Monticello, UT. 7501 miles.

Knowing I couldn’t leave Zion without one last look, I left before sunrise and headed back through the park to the Canyon Overlook Trail. At this time of morning the park was completely empty and walking the hour or so up the trail to the summit completely alone was a surreal experience. As amateur of a trail as it may be, it still involves scrambling over a lot of boulders and narrow paths through some large dropoffs and to be alone in even the hint of wilderness of Zion at that hour was magical.

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By the time I was heading back the crowds were already pouring in and at the base of the trail busses were lined up full of Japanese tourists. The Japanese really love to travel in large groups. That sounds like hell to me, but everywhere in the world I’ve been there has been a Japanese tour group complete with a guide at the front with a neon flag. To each their own, and if it gets you into Zion then it will change your life.

After the morning hike was a quick ride through Red Canyon and into Bryce. More Japanese tour busses, more traffic, but it was worth a quick detour to see Bryce Point. It rivals any view in the Grand Canyon and sports some unreal rock formations. By this point in the morning the crowds and park entrance fees were grating on me, though, and all I wanted was to make some time and get somewhere more remote.

Past Bryce on Utah RT 12 things get fun in a hurry. There isn’t much for the common tourist past Bryce. RT 12 is one of the more famous motorcycle roads in America and it does not disappoint. There isn’t much use in trying to describe it except to say that you will twist through Escalante and Dixie up and down through mountains and gorges for hours. The rocks will change into every color they can possibly change into and you will see things you didn’t think were possible. When you think it’s over, you climb up to 10,000 feet and ride the very rim of a mountain for the last 20 miles into Boulder and it will make your heart stop dead.

So that was all before lunch. A burger at the famous biker stop Bluff Trail Grill and I was back on to the second half of RT 12.

The desert mesas almost instantly become vast birch forests with pines lining the hilltops. A roller coaster ride through free range cattle country takes you in and out of hot valley desert and back up into the pines over and over again. It is a crazy thing to experience over the course of 100 miles or so.

Eventually 12 ends and just as you are lamenting the death of one of the great American roads, 24 grabs you by the throat and says “What about me?” In minutes you are into Capitol Reef. I again don’t know what to say about this place. It is 10 times larger than it has any business being and it is unequivocally awe-inspiring. Riding past the Twin Rocks and Chimney Rock and any number of other behemoths is humbling.

I glance over these places as if they are pit stops but each one takes hours to traverse and has a million points where you could stop for a week and just stare out into the abyss. Unfortunately about halfway through Capitol Reef I realized my canteen had somehow fallen off the bike and I was sweating in the 106 degree valley heat more than I would like. I was only about 20 miles from Hanksville but this meant a ride through the Luna Mesa, appropriately named because if someone dropped you there and told you that you were on the moon you would have a hard time arguing with them. Even when every ounce of your critical brain tells you that you are very close to a watering hole, the combination of being thirsty and seeing nothing but grey desert to the horizon in every direction will play strange tricks on your brain. I don’t recommend it.

But make it I did, clearly, and I stopped at a gas station that was literally cut into the side of a mountain. I met a couple bikers from Russleville, KY, who had just come the opposite direction and they laughed and told me it was even hotter back there. But what are you going to do? I bought 6 large bottle of water and strapped them to every inch of the bike that would take them and headed out into Canyonlands.

The first 40 miles of this stretch is as bleak as it gets. I was halfway considering turning back to the junction and grabbing a cheap motel room by the gas station but soon I was into the entrance of Glen Canyon. For about the millionth time this trip I was 100% unprepared for what I was about to experience.

Through the plains and into the entrance of the canyon I hadn’t seen a single car in over an hour. By the time I was fully into the Canyon that was closer to 2 hours. I didn’t see another human being until well onto the other side of the canyon over an hour later.

Like Zion, I don’t know if this is worth trying to describe in words. Basically, it is Jurassic Park and if I had turned a curve and seen a T-Rex it would have seemed perfectly normal. The road ran along the canyon floor for 50 miles before sharply climbing to the rim only to dive back down in the sharpest descent I’ve ever seen and open back up on the other side of the valley. This place is prehistoric and I’m not sure if I made a wrong turn to come through it but if so I am very glad I did. Stopping to take these pictures the isolation was palpable. The place was so vast and there likely wasn’t anyone for miles in any direction.

From here I was exhausted and still at least 60 miles from civilization so I burned some road as fast as possible through some still very gorgeous Utah countryside to finally arrive in Monticello. The picture of a small Utah town (read: they don’t have any bars and give you weird looks when you buy beer at the gas station) I couldn’t care less because I haven’t been more exhausted after a riding day yet. Tomorrow I say goodbye to Utah and head through southern Colorado on my long way down to New Orleans.

Wyatt Neumann was a phenomenally talented photographer and director, a loving husband and father, and a passionate motorcyclist. On June 11th he was doing what he loved riding in Delaware when he suffered a brain aneurysm which caused him to lose control of his motorcycle. He died shortly after. Wyatt was instrumental in both inspiring this trip and planning many of its routes and logistics. The title of this site was unapologetically stolen from his series of photographs from his own travels. He leaves behind a wife and two young children. A memorial fund has been established to help his family in this very trying time. Please consider donating. Any amount will help. Thank you.

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