Hopkins 4K for Cancer

July 16, 2005

Escalante, UT
We wake before the sun to get ready this morning at 4:30 and step out into the cold air. Jenn and I prepare breakfast for the crew, lighting the propane stove, and warming up the pots of oatmeal that have been soaking in the van overnight. Food is rationed; everyone has an equal portion of oatmeal, scone, and bagel, which keeps until the first water break, which will consist of the overripe apricots we picked yesterday from the fruit farm next to our campsite.

Our climb begins through rolling roads encased by the red canyons around us. As we ride, the blasts of air that greet us can change as much as twenty or thirty degrees, depending on the elevation and the shapes of the crevices, which holds pockets of cold air.

We descend from the canyons into a small town called Boulder, UT, which is holding a Heritage Festival. Local Native American artists sell their crafts amongst the musicians and townspeople gathered hear today. Travis hints of what lies ahead - a highway pass named Hell's Backbone. I envision the worst ahead - vertical climbs, a road with severe scoliosis, something terrifying.

The heat is oppressive as we pass through the canyon walls, crimson red and crumbling. We're in hell, I scream to my fellow riders, and further up, the road drops off on both sides, winding like a serpent's back on the high ridge. It is both terrifying and exhilarating for this acrophobe. We quicken our pace, stopping only to take a picture of the 14% grade downhill sign, because of the ominous black clouds in the distance - a rare sight in this part of the country, we're told later, which only recieves 6 inches of precipitation a year. Jess Lee remarks aptly that she isn't sure what to be afraid of more - the freak storm ahead, or the thousand-plus-foot drop at either side of the narrow road that has us careening down the canyon at thirty, forty miles an hour.

The rain begins to pelt our helmets in fat pebbles, stinging our arms and legs where it hits. Every time I see a bolt of lightning, I start counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder, and figure that the storm is about 5 miles away. We find, almost by luck, a coffeehouse in the middle of nowhere, a haven set high above the road. We wait inside Kiva Coffeehouse, drying off and listening to sentimental movie soundtracks in the background, while sipping chai lattes and watching the sky crashing down behind the windows. It is surreal, sitting there in an oasis of caffeine and wireless internet, staring out nervously and thinking about the group behind us, a few miles back, as they are not as lucky to have shelter. Our radio is dead and there is no way to contact our van drivers, but we phone the church we're staying at tonight and tell them we're safe.

An hour later, still in the storm, we spot one of our vans searching the road for us and run out to flag it down. Steve is driving, and we load all six of our bikes in the van, with space to fit us all in as well. Shuttling is a logistical nightmare...

(to be continued)

Submitted by Jen Chang (JC)