The White Rim is a storied location. Vast and wide and mysterious. Gateway to an unknown wilderness, edge of the Maze, an alien world of ancient ghosts and impossible canyons.
As I rode the trail this spring I gazed out at the landscape feeling small, awestruck and otherwise soaking up the Abbey-esque vibes of the natural wonder and enchantment that surrounded me. It was one of those sublime moments, a rare connection with the intangible world beyond our own seeing, our own existence.
And then, a grown man on a single speed wearing knee-high church socks, plaid shorts and a basket on his handlebars passed me.