In my impetuous youth, I felt the kickstand was my sworn enemy. I was one of those guys who wore continuous hours of saddle time as a badge of honor and total miles for the day like the crown jewel on my riding tiara.
In my more mature years, I am a different rider. Places like southern Utah have changed me. And like any good father, I want to help my son avoid my mistakes. Thus begins a late spring father-and-son ride on Utah State Route 12 and the amazing bookends of that awe-inspiring ribbon of asphalt.
The western starting point of Utah State Route 12 is an intersection with Highway 89 in southern Utah. We make the turn, my son on his Kawasaki ZZR1200 fitted with soft luggage and me on my BMW R 1200 GS. The muted brown hues of this high desert intersection give little indication of the chromatic vibrancy that is to come. However, within a mile on the 12, the horizon holds a wisp of crimson foreshadowing.