American Beauty played in the background as I circled the Las Vegas airport terminal once again looking for my erstwhile riding buddy. I was in Sin City for a weekend of debauchery and we had decided to take advantage of its proximity to southern Utah and its endless riding opportunities. Specifically, we were headed for Gooseberry Mesa, with its famed slick rock riding and stunning visual panoramas. We had ridden the Goose twice before in the summer heat when the mesa was deserted, so we wanted to see what it was like later in the riding season.
I finally spotted my fellow traveler and swerved to the curb. It was mid-afternoon and we both decided that a beer or two was just what we needed to fuel our adventure, particularly since we were headed for Utah. After all, this might be our last real opportunity to find a decent pint. So we headed to a place I had read about called the Freakin Frog which is located near UNLV.
As far as bars go, the Freakin Frog itself was nothing to write home about. It had a college beer hall type feel to it and it was virtually empty save a couple middle-aged guys at the bar and a college kid who had to be continually propped up by his girl because he was mixing pills and booze. But what the Frog lacked in décor and ambiance, it more than made up for with its mind-bending selection of beers, several of which, remarkably, were on tap. I’m not really certain how many beers the Frog serves, but I do know that we had to plow through a menu (and some taste tests) before making our choices.
In the end, we threw caution to the wind and opted for Delirium Tremens on tap, a Belgian-style Tripple that carries an 8.5% alcohol kick. After a couple of DT’s, we spied some bottled Canadian ales (Tres Pistoles, La Fin Du Monde, both 9% alcohol) in the refrigerator across the bar and were pleased to discover that during happy hour, they were two for one. So in short order, we cleaned out the Frog’s supply and then left for Utah with an astonishing bill of only $37 and Pink Elephants for road dogs.
Since we’re on the subject of Las Vegas and beer, Terribles is worth a mention. Terribles is a convenience store/ Chevron gas station just off the I-15 at Russell Road. It sells Foster’s oil cans in singles and cases for the unbelievable price of $1.79. Needless to say, Terribles was a mandatory stop for us. It should be for you as well if you are heading to Utah to ride. Hell, it’s a mandatory stop on your way home as well.
A Hunter S. Thompson Moment
About 45 minutes north of Vegas lies the Valley of Fire and the Moapa Indian Reservation. To the casual observer, there is not much there to see. Sage brush here, parched earth there, and the convenience store operated by the Paiute Band of Moapa Indians which specializes in hawking fire water, tobacco, explosives of every imaginable stripe and Indian kitsch. In our fear and loathing state of mind, we of course were drawn to the convenience store like lemmings to a cliff.
Once inside the store, we giggled like school girls as we combed the aisles and fondled the tribe’s substantial inventory of explosives. When the clerk behind the counter became visibly annoyed with our sophomoric antics, we made our selections (which included a liter of Don Julio) and raced into the parking lot for a tribute to Hunter S. Thompson.
Just as we were striking the match, a security guard approached. While he oogled a female patron entering the store, he informed us that the designated launch site was around the side of the building near the pumps for the gas station. The potential danger of lighting fireworks near a gas station was evident even to us in our altered state, but was completely lost on the security guard. Nonetheless, we dutifully obliged and rounded the corner with another group of explosive laden shoppers to terrorize the desert night.
Hustled in Beaver Dam
The night was wearing on and we were finally in the home stretch when Beaver Dam, Arizona came into view. The old highway runs through Beaver Dam then crosses the desert, passes through the Shivits Indian Reservation and runs right into Santa Clara, Utah. Back before I-15 was blasted into the Virgin River gorge, this was the only way the Mormon faithful could get from St. George to the slot machines in Las Vegas. We were staying in Santa Clara so we exited off the freeway here since the old highway route shaves about fifteen or so minutes off of the drive.
There is not much to see or do in Beaver Dam. It’s an odd collection of old desert rats and new golf retirees. The only place of real interest along the main drag is the Beaver Dam Bar which is a convenience store stocked with shitty beer on one side of the building and a bar stocked with shitty beer on the other side. Normally, the parking lot of the Beaver Dam Bar is packed with pick-up trucks, many bearing Utah tags. This is the place where Gentiles and Jack Mormons alike can drink a real beer, shitty as it may be, without having to endure the disapproving glares of their more faithful neighbors. Tonight, however, the parking lot was empty and the place was quiet.
As we entered the bar, three middle-aged women seated at the bar looked up from their beers. In a partially obstructed back room, a young cowboy peered at us through the darkness and then returned to whatever it was that he was doing. The two haggard pools tables sat unused, beckoning to us. We ordered drafts for the surprisingly low price of $1 and hit the tables which were beer stained and not the least bit level.
Not long after we began playing, one of the women from the bar plopped two quarters down on top of the rail and claimed next. She appeared to be of Native American descent with saddle bag hips, a Michelin mid-section and as used as the table we were playing on. I immediately felt the hustle coming on.
Turns out, I was wrong. Although she was pleasant enough, this lady was as challenged at pool as my riding companion for whom I think she had the hots. She kept sticking her ass in his face when attempting shots. When he asked her if she wanted him to move out of the way, she demurred. This was a different kind of hustle than I first imagined. After two or three turns on the table, we drained our beers and beat a hasty retreat.
Getting Goosed
Gooseberry Mesa is a tabletop mesa that sits just east of Hurricane, Utah and west of Zion National Park. It offers a variety of technical slick rock opportunities together with stunning vistas of the surrounding red-rock country. The riding here is as good as anything you will find in Moab, but it’s easier to access from Southern California. You can get to the Goose from either the north (by taking Bridge Road south from Rockville) or from the south (by taking UT 57 southeast from Hurricane). The latter alternative is by far the best route.
The last time we visited in the dead of summer, we had the entire mesa to ourselves. Now that the scorching sun had been replaced with cooler autumn temperatures and long afternoon shadows, the place was crawling with slick rock junkies. They were camped all along the dirt road leading to the trailhead and the parking lot was near capacity. Word about the Goose as a premier riding destination was obviously out.
We had ridden the South Rim Trail on previous visits, so we decided to follow the Bowls and Ledges trail to the North Rim Trail and then out to the point. The Bowls and Ledges trail is accessed from the Practice Loop. It meanders up, down and across the slick rock offering some technical but extremely fun riding. Eventually, it joins the North Rim Trail, a less technical but exhilarating single track that winds through pinon, juniper and manzanita and clings to the edge of the mesa. We rode the North Rim to its terminus with the White Trail (the main jeepway running through the middle of the mesa) and then veered off on the Yellow Trail, a short slick rock loop, for some advanced riding that challenged our technical abilities. We then followed the last portion of the South Rim trail out to the point where we were joined by throngs of riders, including one self-impressed asshole who was so loud, obnoxious and full of himself that we (and other riders) promptly turned tail and started back for the car.
For the journey back we rode the South Rim Trail. Like its counterpart on the north side of the mesa, this trail skirts the mesa’s cliff edge and offers incredibly fun single track and grand vistas. We rode up and down slick rock spines, dodged in and out juniper gullies and passed beneath towering sandstone outcroppings as we rode sublime single track to the parking lot where we washed down peanut butter and honey sandwiches with Don Julio straight from the bottle. Viva Gooseberry Mesa!
Three Fingers of Death
The next morning we made the short drive from Santa Clara to Green Valley where the north end of the Bearclaw Poppy trailhead is located. The Bearclaw trail is an out and back single track the runs beneath the red bluffs of Bloomington Hill from Green Valley to Bloomington. It can be done as an out and back or as a loop using paved surface streets.
The trail climbs gently up a well maintained dirt road from the parking lot and then passes through a gate. Here, the trail becomes a single track which immediately drops down to the 3 Fingers of Death, a series of red dirt BMX-like drop-downs that take you to the base of the adjacent mesa. Although some of the many possible routes down here are challenging, we thought the “death” moniker significantly overstated the difficulty of this section of the trail.
At the bottom of the 3 Fingers, the trail enters a sandy wash for a spell and then approaches the Acid Drops, another series of “steps” which offer a variety of routes. Not long afterwards, the trail hits Clavicle Hill, another series of fun drops which I can only imagine got its name after a wayward biker took a tumble here.
Once you reach the bottom of Clavicle Hill, you have two options. You can continue left on the Bearclaw Poppy Trail to its terminus in Bloomington, or you can head right on the Stucki Springs trail (which we were told eventually loops back into the Bearclaw trail after a fairly tough climb). We opted for the left branch and entered the “roller coaster” section of the Bearclaw trail.
Here, the trail continues its gentle descent to Bloomington. It is fun, fast and furious riding on a well maintained trail that snakes and undulates over and around a variety of features, including whoop-de-doos, banked turns, jumps, hills, drop-offs and other obstacles. Before turning tail and heading back to the car, we spent some time in this MTB playground goofing off and acting like the immature middle-aged men that we are.
