Before I could even get two feet on the bone-dry Utah soil, Justin began urging me to get geared up if I didn't want to get left behind. Some of Justin and Geoff's most powerful childhood memories were formed on the tranquil banks of their top-secret fishing hole, and he was itching to show it off. Our destination would be the incredible Lost Lake. The Lost Lake Trail wasn't your average double-track trail as it ran through the leftovers of jagged volcanic action called lava rock. I live for riding the backcountry, but riding over the earth's "projectile vomit" upped the radness factor. If only the "it's only a 10-minute ride dude" wasn't closing in on a one-hour trip. My keen sense of navigation skills kicked in, which I attribute to the times my mom tried to leave me in the dog food aisle, and I questioned Justin on just how "lost" Lost Lake was. The lake was supposed to be about 15 miles from the Dawes' family cabin near Strawberry Point. Granted, on technical terrain that takes a while, but I shouldn't have had time to remember every brand of dog food available when I was 14, so I grabbed the map. We were as lost as the damn lake. "But I was here just a few weeks ago," protested Justin. After about 30 minutes of making fun of him, we decided it would be best to ride the 650 Brute Forces back to the cabin.
This is when it happened; the most intense and incredible ride of my life. We rallied back up that trail full speed. With my peripheral vision blurred green and yellow from the fall aspens, I felt like an ewok screaming through the forest moon of Endor. Earlier, we had carefully chosen our path to avoid tire puncture, but this time it was an all-out race. As we kept the throttles pinned, the quads miraculously floated over large rounded boulders, slick wet tree stumps and sharp tire-gouging lava rocks and climbed up insanely steep embankments. Crashing on this treacherous and unpredictable terrain was not an option! It would remove your skin like cheese on a grater. We abused the machines to their max and luckily only destroyed one tire. Or more specifically, Geoff did. Luckily, when we returned, the guys' grandparents reluctantly let us borrow a replacement. I honestly thought the machines would have and should have been trashed after screaming abusively through the insane lava-laden terrain that people in these parts call trails.
Having some serious mental issues, one of them Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder or ADHD, my mind is constantly running a million mph with numerous thoughts intertwining. Worries, fears, girlfriend, work-everything at once. It makes me very anxiety ridden. But this trail, this ride, these people all put me in an almost meditative state. It was pure bliss. I didn't focus on whether my skills were good enough to be riding with two former factory test riders. My ego didn't block me from smiling. I didn't get squeamish riding along big drop-offs. My mind was clear and centered on what I was doing: riding and ripping through technical rock at a ludicrous speed, dodging the huge boulders, jumping the slippery tree roots and ignoring the deadly jagged rock. Sounds strange to call such an assault on the senses meditative, but when every aspect of your being requires your undivided attention, you give it. It was an amazing experience and the earlier troubles of getting lost and missing the lake just disappeared.
The next day we began our ride and marveled about how the fuel injection automatically compensated for the high altitude and the cold morning. Plus, the V-twin on these machines outputs an amazing amount of power for tackling the technical obstacles we faced. Our tour goal for the day was to explore the lava tubes of Mammoth Cave. Thankfully, this time our destination didn't have "lost" in the title. When we arrived, I once again questioned Justin's navigation skills. All I could see ahead of me was a large lava field, but as we continued suddenly a hole about 75 feet across opened up to swallow part of the earth.