The Dirt On Sanchez

When somebody asks you to ride, say yes.

Last week Ben mentioned he was heading to Brianhead for the holiday weekend and asked if I wanted to come.  It actually seemed like he was just being courteous, or possibly bragging about the fact that he was going on a cool road trip.  I wasn’t sure how my wife would feel about a dude trip over a holiday weekend and I told him I’d think about it, but not to hold my spot.  The next day he pressed me for an answer and I said I’d talk to my wife and let him know that night.  My wife was actually pretty easy to convince and I was in.

I would come to realize that this road trip was a little more than a few sweaty dudes living on beef jerky and energy drinks.  This was the Team Sanchez Reunion trip.  Team Sanchez, is one part mountain bike club, one part biker gang.  It all began in St. George where Ben and his cohorts began riding and building stunts and trails in the desert.  With an emphasis on big bikes, and big stunts.  They built things with names like The T-bag, The Cocaine Jump, AMA(Against Medical Advice?), and The High Dive.

This pilgrimmage to Brianhead became a right of passage in the group.  One of the founding fathers and Dixie Chapter president Tyler Twiggs has a family cabin at Brianhead.  And by family cabin, I mean luxury estate with ten bedrooms,  a half  dozen or so bathrooms,ski-in/out access in the winter, three fireplaces, theater room, three car garage, and unencumbered view of the ski-resort.

The Dixie crew is only an hour or so away, but since Ben moved to Utah County the reunions have become a little more important.  As evidenced by the outpouring of man-on-man affection that occurred as each one of the Sanchez Crew would arrive.  With each firm handshake evolving into the still-hetero, one arm hug and firm back-slap.

ZenMasterKenny also scored an invite, and we had been told to bring two things, a towel to save having to wash the linens before we left, and “whatever body-armor you have”.  Which for me consisted of my XC helmet.   As the initiated showed up, they unloaded huge duffle bags with shin guards, knee pads, chest protectors, full-face helmets, goggles,and neck braces.  For some reason, even at this point I wasn’t overly concerned.  Although I have been aware that there was some supposedly great riding at Brianhead, I didn’t really know what it consisted of.  But how tough could it be?  Even the Sanchez boys kept referring to the trails as cross-country style riding.

Friday night, we all stashed our bags and then loaded the bikes up and headed for the summit to ride the “old” Dark Hollow Trail.  So far there were nine of us.

The calm before the storm.

On the ride up to the summit, discussions regarding bike weight  involved being back over 45 pounds after mounting the new tires.  Overwhelmingly the weapon of choice for Team Sanchez is the Turner Highline .  Most with dual-ply, 2.7 or bigger tires.  Hammerschmidts, gravity-droppers, and bash guards also seemed to be required hardware.  The first and only climb of the ride was from the parking lot, a half-mile or so to the fork.  Though not particularly steep, or long, at over 10K ft of elevation, we were all panting pretty good by the time we regrouped at the first fork.  So far so good.

This must be where they invented the term "panoramic"

Then it happened, the front of the pack disappeared down the narrow rocky chutes in a cloud of dust and I tried to jump on as best as I could.  This was steep, rocky, loose, exposed, sketchy trail.  The type of riding that requires twice as much upper body strength than it does leg strength.  I was officially intimidated.  The grade of the trails had us off the barren summit and well below the timber-line in minutes.  At the first regrouping, Ben would point out that “..this is what I meant by being balls-deep in the forest by this evening.”

Damn, forgot my neck brace.

Whether it’s a lack of traffic, or the ravages of the bark-beetle, the trail was littered with huge deadfall and forearm sized logs that constantly forced split second decisions on whether to ride over, or around them.    All the while bracing yourself for the next off-camber 2-3 foot drop followed by a washed out ninety degree turn.  Soon we were below the pines  and into the aspens.

Twiggs shows us how it's done on a root-strewn steep drop.

One of only a few smooth sections.

The trail continued on like this until finally spilling out onto a dirt road and another regroup.  Having survived the onslaught, I was now faced with trying to keep up on a 35+mph descent of a fire road.  Each corner had big, sweeping berms to keep it interesting.  As much fun as you can have on a dirt road, and a fun way to end the ride and the day.

Back at the cabin, the creature comforts just kept getting better, with the lack of restaurant choices in the area, the guys take turns providing meals, and this is no Top Ramen affair.  A huge pot of spaghetti, with Ben’s wife’s “pink” sauce, texas toast, and brownies.  Both nights ended much the same, with too much food, a good recounting of the day’s events, and a stoke session in the theater room.

Well fed.

Saturday,  a few more guys showed up, and our biggest group was eleven strong for the ride down Hendrickson Lake, the same starting and ending point, just a different route down.  Although the trail was slightly less violent, the final switchbacks were butt-off-the-back steep with hairpin switchback and the rocks you knocked loose rolling past you on the hill.

Over the top towards Hendrickson

The logistics of shuttling eleven bikes and bodies was thankfully all figured out long before we got there.  And other than a few bumpy rides in the back of the truck it went swimmingly.

We did the math. $35K hanging out of this $40K truck

Either the bikes were holding me up, or I was holding up the bikes. Standing room only at 50 mph

The most cross-country ride of the day was Bunker Creek.  Although some of the body armor crowd abandoned us for the lifts, There was a definite scenery advantage to the trail.  With a total of maybe one mile of climbing, it was a good break from the fear factor style riding we had been doing.

Railing the turns in the ghost forest above Bunker Creek

A little climbing gives you a chance to catch the views.

Sanchez and Co.

Tired and dusty, we rolled into the Burger Barn at Panguitch Lake, where the Twigg-mobile was waiting once again to haul us back to a lack-luster mexican lunch and then to the cabin for a rest and a little bike wrenching.

The bike scale confirms a 20 pound difference between the lightest bike and the heaviest.

The final ride Saturday was Blowhard.  It was also the most involved shuttle.  The first waves of deserters had begun to leave and it was down to seven for this one.  Starting at the weather station we made our way across a meadow and what I can only assume is not the “official” start of the trail.  It starts out steep and gets steeper, following a powerline down the ridge.  A brake smoking, loose, sandy trail that seems like you need a top-rope to navigate.  The bonus is the cheap seats view of Cedar Breaks National Monument.

Courtney Love-Hewitt

Purty

Is it just Courtney, or is that an incredible rock?

Soon we were flying down more technical, fast, tight, singletrack.  Other than the huge shuttle distance to the canyon above Cedar City, this was the trail I enjoyed the most.  Filtering down from the mountain into a narrow canyon gouged into a cliff that most people probably aren’t even aware of as they drive by.

Another carb-loaded dinner, and farewells to a few more guys, another bike movie before bed and it was our last day.  An early start had the final six of us loading up and locking the door behind us.  Troy was headed home via the scenic route on his dual-sport and Twiggs and Ben volunteered to run one last shuttle for Kenny, Courtney, and me.  I have to admit to feeling like a moocher the whole weekend.  Treated like an honored guest, and given preferential treatment all weekend has me indebted to the all the Sanchez guys.  Our last trail was the “new” Dark Hollow Trail.  I don’t know why they couldn’t have just named it something else, but whatever.  It was a mix of everything we had ridden.   A little faster than Old Dark Hollow, a little rougher than Hendricksen Lake.  Kind of a greatest hits version of the weekend.

There is a brotherhood among these guys that a lot of people don’t ever get to have.  A broad range of socio-economical status, age, fitness, skills, religious views, etc.  Congratulations to Pasta Ben for being “patched” and becoming the newest member of the Brothers Sanchez.  I am officially submitting my application for Probationary status for the Northern Chapter.  Being “Jumped-In” might kill me though.

Hands down, the funnest road trip I’ve ever done.