back in the uc
May 26, 2011
I’m about six weeks into my new life working in the UC, where I work roughly 100 yards, give or take, from the shooting range trailhead.
In a bit of odd karma, I think my cube might be the same cube I had for my first job out of college, long long ago. Same building, even most of the furniture seems the same.
And, I’m back on trails I first rode almost 20 years ago. In fact, maybe this is a good time to relate the origin of the name Frank.
When I worked at WordPerfect, back in 91, Bob and I used to head up the dirt roads, past the water tank area, in the Orem foothills. This is before Ricky got back on dirt, and before Elden abandoned his rollerblades.
Sometimes Bob couldn’t go, and I would just wander the hills, following old deer tracks. After a while, I started leaving little pieces of duct tape on scrub oak branches so I could retrace routes.
And finally, I got the whole gang out for a ride, including Stuart, Jeremy, Scott, Bob, Brent, Ryan, Greg, Rick, and probably some others. We started at the Chevron at the mouth of Provo canyon, headed up the paved trail, turned left at the park, up the shale, into Johnson’s Bowl, up what they now call Dragon’s Back, through the dirt gate, along the upper road a bit, and then up the Great Western to what we called the Pile of Rocks (now called the Altar).
While we layed around the altar, trying to recover from the climb, basking in our own badassery, Ryan said “Hey dug, great route. What are you going to call it?”
I was still trying to catch my breath, and had blood pouring out of my ears from the climb, so I couldn’t answer.
But Brent didn’t miss a beat, and chirped “How about Frank?”
And bien Voila! Frank was born. [NOT Frank’s. Just Frank.]
After a couple years of refining the routes, regulation frank, lower frank, upper frank, hard frank, francisco, and all that, I moved north, and spent the next decade or so not riding Frank and surrounding environs.
The natives have been restless. They built (using the time-honored method of just marking and riding until a trail appears) dozens of miles of fantastic trail in the intervening years. I am pleased. They have not buried their talents in the ground. If Frank was Stonehenge, the new trail network down here is the London Tube. Or if Frank was a Yugo, the new network is a Hummer. So to speak. Anyway, it’s better.
I can’t remember the last time me n ricky n elden got out for a dirt ride. That may have more to do with my age than anything. But we rode together, and it was good.