Island in the Sky: Riding the White Rim Trail

As I roll towards the edge of the canyon it feels like a stage curtain is rising, revealing the opera unfolding below. Shafer Trail drops down into the valley with a series of exposed switchbacks, like the walls of a huge amphitheater, setting the scene for the surreal world I am about to enter. Here, the earth reaches up to cradle me in its sprawling hands on the crumbling edge of the canyon’s rim.

A great motorcycle ride often unfolds in chapters, allowing you to move through yourself as you move through the landscape. You change, reflect, grow and expand as you overcome obstacles, marvel at the vistas, and emerge from the experience subtly transformed. For 100 miles through one of the American West’s harshest deserts, this is what the White Rim Trail does—offering a moment to test yourself against edges and abysses, marvel at the raw beauty of the canyons, and escape into an era lost in time.

Redd gazing at the endless sandstone labyrinth.

I first came to the Canyonlands on my pilgrimage across the West in 2021—a shakedown trip for my eventual journey to South America. The recent death of my father drove me to the road; the trip was a chance to sort through waves of grief in the isolation chamber of my helmet. In the canyons of Moab, I found the solace I was looking for, brushing up momentarily against a pure expression of the vastness of the world laid bare. Feeling the tiny insignificance of a human life, but also the grand resilience of all living things; from the small kangaroo mouse scrounging seeds in the desert to the prickly-pear cacti clinging onto life on harsh layers of windswept stone, blooming briefly and vibrantly. Growing up in the lush and verdant Pacific Northwest forests, this place felt like an absence. For my heart, the desert was a place for grief to blow across like the wind.

At the time of this pilgrimage, I had neither the skill off-road, nor the required supplies of water, food, and tools to ride the entirety of the White Rim Trail safely. Entering it briefly, camping on the most approachable of the sites, it was a place that touched me deeply with its power. I always dreamed of returning one day, and this spring, that chance suddenly arose.

Redd’s first encounter with Canyonlands in 2021.

• The Trail

Before the National Parks existed, a road was blasted and carved into the stone by uranium prospectors, hoping to find deposits of the element that fueled Cold War weapons. The layers of sandstone and labyrinthine canyons proved to be barren in this regard, revealing no grand deposits. Yet once Canyonlands was established as a park in the 1960s, the White Rim Trail (WRT) was preserved so visitors could experience this generally unapproachable terrain. From the entrance at the Shafer Switchbacks to the exit at Mineral Bottom Road, the White Rim Trail itself is approximately 71 miles long. With a departure from Moab and exit to the highway, the loop is 120 miles. This road has never been paved and is rarely maintained, shifting and transforming through the seasons as stones crumble and sands drift across the mesa. While not especially technical in favorable conditions, the isolation and lack of any services make this a more demanding ride. It’s possible to complete the trail in a day, and many dirt bikers do. The more beautiful way to appreciate the White Rim is to camp somewhere along it, in one of the 10 official camping zones, which allows for a much deeper experience of this otherworldly place.

Riding along the White Rim Trail with a distinctive mesa on the horizon.

A unique aspect of the WRT is that you can only ride it with a permit from the National Park Service. There are day-use permits for driving the road often available at the last minute, and camping permits which book out for the peak seasons of spring and fall months in advance. Yet if you have the flexibility for a spontaneous visit, there are often cancellations of campsites about two weeks out. This is how I scored a camping spot at Hardscrabble Canyon and found myself unexpectedly plotting a return to the trail. Unlike most off-road trails in Moab, the White Rim is only for street-legal on-highway vehicles with registration. This, along with the low permit numbers each day, has kept the trail free from the hordes of side-by-sides that tear through the surrounding landscapes and degrade trail conditions with their careless use.

A watercolor of Redd’s DR650 in the ancient canyons.

• Ready for Launch

With my partner Steve and our friend Pat, I set out on a bright spring morning to finally attempt the entire White Rim Trail. With many miles and experiences under my belt, the gaping mouth of the Shafer Switchbacks no longer terrified me as they had at first sight. Many of the obstacles on the trail are an illusory mind-game of sorts—not overly difficult, but with elevated stakes due to the steep drops and sudden edges of the towering canyon walls you will traverse.

One of the challenges of completing the trail as an overnight motorcycle expedition is carrying enough supplies, especially drinking water. In the arid, often scorching desert conditions, the National Park Service recommends one gallon of water per person per day. We loaded up our bikes like dromedaries—water strapped in pouches and pockets to all the available surfaces on our machines. This proved to be an unstable solution almost immediately when Pat raced off on his KTM 890 at rally pace, and one of the soft waterbags popped like an overripe melon only a mile into the ride.

Hill climbs at Hardscrabble that inspire and challenge you.

We gulped down what remained of the precious liquid and carried on through the maze-like landscape of towers and crags. Rock features named like chapters in a story, The Washer Woman, Murphy’s Hogback, and the ominous Hardscrabble Hill. Throughout the ride you follow along the white upper layer of rock deposit that gives the White Rim its name, carving a course around the base of the Island in the Sky mesa. While I have heard it said that the White Rim Trail is a “beginner ride,” for me it held a variety of trials and obstacles. The greatest is likely endurance—between the unforgiving desert sun, and mile after mile of staccato sandstone ledges bouncing and pounding my Suzuki DR650, I found fatigue the toughest aspect to manage. There are a few spots of deep sand to negotiate which can be difficult on a heavier bike, but also sections of sandy two-track that can catch you off-guard with their rattlesnake-weave if you are not focused fully on the trail ahead.

The switchbacks that call to every rider who craves challenge.

• Getting Technical

I had done my research and knew to expect two tricky hill climbs along the trail. Yet when the exposed ridge of Murphy’s Hogback reared up before me from the vast plain, it still sent my heart skipping like a river stone. The climb up is at a sickening incline, with a dizzying exposed drop, and sugarcoated with a layer of powdery silt. Muttering a mantra of “Stay on the pegs, stay on the throttle, you can do it!” through clenched teeth while never glancing down, I somehow made it up. A spellbinding vista of the Canyonlands unfurled all around, which I had been unable to take in during the tunnel vision ascent. High on this sky island, we shared our snacks with a grateful troupe of mountain bikers and drank in the seemingly infinite views.

Conquering Murphy’s Hogback Hill Climb. | Photo Credit: Pat Minnear

Riding through this terrain is as close as you can get to riding on Mars, and time after time I found myself stopping to soak in the otherworldly surroundings, feeling like an astronaut setting foot on an undiscovered planet. There is something about the vastness of the Canyonlands that does not come across in photos—its scale is overwhelming as it engulfs you.

Rolling into our campsite in the late afternoon, dusty, worn, yet grinning from ear to ear, we set up our camp among the black brush and spring wildflowers. Spending a night in a place this remote is almost a holy experience. Each campsite is isolated several miles from the others, allowing you to truly experience the isolation and silence of the Canyonlands. A silence or rather stillness that transports you an eon into the past with only a rare airplane echoing in the canyons to break the spell momentarily.

Spending a night in a place this remote is almost a holy experience.

The great desert poet Edward Abbey called this stillness “A suspension of time, a continuous present.” Spaces where you can still feel this aloneness are a rare treasure in our frenzied crowded world. Waking in the night, I was astounded by the spectacle of stars visible through the sheer net of our tent, the thick blanket of the Milky Way pressing down on the black sandstone walls. It was a glimpse into ages even greater and brighter than those that shaped the mesa.

At times it seems this mercurial landscape is ruled by the whims of trickster gods. The mocking chatter of inky black ravens, and the yipping cries of coyotes in the distant valleys seemed to sneer at the human folly of entering a place this primal and wild.

We awoke in the morning to find one of our bikes would not start, and the Colorado River had flooded its banks and drowned the trail ahead in waist-deep water. Through sheer serendipity, we joined forces with another group of travelers confronted by the same river puzzle. They agreed to ferry the uncooperative 890 through the river on the hitch-carrier of their truck. The rest of us banded together to get the remaining bikes across the flooded arroyo, pushing and riding them through the silty water to safety on the other side.

An unexpected flood added an interesting “turn” to the ride.

For a ride like this, you need contingency plans, companions you can trust, and a bit of luck on your side. In a place this wild and raw, you will always be confronted with unique conditions and challenging situations, but the reward for braving the cliffs and canyons of the trail is great. I’m already dreaming of my next return to this Island in the Sky, and the ways the desert will continue to teach me and change me in unexpected ways.

Redd Walitzki is an artist, explorer, and avid naturalist. For several years, Redd has been wandering in the wild beautiful spaces from North to South America, sharing the discoveries they find on the way. ReddWalitzki.com | Instagram @explo.redd