The last few weeks we've gotten into a 'rut' of riding the deliciously tacky, texturous, and empty rock near Moab when time off has presented itself.
No rush, no agenda, just toodling, sessioning, and moving the picnic from one scenic spot to the next.
Forecast (back at home) called for grey fading to flurries. We chose wisely.
Chadly, post-headstand. You had to be there...
One of these years, it'll fall off. But it'll probably dissolve even sooner.
Someday Matt, all this can be yours...
We finished up as it faded to grey, then drove out through flurries.
Greatest rut on earth.