There is a type of man to whom time and lifestyle bestows a certain kind of hair. Matt has this hair, a wonderful snowy bulb offset by the deep tan of a life spent outdoors. Matt hands my bike up to Dave, who is stood on top of the Ford Excursion; Dave square-jawed, ex-military and easily 6ft 5in; the Excursion a true American also, with seats like sofas and wheels like a tractor. At 4.30am Matt’s sun-visor seems comically redundant, his easy smile in stark contrast to my stinging eyes.
The duo work for Rim Tours, Matt as owner, Dave as guide, and our objective in being up so early and starting this ride not on our bikes but in the truck is to reach the canyons in time to see the sun rise. For any prospective Moab gravel rider, a self-supported day is feasible, but the going rate in a town where 5,000 locals support five million adventuring tourists annually is that you ride as part of a tour group. The wilds can be pretty wild. Blowing a tubeless tyre out here could result in the plot for a moderately successful survival film. In fact, Aron Ralston, who hacked off his own arm after it got stuck under a boulder (an incident portrayed in the movie 127 Hours), was hiking nearby in Bluejohn Canyon.
Beyond the city limits we are the only visible light save for the returning flashes of nocturnal creatures’ eyes
Beyond the city limits we
