A White Rim Time Trial
Words and photos by Adam Lisonbee I w andered aim lessly throu g h the sm allvisitors center.Posters,faded by tim e and su nlig ht hu ng on the otherw ise barren w alls— arial photog raphs of the C olorado or G reen, arches, vast canyons or seldom seen w ildlife.T he rotting sku llof a long dead big horn sheep sat lifelessly on the “tou ch table”. I g rasped its horns w ith both hands: “I’m delicate, please do not tou ch”. I sm irked at the incong ru ence. T he air w as stale.Shelves of rockhou nding , birding , and w ildlife books w ere opposite m e, flanked by t-shirts and topog raphic m aps.In the center ofthe room w as a plastic dioram a of the w orld ou tside these g overnm ent bu ilt w alls. C anyonlands N ational Park. T he W hite R im . T he M aze. A bbey cou ntry, som e claim .W ell,A bbey’s dead.It’sm y lan d n ow . A voice crackled over a radio sitting inanim ately on the g lass table: “U h,yeah,a bu nch ofm ou ntain bikers ju st w ent throu g h the g ate.” It sou nded irritated.M iffed. “I tried to stop one of the g rou ps,bu t they didn’t seem to interested in w hat I had to say.” O f cou rse. It w as the sou nd of self-inflicted au thority being dispatched, ig nored, u nrecog nized. T he ow ner of the radio on the table did not seem to hear the voice.She w as bu sy pointing ou t this tow er or that arch to a sem i-interested tou rist, w hile an im patient, insistent w om an w aited in line to bu y stam ps.Som eone w as g oing to
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receive a postcard from C anyonlands.N ice.B u t I’d think a su nbu rn and sandy shoes a m u ch better sou venir. T he G atekeeper w as stillcom plaining . “M ost ofthem had blu e and orang e jerseys on.” It w as, no dou bt, riders from the R .A .W .R .O .D . expedition. R ide arou nd the W hite R im in one day.A nd,no dou bt,the irked R ang er, confined to his hell of w ood and g lass, w anted to ru n dow n the Shafer sw itchbacks, fist shaking w ildly in the air: “T here are reg u lations here!” B u t,as he said him self,the riders had no interest in w hat he had to say. E ven the u su al and m andatory $5 fee did not apply— it w as “free national park day”. B u t w ho cou ld blam e the riders for rolling hu rriedly past the u niform ed rang er? W hat cou ld he say that w ou ld possibly describe or explain the m assive g aping m aw u nfolding below the w heels and the aw e-stru ck faces of these m ou ntain bikers? W hat ru les or reg u lations m attered w hen staring into the void of Shafer C anyon, and the endless tables of m esas, layered rock,and living history? W ell,pag es and pag es of them if you w ear a badg e.N one ofw hich are particu larly interesting or relevant if you don’t. Indeed, to ride the W hite R im in a day— on a bicycle— requ ires bu t one prim ary ru le:pedaldam m it. A nd so they did.A nd so did I.O nly,the previou s day.>>>
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