Goofin' on Gooseberry

ST. GEORGE, UT—A long, long time ago I had a philosophy professor who gave us a simple phrase to chant for a spiritual awakening:

AWA TEGO SIAM

The good doctor told us that if we carefully spoke the phrase, over and over, faster and faster, we would get in touch with our true self. It worked.

The skies were cold and gray over St. George, Utah, and the nasty cold I thought I was starting to shake had crept over me during the night with a vengeance. It's terrible to wake up sick in a strange bed far from home. But it's even worse to go exploring a strange town while bound up in the grip of infirmity. So after tasting the hotel's "Deluxe" continental breakfast—with its lack of protein or any warm entree—I crawled back in bed, burrowing under the covers, hoping that things would be different next time I emerged.

It worked.

A few hours later the sun was up and warm and breakfast at the Bearpaw Coffee restaurant in western St. George, one of few non-chain eateries open here on Sunday, provided us with fine Belgian Waffles, perfectly poached eggs and a rasher of bacon. The resulting hit of cholesterol bound up many of the viruses coursing through my body and killed them with toxic efficiency.

In no time we were on the road and backtracking toward Hurricane, Utah. This sleepy little town is undergoing the ravages of tract development. Once-vacant fields located in the shadows of the striped red hills nearby are choked with cookie cutter residences; trophy homes have sprung up on the hillsides like mushrooms after a week of rains. In a few years the old Hurricane will hardly be recognizable if things keep going at this rate.

For those not in the know, Hurricane (pronounced Hurr-ah-can by the locals) is the gateway to Gooseberry Mesa, one of those still-mostly "undiscovered" mountain biking destinations sprinkled throughout this great nation of ours. Undiscovered isn't really the right word. Gooseberry has been fawned over and hyped up in nearly every bicycling publication on the planet. Everyone who's anyone on a bike has ridden Gooseberry Mesa. Nevertheless, because of its remote location away from established civilization, the trails are uncrowded and have not yet witnessed the horrible mob scenes of Moab and Fruita—the Disneylands of Dirt.

But that's all about to change. Troy Rarick, hailed by many as "the driving force" behind Fruita and proprietor of that community's famous bike shop, Over the Edge Sports, has set up his newest shop in Hurricane, Utah. Tucked in a prime location just off of Main Street on the winding road out of town toward Gooseberry, Rarick's new shop hasn't opened yet, but already Rarick is courtin' the crowds with social gatherings and group rides offered to sojourners on their way to Las Vegas for Interbike—the bike industry's annual trade show.

Rarick's people had already made it to the trailhead by the time we arrived at Gooseberry, during the late afternoon on the Autumnal Equinox, where the lighting was spectacular and the temperature perfect. Up here at this vantage point, you could actually feel North America slipping into a new season.

In the Old Days, that kind of Earthy talk could get you burned for Witchery. But feeling the perfect frequency of the spectrum piercing my flesh and rejuvinating my Common-Cold-ravaged body, I understand now why the Earth Worshipers and Wiccans perform their ceremonies at key times of the years like this one.

The day certainly worked magic on my bike handling skills and I found myself defying gravity and floating around the dirt and slickrock like I actually knew what the hell I was doing. Riding Gooseberry Mesa on this perfect day, I found myself chanting my professor's famous phrase over and over, undulating over the rocks with a big, stupid grin on my face. Out here, with no ski lifts to shuttle people to the top of the mountain for a rippin' ride back down, it's pure cross-country pleasure. At the end of the Mesa, the whole world opens right up in front of you in crimson splendor, and the valley below is mercifully free of the carbon-copy tile roofs that seem to dominate much of the urban landscape elsewhere.

Years from now, assuming cross-country mountain biking maintains its appeal, these trails probably won't be as silent and solitary as they are now. They will probably become a Theme Park attraction like their older cousins to the east. Let's hope they retain their magic.