Editor's note: Columnist Lee Benson is bicycling the length of Utah along U.S. 89, a k a State Street, starting at the Arizona-Utah line and ending at the Idaho-Utah line. His columns will chronicle what he sees, hears and avoids along the way.
SOMEWHERE NEAR KANAB — Some might think it's a protest against the use of fossil fuels, bicycling the length of the state of Utah.
But my wife is driving our car as a support vehicle the whole way.
Some might assume it's an excuse to sleep under the stars and bond with the great outdoors.
But our master plan is to stay in motels every night.
Some might guess it's a way to strengthen the state's economy by buying antiques and all sorts of souvenirs and stopping for fine expensive meals along the back roads and byways.
But from a newspaperman?
There's only one reason I'm bicycling the length of the state of Utah: because I've always wanted to.
There's something appealing about seeing Utah at 15 miles an hour, about riding through sleepy farm towns at sunrise (or later), about stopping randomly at obscure tourist traps, about attempting to read plaques on monuments that have been used for target practice for the past 40 years, about meeting people where they work and live, about never having to worry about a speeding ticket, about turning a corner and seeing a lake or a town you never knew existed, about searching for the state's finest chicken fried steak.
This is something I've wanted to do for a long time.
And really wanted to do since my editor said he'd pay for it.
As adventures go, it's several notches below Shackleton and even a few steps behind Jack Kerouac. The call of the asphalt isn't exactly the call of the wild. I've packed six tubes in case of flats and six CO2 air cartridges, the greatest invention having to do with the bicycle since the invention of the bicycle. I've thrown an extra Continental GP4000 tire in the trunk of the car just in case. I've got chain lube, 24 power bars, two long water bottles, a map, three tire irons, a bike wrench to fix minor repairs and throw at dogs if need be, a cell phone and a credit card.
Oh, and some ibuprofen.
Exactly how man was meant to live.
For a route, I picked the long way. I started yesterday (Thursday) on the Arizona-Utah border along the shores of Lake Powell where Highway 89 begins its 500-mile serpentine through the Beehive State.
If all goes well, I'll finish where Highway 89 gives way to Idaho along the shores of Bear Lake.
Besides beginning at the state's biggest man-made lake and ending at its biggest natural-made fresh water lake, this route will take me through Kane, Garfield, Piute, Sevier, Sanpete, Utah, Salt Lake, Davis, Weber, Cache and Rich counties, as well as numerous towns and cities including, but not limited to, Hatch, Pop. 118, and Salt Lake City, Pop. 179,894.
Many of these municipalities along Utah's backbone know Highway 89 by its more familiar name of State Street.
Long before there were interstates, it was State Street that first
connected Utah. In many ways, I suspect it still does.
That's one thing I plan to check out. How much of Utah's pulse still resonates through the original major artery?
I am able to report I made it the 64 miles from the border just outside Page, Ariz., to Kanab without mishap. This was largely on account of there isn't much there, including dogs.
The route took me past Lake Powell and through Big Water, the place the late Alex Joseph named, was elected mayor of, and made famous or infamous, depending on your point of view, by living there with seven wives, and through a long stretch of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, the Clinton presidency's finger-in-the-eye to Utah that became a national preserve in 1996 and turned untouchable a space the size of Delaware.
I saw just four cars at the visitors center parking lot in Kanab. Rush hour in Grand Staircase.
As I started, I made a ceremonial tire dip with my back bike wheel in the waters of Lake Powell at Lone Rock Beach and plan to do the same with my front wheel at Bear Lake. Hopefully it will be the same wheel.
As I climbed the access road from Lone Rock back to 89, I raced a jackrabbit, who, according to my bike speedometer, was doing 24.5 miles an hour when he left me in the dust.
This could take awhile.
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.