Spring. Classic.

Posted by on May 9, 2008 in Moab | No Comments

“The far off horizon impressed me no less. Once again, as in childhood, I saw the soft blue distance inviting me like an open door. And once again I was overcome by the feeling that I was not born for the life of a perpetual stay-at-home among my fellow men in towns and houses, but for pilgrimages through foreign lands and journeys over the sea. I felt the old melancholy impulse to fling myself on God’s breast and merge my own insignificant life into the infinite and eternal.”

~Peter Caminzind, by Hermann Hesse
I am already seeing the dark ascension through the La Sals, hearing the trickle of Hidden Canyon’s streams, and feeling the oppressive sun of Rabbit Valley. I  am wondering how I will feel when I cross Highway 128, with no Dewey Bridge to greet me across the river.  Am I being overly sentimental about that bridge?

Of course I am.

The sand. The wind. And the black muddy river. All of them haunt my nightly thoughts. Those imaginations between sleep and wake. Acting as hypnotics, visuals of far off places and personal records lull me to sleep each night.

It simply is not spring, without the Kokopelli. How quickly it has become part of my ritual. An annual rite of passage. A classic effort, and a microcosm of everything that I love about mountain biking.

And again, I am waxing overly sentimental. But the unspoken words and the nearly tangible presence of the ancient ones in these wide open spaces bring out the dreamer in me. And so, in spite of myself, I am once again pining for the Kokopelli. 

And so am I planning to be at the trail head, my wheels pointing toward the desert, my mojo firmly in tact?

Of course I am.


  1. Groover
    May 10, 2008

    Ever considered coming over to Oz for the most gruelling MTB race on the planet – the Crocodile Trophy?

  2. Matt
    May 11, 2008

    Can wait for the Koko journey myself.

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