Logan and I covered 211.2 miles of dirt roads, alpine trails, desert canyons, sandy slopes, rubber-lined rock, and even hot asphalt in 2.5 days. We crawled at 2mph and zoomed at 65mph. We rubbed through narrow gaps between trees and luxuriated in open spaces. We shivered in the cold and sweat through our shirts. We ate in a remote village cafe, at franchise fast food joints, and out of our backpacks. We yelled over engine noise and stood in silence. We discussed profound matters of the heart and laughed at double entendres. These three days in Central Utah left their mark on our friendship and our perspective.
This is my favorite picture from my trip with Logan to the Paiute Trail in Central Utah. This impressive machine let us get to places that would be unbearable to trek on foot. This powerful beast with LED fangs took us to several different kinds of landscapes and ecosystems that somehow hide only a few miles from each other.
On our last morning in the Marysvale/Monroe area, we attempted a trail that led to a very precarious ledge of loose rocks. I got hesitant in a technical spot, and the machine started to slide. Somehow, Logan managed to turn it around in a space only as wide as our RZR was long. As we drove back to the trailhead, we abandoned our plans and decided to burn a couple of hours in a part of the map that hadn’t previously drawn our interest. Man! I’m so glad we did. The trail through Albinus Canyon and Deer Creek Canyon turned out to be our favorite trail from the entire trip. We drove it twice.
If Logan and I ever return to Marysvale, UT, this section of trail will be mandatory. We got our heart rate up in some challenging climbs and descents. But we also got moments where we turned off the machine, inhaled a big breath of desert air, and surveyed the barely-tamed wilderness around us. Neither of us would’ve wanted to hike this canyon, especially in the heat. But driving it gave us moments of reflection and exhilaration, wonder and adventure.
We got a tip from a local legend, Milo Medley. He told us we’d want to drive up to the top of 11,000-foot Mount Monroe. After we set up our tents at the Manning Meadows reservoir, we had a couple of hours before sunset and a RZR with strong LED lights. I didn’t need dinner, and neither did Logan. On a lark, we drove up to the peak; and I’m so glad we did. I love places like this that remind me of the scale of my humanity: how little my problems and accomplishments both are in comparison to the world around me. These places fill me with wonder and gratitude. Holy ground can be anywhere, and I felt like Jesus had invited us up here
This part of the trail ride traversed a wide, well-maintained gravel road. Milo had told us we’d want to camp at the far end of this lake where “you’ll find a stand of trees.” He was right. We couldn’t see that campsite from here as we approached the lake, but we knew this was the place. I wanted to spend a night next to this serenity nestled in this bucolic high valley—more than 10,000 feet above sea level.
15-20 minutes before I snapped this picture, Logan and I had been standing (between piles of cow manure) down at Barney Lake, this remote alpine reservoir. Up over our right shoulders, we saw a pile of white rocks that looked like a miniature version of Devil’s Marble Yard back home in our local Virginia mountains. We had some time to kill before our planned lunch stop and decided to try a dead-end trail. Man! I’m so glad we did—and that we kept going past a turnaround spot we had considered. The trail ended in the middle of those white rocks—at this cleared space in the middle of the boulder field (where Logan masterfully turned this RZR around). I could’ve sat here for hours with a laptop and a camp chair. This verdant view contrasted the baked and brittle desert where we would spend the next day—as the crow flies maybe 2 miles from this lush valley
In contrast to the dusty trails of the arid canyon, we spent a day and a half meandering through lush alpine forests. I loved the stands of quaking aspens and Rocky Mountain Douglas-firs and the lupine and Indian paintbrush flowers that line the trails.
Logan and I share the same level of courage when it comes to driving a UTV in a remote place we’ve never been. Not too timid but not to brash. I loved riding in the passenger seat while he was driving, even in the technical sections. We had no idea on this second morning of our trip that this would be a luxurious amount of space for turning around compared to what we’d face on our last morning.
We may have discovered the best kind of camping there is. Car camping gives you showers and sinks but also a loop full of RVs and campers. Backpacking requires long, hard, sweaty climbs and going to bed a little crusty. But campaign out of a UTV lets you bring any gear you want to remote places. We had this entire lake to ourselves!
I wouldn’t buy a UTV because there aren’t a lot of places in the Blue Ridge mountains dedicated to their use or that’d give a chance to really open one up. (We did 65mph at one point in this RZR.) But I sure love renting them in remote places I’ve never been.
There’s a special kind of quiet after things have been really loud—literally, vocationally, or emotionally. When I shut the motor off, my heart felt at home here. I’ve already advertised 350 auctions this year. I needed this space from my inbox to fully exhale.
Next, we tried a controlled slide down this hill. A bit longer with a little bend partway down, this prepared us for the “Oh [poop]!” drops the next morning.
I’m grateful for my friend, Logan. Like other solid dudes in my life, he brings out the best in me and helps me feel like I don’t have to perform or play a role. We have conversations that I have with nobody else, and I’m a better man for them. 211.2 miles of dusty trails across mountains and desert flats in a UTV with a dude could test a friendship, but it only deepened ours. I’m grateful for the church that introduced us and the wives who bless our adventures together.
Logan is a filmmaker by trade. He brought some really cool cameras on this trip. Sharing an adventure with someone who looks at the world through the filter of capturing it enriches the experience for me. We gave each other permission to stop at any time and place for photo or video capture. Often we chose not to—including in some of the most indelible minutes of our exploration. Sometimes, only our own eyes can correctly absorb a vista. Sometimes, the only hard drive you need to burn an image to is the one in your cranium.
I’m a sucker for sunrises and sunsets ever since my formative years on the Chesapeake Bay. I hike or drive to scenic overlooks multiple times a week to watch them locally. Thanks to this Polaris, we were able to get to the peak of Monroe Mountain via a fun drive and then have the entire place to ourselves.
For the rest of our time in the mountains and valleys around Marysvale, Monroe, and Richfield, UT, we used these towers to orient us. I was surprised tourists are allowed up here. Out of frame to the left, big patches of snow lurked in the shadows—despite hot summer temperatures. We had flown out to drive a portion of the greater Paiute Trail system that was closed until the end of July because of snowpack.
A cinematography case and two duffels fit in the tiny bed of our RZR, all of them encased in dust after only a few hours of driving. We brought them with us 2 out of the 3 days we explored—just in case we decided to camp for the night. 
There’s a chapter in my upcoming book about how God hides his glory, how he creates beauty in places few, if any, will ever see. He puts frail things in remote and rugged places just for himself. I didn’t spend much intentional time with Jesus on this trip, but during the one short time I did, I ended up on this rock in the reservoir. And it was as if Omniscience whispered, “I’ve been waiting here for you.”
I am a slow, green-slope skier at best. No blues for me, let alone black diamonds. But I’ve now traversed some black-diamond ATV/UTV trails, and that puts a smile on my face.
Our airport rental Jeep was parked a good 30-40 minutes by UTV south of us. Any selection of open restaurants sat 35-40 minutes by UTV north of us. Our map showed a couple of streets available in that college town on which we could legally ride our RZR. Nobody batted an eye when we pulled up to a gas station or restaurant in our machine. I can only imagine the attention I’d get driving a Polaris on the streets of the college town where I live.
