The wind picked up as we pedaled rolling gravel road. There was more parking ahead, but we didn't come to drive - we had done enough of that. With the sounds of the cars on the highway fading behind us, a gusty tailwind shoved us along, stinging our calves with sand.

The route wends through a wash shaded with cottonwoods, in striking opposition to the surrounding pastel-green sun-baked desert, geologically known as the Morrison Formation - an ideal place to film a B-grade trans-galactic space epic. The road wants to crimp into singletrack, uncharacteristic of popular area rides. Once clear of the random gear-popping sand traps, the trail picks up the pace then divides into either a smooth spin or a rocky grind - your choice - and rejoins farther along the road.

With some narrow maneuvers behind us we rejoined the rough road, enjoying its rising and falling. It seemed more like rising, a notion expressed through my wheezing. For a mellow ride, it's every inch of a seven-mile climb, transitioning onto sandstone. Not postcard slickrock you write home about but a slanted plane of coarse Entrada sandstone, often jointed and rippled, in shades of gray or white. Scary fissures that threaten to swallow a front wheel sever the route. Large boulders loom and cast shadows. Sandy gravel hillsides slowly erode, propping flowers that burn color into salty eyes.

The evidence shows that there was something here before our arrival. During the late Triassic period about 220 million years ago, bipedal carnivorous dinosaurs called Theropods hunted this area. They left footprints by the thousands in what was a muddy plain. The tracks were preserved under sedimentary deposits, leaving them to be exposed millions of years later. While most of the tracks we found were relatively small, Theropods include Tyrannosaurus Rex. At 7 metric tons, that was one giant bird lizard.

On track in our Quaternary period, overly enthusiastic mountain bikers stomp in the footsteps of the Paleontologic forerunners, unleashing terrible roars, eyeing the girlfriend as an opportune meal. After some fierce, clandestine dino-battles, we carried on.
Safely through Theropod territory and back on singletrack, the terrain gets moody. The slickrock here can be surfed like a wave. That tilted slab begs a gap jump. The possibilities are endless. Pedaling the hardest lines yet, around big rocks and up "balancy" single track, a gate and a bike rack appear. Here is Arches National Park. Put your $10 away; entrance is free at this access point.

In this tiny corner pocket of Arches, you could spend the day exploring, contemplating or just napping in the sun. The pinnacle for most rides in Moab has a crowd but instead we found solitude. We lingered at the edge of a modest bluff, inhaling bagels along with the clean desert air. The La Sal Mountains stand tall in the distance, overseeing the Moab Valley where people waited in lines, set up camps and purchased t-shirts . . . engine fumes, shiny bikes . . .  everyone trying hard to get away. We did get away, from the hustle and the fuss of below. We had all the "get away" we needed on Klondike Bluffs, plus one another, splendid views and the promise of a thrilling ride down.