15 Moments of Zen in Southern Utah
or, why I ride bicycles long distances
1. Four hitchhikes in one day
How exactly does one get from southwestern Colorado to southern Utah with a bicycle? Car rentals don’t go. Public transport is non-existent. One must hitch.
A kind man named Dale, who attended my book talk at Dolores Public Library, offers me a long ride to Moab (where he has family heirlooms to retrieve). I wait by the Colorado River and the entrance of Arches National Park, without luck.
Ultimately, I stand alongside Highway 191, at a spot where cars are going slowly, they have a long chance to see me, and there’s an easy pull out. In three minutes, a young father of two named Wyatt picks me up in his big white truck, teleporting me to the intersection of Interstate 70 and Highway 24.
A retired military couple in a massive truck towing a 20,000-pound trailer drop me in Hanksville, where I wait for an hour for my final ride from a Washington couple who deliver me to Torrey, Utah. The husband, a geology teacher, periodically comments on the drop-dead gorgeous stretch of rocky wonderland through which we’re passing.
Four hitchhikes in one day, with a bicycle, across 270 miles of remote highways that I really preferred not to ride? Moment of Zen #1, complete.
2. Meeting an interviewee in the middle of nowhere
While waiting to hitchhike in Hanksville, a small white van pulls a U-turn and a woman’s voice beams from the driver’s seat: “Is that Blake Boles?”
It turns out to be Emily Pennington, whom I interviewed for Dirtbag Rich (but have not met in real life), traveling with her partner and dog from Denver. We snapped a selfie, I gave them two Dirtbag Rich stickers, and they went on their way. A few days later, I’ll wave as they pass me in the other direction.
3. Camping at the Hogback
In Torrey I spend the night at Amiee’s house, an athlete, writer, and mother who had previously offered me a place to crash. Her young kid and new puppy are adorable, the guest bed is comfy, we chat about unschooling, and she gives me crucial advice about an upcoming swim spot.
The next morning I press on, panting up a 4,000-foot mountain pass (cresting just under 10,000’), refueling at a gourmet grocery in the tiny town of Boulder, and following a lead on iOverlander to a public land camping spot just before the “Hogback,” a gorgeous stretch of Highway 12 where a narrow ribbon of pavement follows a high ridge with sheer, unguarded drop-offs on both sides.1
How dreamy to spend the night at a spot like this—which always passes too quickly in a vehicle—and watch the light fade over the mysterious, sculpted features of Grand Staircase-Escalante.
4. Skinny dipping in the Escalante River
After sailing down the Hogback at 6:30am with hardly a vehicle in sight, I park my bike at the Escalante River trailhead, hike a few minutes, strip naked, and submerge myself in the shallow, frigid, tree-lined body of water. Thanks for the tip, Amiee!
5. The Faraday cage coffeeshop
Sitting just above the Escalante River is the iconic Kiva Koffeehouse, where I hope to find wifi, but instead find neither internet nor cell reception. People are just drinking coffee, talking, looking quietly through windows, and reading books. I take the chance to write postcards and read a couple love letters I’m carrying. It’s amazing. May the world enjoy more signal-free coffeeshops.
6. Necessity is the mother of microwave burritos
Feeling strong, I push farther south than expected, ending the day at an RV park outside of Cannonville. I pass almost no food establishments, so I’m counting on the little convenience store at the RV park for dinner—and it does not disappoint: two microwave burritos, two beers (they don’t sell singles, so I split a 4-pack with another patron), complete with a dash of hot sauce from the personal stash of one of the front desk workers.
In most other settings, this would be a pretty pathetic dinner. But after 55 miles in the saddle, it’s glorious. Hunger truly is the best sauce. (Hot sauce, too.)
7. Reading about actual Zen
It’s Saturday night, and the RV park is bustling. There’s even a live concert. It’s all a bit too much for me, so I retreat a few hundred feet into the woods to pitch my tent next to a stream. The voices and music fade into the distance, leaving just me and the book I’ve been savoring: a digital bootleg of a hard-to-find hardcover I recently discovered, called Poets on the Peaks: Gary Snyder, Philip Whalen & Jack Kerouac in the Cascades.
It’s a surprisingly in-depth history of some of the beats, their discovery of Zen Buddhism, and their stints working as fire lookouts in the 1950s. What a treat to discover a rare, excellent book. I smile as I make dozens of highlights, hidden away in my little tent, belly full of beer and burrito, harvesting the fruits of both solitude and society.
8. Headwind as meditation
The next morning a tailwind pushes me uphill, straight past Bryce Canyon, and down a red rock canyon along a broken-up bike path, which gives all my bolts a shake-test.
Then I turn south onto Highway 89, straight into a vicious, gusty headwind. I remind myself to smile, make some vague internal allusion to “cyclist karma,” and push through 10 straight, slow miles, with regular roadkill deer carcasses serving as memento mori.
In the town Hatch, the wind forecast tells me to press on (or suffer even worse headwinds tomorrow), so I crank out another unexpectedly long day, 70 miles to Mount Carmel Junction, with a cruisy, 2000-foot descent waiting at the end.
9. Remembering “I have cool family”
In Mount Carmel Junction, I pause for a photo with the Thunderbird Restaurant “Home of the Ho-Made Pies” sign. (Apparently #metoo never arrived in Southern Utah.) Here I recall that four years earlier, some of my east coast family joined me on a family vacation in the desert southwest, on my suggestion. It’s pretty amazing to have family that will visit you in different parts of the world! (Other visits have included Argentina, Austria, Switzerland, Ireland, and the Netherlands.)
That night I camp by another stream on public land, gnawing on a hunk of cheddar cheese for dinner.
10. A slickrock nap
I dine on politically incorrect cherry pie for breakfast, cycle up the hill to Zion National Park, pay the $20 entrance fee, and lean into curves of jaw-dropping beauty until finding a spot to leave the bike, scramble up the slickrock, munch on lunch (goodbye cheddar block), and steal a nap.
The other tourists remain far below, never venturing far from their cars. From my perch, I feel like an eagle. Then I smell myself and feel like a goblin.
11. Hitching the tunnel with black sheep
Navigation apps tell cyclists not to go through Zion National Park, because there’s a one-mile, one-way tunnel that you’re not allowed to ride. Fortunately, the park staff thoroughly condone hitch-hiking.
I roll up to the line of cars waiting for the tunnel, greet the first pickup truck, and ask for a ride. The two outdoorsy-looking women from Salt Lake City are happy to give me a lift, and just as I hop in the back seat, the line starts moving—perfect timing.
As we pass through the tunnel, I tell my saviors that I’m going to visit an old friend who used to work as a guide in Zion, and together we’re going to attend her extended family’s Black Sheep party in Salt Lake City: a gathering of all the ex-Mormons and non-Mormons in the family. The two women look at each other and laugh and tell me that they, too, are the black sheep of their Mormon families. I realize they’re probably a couple. How many Utahns share a similar story, I wonder?
12. A sun sets on the United States
I wait for the plug of cars to pass, and then I cruise the switchbacks into Zion Canyon without a single vehicle in my lane. Joining the bike path, I smile as tourists pass on e-bikes. In the gateway town of Springdale, I drop into the coffeeshop where I’ll give a book talk in a few days, eat a salad, drink a coffee, and then hop back on the bike for another 13 miles to Bailey and Jon’s house in Virgin, Utah.
Bailey and I met through mutual friends a dozen years ago and instantly hit it off as fellow fun-loving guides. Ever since then I made a point of visiting her (and her boyfriend-turned-husband Jon) whenever I was in the area. Bailey has taken me caving, canyoneering, hiking—even on a sketchy, unplanned overnight in the north rim of the Grand Canyon in early December! So many adventures.
As I walk with Bailey to the local park to play with their two Griffon dogs, Gus and Winny, the setting sun pierces the foliage, and I pause. I’ve been here before—and I’m not sure when I’ll be back again. My relationship to the US is changing. Where once my western pilgrimages regularly brought me through southern Utah, now I’m happily car-free and attached to Europe. Is this the last time, for a long time?
13. An undying love 🍔
Fortunately, some things are forever: like my love of In-n-Out Burger. It’s been three years since my saliva touched those greasy, salty, hand-cut fries. It’s good to be back.
14. Camping on the Kolob
I give the book talk. It’s attended by an all-female group of guides, athletes, and entrepreneurs (all Bailey’s friends). I sell all of my books (zero inventory is the bike traveler’s dream) and then cycle off for a quick overnight on the Kolob Terrace: a less-visited, higher-elevation part of Zion with stunning views. I meditate atop a rock for 30 minutes, let the cedar gnats feast on me, and then stretch my body in the utter silence of a late afternoon in the high desert.
15. A book in the wild
Now it’s time to rest. I spend a full week in Jon and Bailey’s guest room, preparing taco dinners, catching up on writing and scheming, and sometimes cycling the 13 miles back to Springdale to use the library. At the little cafe, I stumble onto my own book, on sale in the corner. Seeing it in the wild brings a smile to my face.
Five days of cycling. 215 miles. 15,000 feet elevation gain.
This is what we usually share about outdoor adventures—but they aren’t what matter most.
It’s the faces, the accidents, the call-backs, the coincidences, the conversations, the struggles, the transcendence, and sometimes, the microwave burritos.
Next stop: Black Sheep. Then it’s a one-way car rental to eastern California, a few days cycling along Highway 395, and another hiatus in one of my favorite places: South Lake Tahoe. See you on the other side.
Please enjoy a hilarious TripAdvisor review of The Hogback.
No disrespect, no complaint, no hard feelings at all. I'm enjoying the idea of living free from the mindset of economic fear, et cetera. However, why does it feel a man is so privileged to be able to navigate the world physically so freely, without fear of being raped, followed, kidnapped, killed, preyed upon because she's alone. As a woman, it's very challenging to read and especially to live. Do you carry defense? Are you concerned about that or is it a non-issue? I just want to share my perspective here.
Man, that was such a fun read. Thank you so much!