For 30 days, we rode our mountain bikes through some of the most jaw-dropping terrain in Utah and Colorado, tracing the Trans Rockies Connector trail from Salt Lake City to Boulder. Our route took us through towering mountain ranges, vast deserts, and everything in between, offering us a chance to test our limits, face unpredictable challenges, and discover the true meaning of adventure.
Our journey covered 1,600 kilometers, navigating steep climbs, rocky trails, unpredictable weather, and plenty of mechanical issues. We battled intense heat, bone-chilling cold, and countless thunderstorms, all while carrying everything we needed on our bikes. But beyond the physical struggle, it was the moments of unexpected kindness from strangers, the joy of reaching a hard-earned summit, and the quiet moments under the stars that made this adventure truly special.
Our bikepacking route (more or less):
A Jet-Lagged Start to the Journey
Salt Lake City to Affleck Park
We landed late, jet-lagged, and crashed at a hotel by the airport. After a quick sleep, we prepped our bikes and headed into town. A stop at REI for backpacker meals, gas, and a cooking pot, then it was back to sweating in 45°C heat.
Tired and still foggy from the flight, we started with an easy climb on a paved road. After 35 km, we reached a beautiful campground next to a stream. No reservation? No problem. The friendly host let us stay anyway.
When we asked about black bears, he laughed and said the real threat was elk. If we saw one, we were supposed to hide behind a tree. Great.
We pitched our tent, settled in, and enjoyed a peaceful first night under the stars—no bears, no elk, just pure adventure.
From Struggles to Surprises: A Day of Single Trails and Generosity
Affleck Park to Park City via Mormon Pioneer Trail
Jetlagged and slightly disoriented, we woke up early, had breakfast and packed up our bags. The first singletrack of the journey—a beautiful stretch of trail through forested sections of the Mormon Pioneer Trail and Pony Express—was a little reminder of how challenging riding a bike with 20kg of extra weight attached to it could get.
A pit stop in Park City led to an unforgettable moment when we met Seth, a former cyclist who generously invited us to his house for a shower, food, and a well-needed recharge, even though he and his family weren’t even at home themselves. He just said, he’ll leave the door open and tell the neighbors we’re coming. Five minutes later, another guy stopped and had a chat with us and left us with a $50 voucher for his wife’s bar the Alpine Distillery in Park City. Talk about unexpected kindness on the road! We headed to the bar, had a drink while feeling very out of place in our dirty MTB clothes and made ourselves at home at Seth’s place for the night.
Broken Gear, Deerflies, and Finding Solitude
Park City to Mill Hollow Reservoir
We woke up at Seth’s place and took our sweet time packing up—except for Till, who somehow managed to forget one of our charging cables (classic). The first part of the ride was a breeze: a smooth, tarmac descent with farms dotted along the way, perfect for easing into the day.
We stopped for lunch at a supermarket in Kamas, but, of course, things weren’t as smooth as they seemed. One of our two water filters had broken, so we went on a mini-quest to replace it. Our luck changed when we found a fishing shop, where Ben, the owner, came to the rescue. He didn’t have any filters for sale but just so happened to have the exact one we needed, and—like a true legend—gave it to us for a little donation. Saved by the fishing shop fairy!
The last 8 km were brutal—an endless uphill dirt road that felt like it went on forever. The horseflies were out in full force, and as soon as we stopped, we had a whole swarm of them attacking us.
Just as we arrived at the reservoir, the rain started pouring down. Of course. The campground there was nearly full, so we pushed on a little further uphill and found a perfect, secluded spot on the opposite side of the reservoir—completely alone, just the way we like it.
Filtering 12 liters of water in the rain wasn’t exactly glamorous, but the evening still turned out to be beautiful—peaceful, and quiet.
Sunrise Views, Crawfish, and a Perfect Lakeview Camp
Mill Hollow Reservoir to Strawberry Reservoir
We woke up to a stunning sunrise over the reservoir, with the sky turning every shade of orange and pink. The ride kicked off with a long-ish climb, but it was all worth it when we hit the epic downhill to Strawberry Reservoir—breathtaking views that made us forget about the sweat we’d just poured into the ascent.
We stopped for lunch at a restaurant by the water. Obviously, we went for the classic burgers and fries—because what else would you order?
Afterward, we ventured away from the crowds and went for a swim in the lake. I was all ready to dive in, but as soon as I saw the crawfish crawling around, I kind of freaked out. Not the peaceful swim I’d imagined.
The afternoon was all about chilling—did some laundry, soaked up the sun, and took a well-deserved breather.
Since camping by the water wasn’t allowed, we hiked up a hill and found a sweet, quiet spot just above the lake. It was the perfect spot to set up camp, away from the crowds, with a view that made the whole day feel worth it.
Mountain Glides, Gas Station Gourmet, and a Perfect Camp Spot
Strawberry Reservoir to Skyline Drive
The day kicked off with a smooth, rolling dirt road that made us feel like we were gliding through the mountains. After just an hour, we treated ourselves to an ice cream stop by the lake—because why not? The sun was shining, and we deserved it.
A short uphill later, we were rewarded with an incredible 27 km descent, filled with jaw-dropping views that made the climb feel like a distant memory.
We were heading into a super remote mountain area for 3-4 days without any resupply options. The only place we could restock? A gas station. So, we went "grocery shopping" at the gas station for a whopping $142. The selection wasn’t exactly gourmet: we picked up some questionable pre-peeled eggs, protein bars, cheese, and crackers—basically the mountain survival essentials.
After a few more kilometers on the highway, we turned onto “Skyline Drive,” which would be our home for the next few days.
We found an epic camp spot next to a river, and, of course, we had to take a refreshing cold bath in the water. We settled in, enjoyed the quiet, and went to bed early, ready for whatever the mountains would throw at us next.
From a Grueling Climb to Unexpected Hospitality by the Lake
Skyline Drive to Fairview Lakes
Today’s motto? *Up, up, up.* And up some more. Our legs were tired, the heat was relentless but the higher we got, the prettier the views got.
We had our eyes set on camping at Fairview Lakes, which looked like a dreamy spot on Google Maps—blue water, lush trees, the whole picturesque package. But when we got there, reality slapped us in the face: Fairview Lakes was private. The sign didn’t exactly say "welcome," so we decided to see if we could find someone and ask if there was any chance of pitching a tent somewhere nearby.
We snuck around the gate and knocked at the door of the first camper van we saw. And, as fate would have it, we met the Harrisons, a super chill family who spend their entire holiday there. They couldn’t have been more welcoming—offering us water like we’d just crossed the Sahara, and even making us dinner! Till got a juicy steak, while I got a zucchini from the BBQ (which, honestly, I was totally fine with).
Not only did they feed us, but they also pointed us toward a perfect little spot to set up camp just a short walk from the lake. We got exactly what we needed: good company, a good swim, and the perfect place to rest our sore, sun-baked bodies.
Kindness on the Road and the Leeches of Jet Fox Reservoir
Fairview Lakes to Jet Fox Reservoir
In the morning, we headed back to the Harrisons to fill up our water one last time, and they invited us to join them for breakfast. Over cheese omelets and coffee, they mentioned they were Trump supporters. Honestly, it didn’t even matter—these folks were so warm and friendly, that we didn’t feel the urge to discuss politics.
We finally hit the road around 11:30 am, thanks to Till and Mr. Harrison, who were deep in conversation about everything under the sun (mainly about our route and fishing).
We made our way further up Skyline Drive, and by early evening, we were dangerously low on water. Spotting two camper vans, we pulled over and asked if they could spare some. Turns out, they were some of the nicest people we’d met—after chatting for a while, they not only gave us water but also loaded us up with muesli bars, electrolytes, and—best of all—carrots! Fresh veggies in the middle of nowhere? Heaven.
We had planned to push on to Ferron Reservoir, but I was exhausted. When we passed Jet Fox Reservoir, I couldn’t resist—this was the place to stop. It was peaceful, secluded, and the water looked so inviting. I had visions of a refreshing swim and washing my hair, but when Till dipped his feet in and came out a few seconds later with his legs covered in leeches, my dream shower quickly turned into a nightmare.
Determined not to give up, we ran into the water, scrubbed ourselves as fast as we could, and sprinted back out, hoping the leeches didn’t hitch a ride.
At 3,200 meters, the night was chilly, but the stars were absolutely stunning—like a blanket of diamonds above us.
A Descent for the books
Jet Fox Reservoir to Ferron
We woke up with the rising sun, and thankfully, its warmth made the cold morning air a bit more bearable. After packing up our gear (the usual routine), we had a quick breakfast and set off toward the highest point of Skyline Drive at 10,897 feet.
And then—the fun part—a loooong descent began. We cruised downhill for what felt like forever, and after just a few kilometers, we stopped at Ferron Reservoir. It was gorgeous—crystal-clear water, peaceful surroundings, and, best of all, no leeches. So, naturally, we jumped right in for a refreshing swim.
From there, we continued the epic downhill to Ferron. In total, we dropped 1,500 meters of elevation over more than 20 kilometers. The scenery was unreal: one minute we were in lush, green forests at a cool 25°C, and the next—bam—we were in a desert landscape, sweating in 45°C heat. The shift in terrain was like going through multiple seasons in an hour.
After all that, we had a much-needed late lunch at a supermarket, then splurged and rented a cabin for the night. We plugged in all our devices, charged every single battery, and sank into a comfy bed. It was the kind of luxury you appreciate after days of roughing it.
The best day ever
Ferron to Temple Mountain San Rafael Swell
The Harrisons (the awesome family at Fairview Lakes) had recommended going to San Rafael Swell, so we decided to take a detour. The official route would’ve taken us a bit north, but there was no way we were missing out on that stunning landscape.
We chatted with some locals and double-checked Google Maps for water sources. The catch? There were no guarantees. So, we made the executive decision to carry all the water we’d need until the next morning. In the end, we were lugging around 20 liters of water between us. Not exactly lightweight.
The route was Till's design, so, naturally, there were a few challenges. We hit a super rough section that led down into a canyon and then, of course, back up again. Which didn’t seem very appealing considering the extra weight of the water, so we decided to take a shortcut on the freeway. Not our best move. It was busy, loud, and not exactly pleasant, but to our surprise, all the drivers were incredibly respectful and gave us plenty of space.
The real fun began when we had to get off the freeway. We ended up climbing over a fence - the only option - and finally got back on track. From there, it was nothing short of incredible.
The landscape felt like something straight out of Africa—vast, savanna-like views with red sand, massive rock formations, and wide-open spaces that screamed "Western movie." We had the whole place to ourselves—just us, the land, and a couple of rattlesnakes (probably).
As the day wore on, we rolled into the sunset, and the reds of the land grew even more vibrant. Then, just when we thought it couldn’t get more picturesque, a rainbow appeared in the rain clouds. It was like nature was showing off for us.
By the time we arrived at Temple Mountain Campground, it was pitch black, and once again, we had the whole place to ourselves. We set up our tent under a ribbed roof near some picnic tables, and spent the evening stargazing. The sky was insane—until a thunderstorm rolled in, complete with heavy rain, just as we were starting to drift off.
All in all, it was the best day on the bike ever.
Goblins, Sticky Clay, and Headwinds
Goblin Park to Green River
We kicked off the morning with a visit to Goblin Valley, hoping to see some quirky rock formations. The goblins are indeed a funny attraction, but honestly, with the tourists all around and compared to the jaw-dropping landscapes of San Rafael Swell the day before, Goblin Valley just wasn’t that impressive.
The rain from the night before had turned the trail into a slippery, sticky mess of clay. And, of course, I had a classic moment of grace—I slipped right into the gooey clay and ended up in a patch of thorn bushes. Luckily, I had packed tweezers (because who doesn’t?), so I spent the next 20 minutes delicately plucking thorns from my hand and arm.
The heat was brutal, and the next stretch was a soul-crushing, headwind-blasted highway slog. Every pedal stroke felt like we were pushing against a wall, and it didn’t help that we were surrounded by nothing but desert and a few scattered tumbleweeds. Tired legs, fried brains, and zero motivation made it feel like the longest stretch of our lives.
Eventually, we limped into Green River, where the supermarket became our sanctuary. We stocked up on dinner and breakfast, then found a campground that had an actual car wash—so, naturally, we washed the clay off our bikes, too. And just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, we discovered they had a laundromat. Clothes washed, bikes cleaned, and a great place to crash for the night. It wasn’t paradise, but it sure felt close after that grueling day.
Our First Proper Rest Day
Green River to Moab
We kicked off the day with what could only be described as a luxurious supermarket breakfast: protein shake, bread, peanut butter, and Greek yogurt. It wasn’t exactly pancakes and bacon, but hey, it got the job done.
Once we hit the road, the headwinds were, of course, *brutal*—the kind that makes you feel like you're cycling through molasses. For the first 40 kilometers, it was flat, featureless landscape under a blazing sun, and let’s just say Annika was *struggling*. Exhausted, overheated, and mentally checked out, we were all counting the kilometers until something interesting happened.
Thankfully, the afternoon redeemed itself as we rolled into Moab on a pristine recreational path—smooth tarmac, all downhill, and views that made everything else worth it. Just before the city, we decided to cool off with a dip in the Colorado River. Lucky for us, a local tour guide warned us about the dangerous undercurrents, so we kept our swim close to shore and didn't get swept away into the wild unknown.
In Moab, we treated ourselves to some juicy burgers for dinner, and Till made the questionable decision to order the tiniest beer I’ve ever seen—honestly, it was more of a "shot" than a drink. We tried not to laugh... too hard.
Then came the best part: Seth, the guy from Park City who’d hosted us, contacted his friend Carry, who lives in Moab, to see if we could crash at her place. Turns out, Carry was in Italy, but like the legend she is, she still let us stay at her house. So, we made our way to Carry’s place and enjoyed a glorious off-day. We slept in, cooked some delicious meals, restocked on food, got Till's leaky tire fixed, and most importantly, just chilled the heck out. It was the perfect reset after days of grinding.
Kokopelli Trail, Red Rocks and a Late Arrival
Moab to Dark Canyon Lake
After our first full rest day, we were feeling recharged and ready to tackle the next part of the route. We took it slow in the morning, enjoying a massive breakfast to fuel up, packed up our gear, and finally rolled out around 11:00 am.
The route didn’t ease us in gently—it kicked off with a steep and long climb straight out of town, heading into the La Sal Mountains. The views of the surrounding red rocks were absolutely breathtaking, but the heat was relentless, turning our legs to jelly.
Eventually, the route led us to a gnarly MTB section, the well-known Kokopelli trail, that took way more energy than we expected. But thanks to the rest day, our legs were feeling surprisingly fresh, and we ended up having a blast, even if we were dripping sweat by the end.
Water was a huge concern—there wasn’t a single source along the way. So, we asked some friendly campers if we could top off our bottles. They generously let us refill, but we knew it wouldn’t be enough for cooking and definitely not for the morning, so we pushed on to a small mountain lake I had read about, hoping there’d be a campsite, too.
As the sun set, we found ourselves riding the last 10 km in the dark. Since we were in bear territory, we sang loudly the entire way—definitely not hitting any high notes, but hoping to scare off any curious wildlife.
Finally, we made it to Dark Canyon Lake around 10:30 pm. I whipped up some dinner while Till gathered firewood. The temperature had dropped drastically, so even though there was a lake, the idea of swimming was absolutely out of the question.
We went to bed late, and after the long day, we slept like babies—cold, tired, and completely content.
Angry Kevin Costner And A Slashed Tire
Dark Canyon Lake to Bedrock
We woke up to a bright, sunny morning, ready to hit the road—but not before a little drama. The evening before, Till had spotted a house on a hill not far from our campsite, and when two men appeared on the hill, he decided to ask if we could refill our water.
The man in his mid-sixties, dressed like he'd just stepped off the set of Yellowstone—cowboy boots, a hat, and a backup sidekick trailing a few meters behind him—was not exactly friendly. In fact, he was downright furious because we’d unknowingly camped on the wrong side of the lake, which was private property. He wouldn’t even let us apologize, just told us in a booming Shakespearean accent (seriously, it was like he was auditioning for a part in Macbeth) that we had to leave immediately. With his intense glare and dramatic style, we dubbed him "Angry Kevin Costner," after the tough-as-nails character from Yellowstone. We later learned he was probably Mormon, which explained the whole vibe.
We quickly packed up, trying not to incur any more wrath, but just as we were about to leave, the man returned with another guy in his early seventies—turns out, the owner of the property. Apparently, after his henchman reported our "misdeeds," the landowner’s wife wasn’t thrilled about how we’d been treated, so she sent the two of them back with a big canister of water for us. We chatted for a bit, refilled our bottles, and headed out, relieved to be done with the situation.
The day before, I’d developed a nasty heat rash that was only getting worse and more painful. Initially, I thought it was fleas, so I went full-on detective mode, washing all my clothes at Buckeye Reservoir, hoping to find the culprit.
We briefly considered spending the night at the reservoir, as it was stunningly beautiful, but we decided it was still too early to call it a day. Big mistake. Just a few kilometers down the road, Till slashed his tire. We tried plugging it—no luck. Then we put in a new tube… which he punctured immediately. A few hours later, we were stuck in an endless loop of riding for 500 meters, then stopping to reinflate the tire, only for it to deflate again.
By the time we finally rolled into Bedrock, a very tiny village at the bottom of the mountain, we were exhausted and frustrated. We knocked on a house door, asking for water and we were lucky with a friendly gentleman, but finding a place to sleep was another challenge. Everything was private property, and we were feeling like outlaws at this point.
Eventually, we found a spot behind a fence—some bushes on a patch of land that didn’t seem to belong to anyone, but who knows. We curled up for the night, only to be serenaded by the howls of coyotes and, probably, mountain lions. It wasn’t exactly the peaceful night we’d hoped for, but at least we were still alive and well-fed.
