After a rest day in the town of Monticello, we were ready to tackle the final four-day stretch to Moab. After picking up our food drop from the post office we started up the long climb into the Abajo Mountains. Three of our group decided to skip the last section and take the highway to Moab - our numbers were thinning! After a 500m climb up a paved road, six of the remaining eight of us decided that climbing to the summit en route was too risk - the ranger had told us that the Robertson Pasture Trail at the top had not been cleared and that there would be lots of blowdown to lift bikes over. But the indefatigable Gerard was desperate to try it and since no one else was willing to go I sucked it up and joined him. A couple more hours of climbing and we topped out in alpine meadows at 10,650 feet, the highest point on our trip. The wind was HOWLING on the ridge and as we started down the singletrack we were slapped down and off our bikes (lowside on the trail luckily!) A private citizen had gone through and cleared the trail and it was flowy almost the whole way down. A quick swim in a cold lake at the bottom and we were on our way down another long singletrack of deep sand - surfed our way down for an hour. Eventually we popped out onto pavement after six hours of riding and came across Newspaper Rock, a huge wall of 2,000 year old petroglyphs which was super cool, then a couple of cruisy hours to the entrance to Canyonlands NP. This late in the season no one goes to Canyonlands (too hot) so there was no traffic, except for a UPS truck that came screaming along at 80mph, came to a halt and told us that the rest of the group was waiting for us at Needles Outpost, a private campsite in the park. I remarked that it must be a nice gig to deliver packages out to the park with empty roads, and the driver responded by throwing a Shaka and grinng “easy f-Ing money, dude!”. We arrived at Needles Outpost at 6pm to find the guys; it was a ramshackle affair that looked like something in the Australian Outback; the guys had entertained themselves for four hours by napping in the shade and taking slow motion videos of humming birds. We set up in the spectacular campsite set in an amphitheatre of red rocks, had dinner, and then since it was a full moon we went on a magical night ride down into the park. Next morning: we were up bright an early. Despite the plan to take four days to get to Monticello, the group was determined to do it in two. We entered the Lockhart Basin, not knowing that we would be spending 11 hours in there. This was perhaps the most spectacular part of the entire trip, on a very rough keep track that snaked hither and thither through eroded valley and along the base of towering mesas and ledges for 90km, sometimes with the Colorado river far below. We plugged away as the heat built to about 30C, and eventually got to a major motor biking area, which in this part of the desert means DEEP SAND. This is where, for the first time on the trip, my wheels started to come off - psychologically, not physically. And what we didn’t know about the route was that getting out of Lockhart Basin to Moab require not one but two long steep climbs. It became a stereotypical death march and I was at the back of the group all the way to town. I had to draw on my reserves from years of ultra running - one truism I’ve learned is that you can always keep going no matter how bad you feel. Just put your head down and don’t stop moving. As we hit Moab we spotted a McD’s and a quick pit stop for fries and a giant coke brought us all back to life. We made it, and two days ahead of schedule! Hardest thing I’ve done? I think so. But the pain has already faded away and all that remains are the incredible memories of riding the entire state of Utah west to east: the colossal rocks formations of every shape and description; the aspen and pine forests; the kind and helpful people along the way; the insane heat (and brutal cold); the wind; the desperate searches for water; the gasping for breath on high mountain climbs; the starry nights; the dusty backwater towns; and most of all, the laughs and shared excitement and commiserations of a great group of friends united in the pursuit of a tough goal. What a way to celebrate my 50th! So very satisfied. And that’s a wrap!