. He left before us and as we flew past him on our way into Panguitch, we waved at him.
Danny and Loretta took a moment to absorb the beauty of the location at such
a prime time. 
In Panguitch the elevation is, according to the locals, 6,666 feet. The town was first settled in 1864, until Indians killed three local men and the whole town of about 60 people, packed up and left. In 1870, the leader of the Mormon Church, Brigham Young passed through the valley and decided it was time to resettle. It is rumored that he hired his best men to make sure it would be a safe place to live. The town was back in business by 1871. The settlement was first called Fairview, but the name was later changed to Panguitch, an Indian word meaning "Big Fish," for nearby Panguitch Lake, a wonderful fishing lake for both Indians and pioneers.
We gassed up and Eric convinced us to continue up highway 89 for about 70 more miles to a small town named Annabella. According to a magazine Eric had read, Annabella was the home of Mystic Hot Springs, run by an old graphic designer/dead-head and rumored to be a great recreational spot. We were a bit achy and while the pregnant Loretta would be unable to soak, she would be able to dangle her feet and even that sounded nice. So we pressed on.
The sun was slumping below the mountains as we arrowed our way up the very straight road, keeping an eagles-eye out for cops. We spotted quite a few which kept our speeds very close to the posted limits. We came over the hill into Annabella as the light was starting to fail us. The town is very cute and we were encouraged until we started heading out of town. The town altered from cute homes and pavement to shanties and pockmarked dirt roads. We arrived at Mystic Hot Springs just as the light started to fail.
The pale green, cinderblock building sat in the center of a huge gravel lot, not a blade of grass in site. A row of antique school busses sat, neatly lined the center of the dirt lot and each bus window displayed variations of marvelously colorful, tie-dyed sheets. The plywood sign, bolted to the wall of the building, was dry and cracking and the hand painted lettering was flaking off making the letters hard to identify. The shape of the logo behind the lettering was very reminiscent of a pot leaf. Taped onto the front door, a hand written sign politely asked us to check in at the house up the hill. Loretta ran into the bathroom for a potty break and came out visibly upset. "The stall doors don't lock!" Eric tried to reassure her that if you lift up on the doors, they would lock because the hinges had just worn. I don't' think it helped.
We started walking up towards the home. The windows of the house were glowing with a red light and the sound of Grateful Dead music wafted on the air along with the distinctive burning aroma of a plant that is commonly weaved into rope, clothing or smoked at Grateful Dead concerts. A large swimming pool was beside the house and was surrounded by 8-foot chain link fence in need of repair and in the dim light, it looked like concertina wire wound its way across the top. The swimming pool was empty and in the bottom rested old wood pallets, carpet remnants and a dead, decomposing cat for good measure. Loretta's eyes started to get really big.
Two tall, lanky fellows carrying red plastic cups met us at the door and prevented us from entering the home. The owner/operator showed up a moment later, carrying a similar red plastic cup, and greeted us warmly.
Eric asked about the facilities and the answer went something like:
"Well, you go out the door, around the swimming pool, over the fence and
around the weeds. Be careful; there is a lot of poison oak and thistle. Then
go up the hill… Oh wait! We're already outside. Let me start over. Just
go around the pool, over the fence and around the weeds. Be careful; there is
a lot of poison oak and thistle. Then go up the hill. There are three hot pools.
The first one is about… uh… Well, it's really hot. You probably don't'
want to go into that one. People keep turning up the temperature. The second
one is uh… Well, its less hot and the third one is the nicest. Uhm, we
don't allow any nudity." He stopped and laughed and the two tall lanky
fellows, still standing beside him with their matching red plastic cups, also
laughed. "Yeah, no nudity," they laughed again. "Here is the
waiver and it will be ten dollars a head for a soak and patch of ground to sleep
on."
By about now, Loretta's eyes were the size of basketballs. Danny was commenting along the way with statements like "Hmm that does sound pretty hot." Eric began bargaining for a lesser price because we only needed three tent spots not six. The thought of actually staying there was causing Loretta a great deal of stress. She was about three seconds away from her head starting to spin around.
"Maybe, we should get something to eat first, then we'll come back if we are still interested." I piped in. Loretta started to cool off almost immediately. The owner looked saddened at having lost the potential sixty dollars and said "We'll, we're open 24-hours. Come back no matter how late it gets to be."
"Thanks," and we all headed back to the bikes and then into Richfield
to optimistically find a place still open for dinner. We found a JB's that was
still open and Eric asked the hostess while we were leaving; "What do you
know about Mystic Hot Springs?" She seemed very reluctant to answer until
we coaxed her a bit and reassured her that we were not going to think less of
her depending on her answer. "Well, it's better to go at night because
you wont see how dirty it is," she said. "But there is a lot of nudity
up there," she giggled.
We then rode over to the KOA that was about three blocks away. I had never
visited Richfield at night, and I must say it is much different in the dark.
High school kids dragging Main Street seem to be the bulk of the traffic and
the intermittent pickup truck/blazer could be found driving really fast in small
circles in parking lots. This activity that could best be described as "chasing
ones own tail" resulted in loud squealing from the tires and apparently
is very popular among the youth of Richfield.
We were very weary and were quick to set up tent and chase Z's across our inflatable mattresses. We looked closely into the night sky and trees to try to figure out where the sun would rise and where we would get the best morning shade. By morning we found out that Eric has chosen wisely while I had chosen poorly.
Having lessened our distance to home the previous night, we were slow to get
moving and took our time showering and even got in a very serious game of Minatare
Golf. Dawn's homework was still not completed so the rest of us were left to
our own challenges of man (and woman) hood. Much was expected of Kris since
she comes from a golfing family. The competition was tight as much energy was
put into clearing the mailboxes and railroad-crossings in the fewest strokes.
I got confused again and thought the most strokes won, and Danny, the master
of all sports pulled off some amazing shots. However, it is here that Eric earned
the biker nickname "Pink Butterfly" for choosing the pink golf ball
with the cute little butterfly printed on the side.
With nothing pressing us to leave we took a lot of photos of our exciting miniture
golf game.
Loretta and I check out the competition looking for weaknesses in everyone elses
games. Eric earns his biker nickname with his "pretty," as he described
it, golf ball. After Golf we went and got one last breakfast before Danny and Loretta had
to go south towards St. George and Eric, Dawn, Kris and I had to head north
to Salt Lake. But before we split, we did highway 25 over Fishlake. At the other
end, we stopped at a pull out, did a group photo and went our separate ways.
Just before our last breakfast in Richfield, Utah. The food was good but not
near as good as the company we kept. 
Danny and Loretta, as it turns out, rode Highway 12 on their way up to meet us in Torrey, rode it again the next day with all of us, then rode it again on the third day as they went home. Some guys get all the luck.
We went back up highway 72, to Freemont Junction, then up 10 past Randy's Gas
Station and eventually into Huntington for gas, then up and over the Energy
Loop. We got a couple photos up top before dropping down into Scoffield and
then to highway 6 back to Spanish Fork. Then it was just a jump up I-15 back
home. And we wrapped up another great Memorial Day weekend ride. We had to deal
with so many cops the closer we got to populated areas that we figured that
best time to take a Memorial Day weekend ride, would be the weekend after Memorial
Day. Now, if we could only convince our bosses to give us the day off the week
following Memorial Day.
Here we leave you with a parting shot. This is Kris arching through a corner on the top of the Energy Loop.
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