Fat Bike Packing – Day 2, Soapstone

Back out on the open road I descended on into Soapstone Basin by following the switchbacks down the mountain-side. The road was beleaguered by trucks hauling smaller off-road vehicles. The men driving these trucks were of size. They never move a muscle in order to move about.

This is how the Terminator won the battle against humanity.

Water. The spigots were an oasis in a country that shouldn’t have been devoid of water. There was a river nearby. This seriously shouldn’t have been the first water I’d seen in so long but I failed to trust the sources I did see because of the large populations seemingly living in such close proximity. This water was good. No nasty flavor, no hint of chlorine. Hell, it may have been free of Fluoride. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a good thing.

I drank a bunch. Topped off my reservoirs and headed immediately out to find a place to camp. I wasted an hour thinking I could find a place just there off the road. But in the end I paid $20 for a spot over a the Soapstone campground. At least, I thought, there should be running water there. I was wrong. There wasn’t a single spigot that worked. Turns out that the only running water at a campsite was the Lost Creek site, some 15 miles up the road.

So I grabbed a sweet site in the middle of the campground close to a toilet. It was open and spacious, like a comfortable house. I had room to walk around and contemplate my existence. After setting up camp I grabbed my extra bladder and headed for the sanitary station once more 1 mile back the way I came. I was able to bring back one more gallon of water.

I used it all before I left camp the following morning. Mostly drinking it.

I never really took stock before when backpacking how much I used water at camp, between drinking and cooking, one gallon per person per night seems to be about par for me. The next time I do this I’m simply going to bring an empty jug. And planning routes around water is such a legitimate thing. Which isn’t a thing I’ve ever spent much time thinking about! While backpacking in the true backcountry I just grab water where I find it. But it always seems more common. With bike packing, as this was my first experience touring altogether, water stops seem more dispersed and something to consider while planning routes and camps.

With all the consideration for water, the other main concern was food. I had definitely brought enough, with an emergency supply of bars and electrolyte powder as a luxury, just in case. But I didn’t have anything else. Night took its time getting to camp, descending slowly as I ate some more oysters and mashed potatoes. That felt like a dinner I’d repeat and recommend to others.
The camps adjacent to me were literally all trailer or camper oriented. I was there with a bike, empty car park, and a lone single man tent. My experience was so completely opposite of my fellow campers that it was nearly only laughable.

I built a nice fire out of some scrap wood I’d found around the area. While I didn’t mind the solitude a fire is about as useful as a cold fire pit when you’re not sharing it with someone. My fire-ring companion is my wife. We always enjoy them together. This time, I was alone and staring blankly into a fire that simply burned for warmth. There was no social gathering around this fire.

About 9:30 I stuffed the fire out and headed for the tent. I tied the bike to a tree so that the local children would have a hard time borrowing it for the night. There were a lot of children about. And I slept really well that night. It was quiet except for the one guy with his generator running into the night and early in the morning. Not sure what he needed all that electricity for. Probably his electric toothbrush.

Fat Bike Packing Day 2 of 3 (cont)

Dry spigots. No water whatsoever. I had half a liter of water remaining from the last stop. And there hadn’t been much water to draw on between that point and Wolf Creek Pass. There was a family hanging out at the campground. They had children all about. The shade was cool. They were on their way out and kindly asked if I needed some water. I said I would love some. 1.5 liters later I was a bit less concerned about my situation and impending search for water. I could wait for water until I got to Soapstone Basin where I would be able to fill at the RV station.

I enjoyed my oatmeal for lunch with some coffee, to help speed my muscles’ absorption of the nutrients. I repacked my bags and made some modifications that I will use down the road to stabilize my bags.

These ideas proved to be gold. I lowered the front bag framework so it would hold the bag out of the way for my GPS unit so I could navigate without taking my hands from the bars. The saddle bag was creeping lower and lower and my rear tire would assault it from below. I made use of a cord to tether the rear of the bag to my saddle, drawing it tighter and hence up. This worked quite well. After one hour and twenty minutes at Wolf Creek it was 1:20 PM and time to move along. The clouds had moved in.

To Soapstone Basin:

Soapstone Basin is kind of activity hub along the Mirror Lake Highway. There’s a big pullout with an outhouse, standard Forest Service issue. Across the way is a scenic nature trail for those who want to get out of their car but retain great fear of being far from the road. A side road leads away from the highway and presents the RV sanitary station with sewage service and fresh water service. Further up the road are summer cabins, Forest Service cabins, the main area Guard Station, and the road continues up over the mountain to a pass also called Soapstone.

The road over the pass is steep in places. In order to avoid cutting down the mileage and riding really steep roads again I opted for a route that took me further out of the way but skirted the most significant climbing to the pass. The route would start right down the way from the Wolf Creek Campground where the spigots were dry.

This was a fantastic plan. I assumed since it was all Forest Service roads I’d have a clear shot to my destination. I did. As I headed out from the Wolf Creek Campground I took the highway east that lead toward Hanna. It was about a minute of pavement travel and then to dirt again as I turned onto FR174. I climbed and climbed. After two minutes of climbing I was on the descent. For miles and miles I rolled effortlessly through the undulations of the alpine hills.

Then the ATV in their million variety appeared on the road. It was like a super-highway of ATV, RV, side-by-side, motorcycles, and all the other funny, petroleum driven toys that folks never hesitate to haul into the backcountry. Every few minutes I was dusted entirely by the passing by of one of these powered vehicles.

About every twenty minutes or so I would pass a veritable village of RV’s. All corralled like the olden days when pioneers would circle their wagons for the night. Then, it was a survival thing. Today, not so much. They’ve brought the comforts of home to the backcountry in order to “get away”. That’s a little unbelievable. I was happy to zoom by quietly on my fat bike. The end of their kind is near. Petroleum based fuel prices will halt even the most stalwart redneck.

So, the climbing. I hit one decent climb that took about thirty minutes. On that climb traffic was so bad that I had to stop several times to let the myriad vehicles make their snail-paced way up and down the track. Ridiculous wasn’t the appropriate word. The only words for it are all offensive.

Then I crested the climb and came to a sandy quarry where four-wheelers were playing on mounds that had become something of a four-wheeler stunt park. The quarry was clearly used as the source for the road bed I had been riding. Moving past this point the road was literally all downhill, for nearly 11 miles. It was like a ski day.

I let the momentum take me along with it. My two wheels and gear coasted along some of the most scenic backcountry I’d ever seen in the Uintahs. It was breathtaking. There were alpine meadows, conifers as far as the eye could see, and this one dirt road cut across the southern part of it unobtrusively. The sky was blue with the occasional large cloud. The cloudy shade was nice. The altitude made the heat of the sun so much more radioactive, and it could be felt.

All the camps I passed were roughly all the same: RV’s everywhere and hordes of ATV’s outside. Except maybe a couple of them. One in particular had horses and one of the horses was eating grass untethered. That seemed to be a possible problem. I rolled right on by with no possible problems of my own.

I found one camp that had been vacated and if I’d had the water I would have camped there. But I didn’t. I was still on borrowed water. So I stopped there as if it were a gas station and ate some smoked oysters. The smoked oysters were probably the single best addition to my excursion’s meal plan.

While I was sitting there like a bump on a log, that lone, untethered horse ran by… followed by its owner on another horse. They didn’t come back. And I didn’t run into them when I headed that same direction. That horse was long gone. My fat bike was just hanging out, not running away from me, eating nothing but a little chain lube.