Vengeance in the Swell – Arthritis Edition

[LicketySplit]

Chapter 1 - The Cathedral Mirage

When the morning cracked open bright and raw, they rolled south toward Cathedral Valley, engines growling low like lions waking up. The land stretched out before them — red cliffs like fortress walls, white spires like cathedral steeples clawing at a savage sky.

Here, the dirt was looser, softer under the knobbies, the kind that drifted into rooster tails and begged for wide-open throttles. The riders answered, scattering dust devils in their wake, their shadows thrown long and lean across the ground.

Every turn brought another jawbreaker view — stone monoliths standing lonesome and proud, old as sin, unconcerned with the troubles of man. It was a place that made a rider feel small, and yet somehow… invincible.

By noon, they found a wide slab of slickrock and laid down for a rest, helmets as pillows, boots still dusted in the color of old blood and old battles.

Overhead, buzzards circled high — but not for them. Not today.

Today, they were kings.

Outlaws.

Free.

And the Swell, for a little while longer, belonged to them.

 

[SpiritAtBay]

Great pix!

Oh, and writing too!

 

[gixxerjasen]

LicketySplit looks like he knows where to go.

And he of course got us lost.

 

[SpiritAtBay]

Random shots (now that I can)

 

[LicketySplit]

Chapter 2: Ghost Trails Behind the Reef

Now that we were in the Swell—truly in it, boots and bikes and bone creaks deep in the Jurassic folds—there was one thing that became clear:

We’d lost the posse.

Whether they peeled off on purpose or got swallowed by one of the Swell’s many sandstone secrets, we couldn’t say. But it was just Gixxerjasen and Licketysplit now, two seasoned shadows drifting through a land that had buried more than a few secrets. And we weren’t exactly in a rush to go find anyone.

Behind the Reef, time stretched out like the dust trails behind our rear tires—long, sunlit, and full of whispers. This wasn’t just a ride anymore. It was an exploration, a chance to poke around where the maps go fuzzy and the rocks remember things.

We took our time. The kind of time you earn after years of blown gaskets and stiff knees, where every turn isn’t just a corner but a choice. Behind the Reef, the sandstone doesn’t shout; it mutters. And if you listen long enough, it tells stories of men with bandanas over their faces and posses that never came back.

We found old cattle routes etched into the earth like scars, a dry tank or two, and a wash so twisted it looked like it had been carved by a drunk god with a dull knife. Licketysplit’s bike burped and sputtered on a steep climb, but it held. Gixxerjasen scouted a line that wasn’t really a line, just a hunch and a heartbeat. Out here, that’s enough.

There were no deadlines, no meetings, no backstretchers. Just rock, throttle, and the occasional wind-blown reminder that solitude isn’t the same as loneliness.

We dropped into canyons with names no one ever bothered to give—just slashes in the earth where the light only made it down for an hour or two a day. The trail, if you could call it that, braided through rock shelves, dry waterfalls, and the kind of ledges that made you lean forward and say a little prayer to the clutch gods.

 

[gixxerjasen]

We rode behind the reef today. We managed until LicketySplit's fallopian tubes flared up in a sketchy downhill and he forced us to turn around and ride back. I wanted to continue but who am I to put pressure on the guy who has taken a helicopter ride out of this region.

 

[LicketySplit]

KubotaMike was the only one who hadn’t shaken the posse. Whether by loyalty, bad luck, or the sheer stubbornness baked into his bones, he’d tracked their ghost trail deep into the Swell’s crumpled heart. The sun hung high and mean overhead, throwing shadows sharp as knives. When the dust finally settled, there he was—laid out in the dirt beside his bike like a man freshly shot off his horse. For a long moment, he didn’t move. The wind held its breath. Even the lizards paused to pay their respects.

But death would’ve had to stand in line behind arthritis, dehydration, and general orneriness if it thought it could take KubotaMike that easy. His limbs twitched first, slow and uncertain, like an old dog waking up from a nap he wasn’t sure he wanted to end. One eye squinted open. The other stayed shut, maybe out of protest. He gave a grunt that sounded like a carburetor trying to start in winter, then reached for his canteen with the tragic grace of a man who’d just realized he wasn’t actually dead—just tired, sore, and thirty miles from the nearest shade.

 

[TNC]

Awesome stuff. Louis L'Amour would be proud.

 

[Vinny]

Far from everywhere

 

[LicketySplit]

Chapter Seven: Flight to the Roost

The posse regrouped in Hanksville, sunburned and scattered, but still breathing. Nobody asked how—we just nodded like men who’d outrun worse. Trouble was close behind, and the only place left to run was the Roost.

Robbers Roost. Butch’s old sanctuary. A twisted nest of stone and shadow where maps went to lie and engines echoed like gunfire. We didn’t need a vote. We filled our tanks, tipped our hats to the gas pump, and rode.

 

[Tourmeister]

There's that nice gas station next to the hotel in Hanksville, right on the left of 95 as you roll into town. They have awesome milkshakes and good food! The hotel next door is nice as well and not to pricey.

 

[LicketySplit]

Well, most of us managed to fill our tanks. Jredford was just gettin’ started when the posse came stormin’ out from behind Stan’s Burger Shak like rattlers outta a cookpot.

One of ‘em let fly a shot—loud, wild, and useless as a screen door on a submarine. If they could shoot worth a ****, we’d be laid out in the parking lot, cooling off permanent.

But instincts run deep in old outlaws. JT, Gina, and KubotaMike lit out fast, tires spittin’ gravel as they vanished into Gray Valley like ghosts on borrowed time. Lickeysplit, Jredford, Gixxerjasen, Grommet, and Rollin spun toward Poison Spring, engines howlin’ like they’d just robbed a train. Two trails, one goal: make the Roost before the noose got tight.

We made a mad dash for the Dirty Devil, engines screaming, bikes bucking like wild mustangs smelling the river. The sun was low and mean, casting long shadows that looked like ambushes.

None of us said it out loud, but we all wondered the same thing: was the posse waiting there, rifles resting on rocks, smiles full of revenge? The Dirty Devil’s canyons had a way of swallowing men whole—and today, it might not bother to spit us back out.

 

[LicketySplit]

As they crested the ridge, the land dropped away like a broken promise, and there it was—the Dirty Devil, snaking through the canyon below, muddy and mean, like it was guarding secrets it aimed to keep.

We glassed the canyon from the ridge—no dust trails, no glint of sun off rifle barrels, no sign of the posse. Just the river winding lazy and brown through the stone, like it didn’t care who lived or died above it. It felt wrong to feel lucky, but we did.

For the first time all day, no one was chasing us, and no one was bleeding. We parked the bikes in the shade of a twisted juniper, dropped our gear, and took a long, silent break—just us, the breeze, and the Devil down below.

We picked our way down toward the Dirty Devil, engines coughing in low gear, brakes whispering against gravity. The trail was more rumor than road, carved by time and fools, and we rode it like men hoping the snowmelt hadn’t turned the river against us. When we reached the bank, we stared into that muddy water—cold, swift, and silent.

No bottom in sight. Just shadows moving slow beneath the surface, like the river was thinking things over.

“It ain’t deep,” he said, with the confidence of someone who’d either crossed it before—or just didn’t care if he drowned. “C’mon boys, let’s go.”

And just like that, the silence broke. Engines fired, boots kicked up grit, and one by one we rolled toward the Devil’s mouth, hoping he was in a merciful mood.

 

[TNC]

And the next installment of this epic drama...they all drowned.

Actually that looks doable this time.

 

[LicketySplit]

The far side of the Dirty Devil didn’t offer no handshake—just a steep, rocky climb that looked more like a bad idea than a road.

We clawed our way up, one boulder at a time, bikes groaning, clutches begging for mercy. Nine miles of sweat, swearing, and stubbornness got us to the top, and that’s when we saw ’em.

One shot cracked and echoed off the canyon walls—clean and mean. It grazed Grommet’s shoulder and knocked him clean off his bike, gear clattering like a dropped saddlebag full of silver.

For a breath, we thought he was done for. But Grommet popped up cussing and bloody, more mad than hurt. He gave his bike a once-over, kicked it back to life, and without a word, we kept riding. There wasn’t time for pain—not with the canyon swallowing us back up like it hadn’t finished with us yet.

Once again, the trail to the Roost was shut tighter than a rusted gate. Blocked by guns, stone, and bad luck. No way forward, no way around. The Roost would have to wait. With the sun sinking low and our patience lower, we did the only thing left—doubled back, chewing the same dust we’d just laid down, like dogs chasing our own tails through Poison Spring once more.

 

[LicketySplit]

Runnin’ like ****, we tore back through Poison Spring, engines howlin’ like a pack of wolves with fire at their heels. No time to think, barely time to breathe.

The canyon walls blurred past, and every turn felt like it might be our last. By the time we hit the Dirty Devil again, we were half-crazy from the heat and the racket, but we were alive—and that river never looked so **** good.

Cassidy Camp wasn’t just any flat spot in the desert—it was where Butch himself once watered stolen horses, pausing before driving them up and over the western slope.

You could almost hear the hoofbeats in the dust, feel the weight of stolen saddlebags in the air. We rolled in quiet, like we didn’t want to wake the past.

There was a kind of sacred stillness there, like time had bent just enough to let us step into it. Sitting around the fire that night, beat to **** but grinning, it hit us—we were living out the same kind of outlaw tale, a hundred years later, riding machines instead of horses, but chasing the same freedom under the same wide sky.

 

[bwdmax]

Man all I could see was the snake scene from Lonesome Dove. Don't stall on me now!

That section after you crossed the Dirty Devil is a great section flowing through those canyons.

 

[LicketySplit]

I agree Gary. It was nice to be able to ride it after the dead cow incident. We almost made it to the Doll house but ran out of time.

 

[gixxerjasen]

I agree Gary. It was nice to be able to ride it after the dead cow incident. We almost made it to the Doll house but ran out of time.

Some of us ran out of skill too!

 

[LicketySplit]

Some of us ran out of skill too!

I don’t know who you are talking about. You did great.

 

[kubotamiketx]

Gang, I am out of the hospital and checked in at a hotel in Grand Junction with my wife who flew in today. We fly home tomorrow morning to start my recovery. Thank you all for the help getting off the trail and to the ER. You are the best!!! Gina and JT have my truck, bikes and trailer heading to Arizona then Texas, what an amazing effort to help me out!!!

 

[TNC]

Uh oh...what happened?

 

[LicketySplit]

Hey Mike,

I am real happy to hear you are out and on your way home. Let me know when you are ready for a visit and I will drop by.

FYI - just a simple get off really with some damage to the lower right leg.

 

[gixxerjasen]

Mike was on his phone looking for satellite SMS messages as we were waiting, and then I notice he's changed the angle of the camera, and dang it, I caught him sneaking that photo!

Hopefully this post finds Mike sitting comfy at home with a beverage in his big easy chair.

 

[kubotamiketx]

Making my way back with my wife. In Phoenix airport on our last leg. JT‘s got my truck trailer and bikes and Gina are Making Their Way, Phoenix for the night and then he’ll continue on Texas once again. I can’t thank everybody enough. Lickety-split was awesome. Taking me to the hospital at 3 AM.

I will be home with a cocktail sometime tonight