Red. Rocks.
Hannah takes a mountain biker’s pilgrimage.
Words & Photography Hannah
I have waited for this. Maybe months, maybe years. Acquiring something of a legendary status, I have heard about this place. Huge slabs and swathes of red rock, towering up to dizzying heights and dropping away to hip-cracking depths. Bulbous outcrops and plunging cleavages punctuate the landscape. In, out, over and down – there are no routes, but lines to everywhere. Pick an angle and roll. Choose a drop and jump. Geology, geometry, traction, and trigonometry. An alien landscape of extraordinary experiences.
And now, I’m here. The wait has been worth it. No, necessary. Earlier would have been too soon. Before, I would have been nervous. Tense, rigid, too afraid to let go and fly. Now, I am ready.
The entry. Plunge down the lip, throwing the final drop and reaching the flowing rhythm of the shelf. Waves swoop. I ride, standing, pumping, popping, hopping. Crest a wave, take flight, dive back in. In. Out. Arch up, arch back down. Shift left, shift right – extending the line, prolonging the play. Not slowing, just reaching out for new corners, curves, lips and leaps.
Relaxed, happy. I am primed. Weekends and evenings of play, practice, feat and fail combine to make my body know what is coming. Muscle memory takes on this new terrain, responding to each rise and fall of stone. Rollers of red rock become a playground of perfect takeoffs and landings. Too soon and I would have been glued to the ground, hauling on the brakes. Instead, now I am teasing them into controlling the landings and takeoffs between whooping highs.
Flowing across the layered red sandstone I grin at the improbable grip. I push the limits of the off-camber angles, rewarded with the burring sound of squirming textured rubber against smooth slickrock. Plunge in, swoop out, deep fold, shallow ripple. A sea of textured pleasure – alien and extraordinary, yet comfortingly familiar. The grey skate parks and pump tracks of home transformed deliciously into one warm, glowing red rock plaything.
Despite the up and down, the left and right, we reach the end too soon. Appetites whetted, not sated. We catch our breath and cruise smoothly back up, ready to dive back into this ocean of line choice and grip.
Good things come to those who wait.
