The cabin fever pandemic takes me on a crazy train. A ghost train. The old Uintah Line... "The Crookedest Railway in the West".

I have never seen as many people out and about on the trails as I have this spring. Tell people to stay home and watch what happens. I am just another moth flocking to the flame. But these trails have always been my party. I was supposed to go to the moto track with Lord Mick Sunday but instead I ate mushrooms Saturday night with my Cookie and managed to swap my oversized gas tank onto my trusty ol beloved 650. I awoke Sunday with a plan to explore the old abandoned Uintah Rail line and the ghost town on Dragon Utah, some 80 miles north from my shop. The first 10 miles of the rout are a common dirt bike riding place for me but I never thought much about the random old flat graded remnants of the Uintah rail line. One of Colorado's most infamous rail road lines that now less than 100 years later is almost unknown to all but hobby train nerds( I love them). Ghost towns are cool. I grew up in a western Colorado mining town and some of my early memories are poking around the many abandoned former establishments. Tommy Knockers where also usually included in my bed time stories. Any hoo, I tooled along to the first ruins just a mere 20 miles from my shop in the old forgotten town of Atchee. All that is left of the once busy little town are the walls of the machine shop that served the giant steam locomotives.

Next is the 7 percent plus grade Baxter pass, switch backing up the Book cliffs to 8500 feet elevation. How such heavy machines traversed the pass are beyond me. And how the fuck they were able to hold brake down the grade. My fuck! Awesome shit in my mind I tell you.

Storage tank on top of Baxter pass, I could walk up the stairs and look down into it's hollow echo innards 

I shut off engine and coasted all the way down the back side some seven miles never touching my brakes or picking up any speed, twisting through the Aspen and pines, and service berry bushes as they turned back to juniper and sage brush. As the rout flattened out into Utah it became rather wide, well graveled and begged for 4th and 5th gear feet on the peg slides in and out of the twisty Evacuation (named) creek. Just as I started to have thoughts about being lost, nowhere near where my mental map thought, and running out of gas I flew by a small wooded sign that read "Dragon Utah". A few miles past and I found the old cemetery right across from the Gilsonite mine.

The Gilsonite vein mined here was in the shape of a dragon hence the name "Black Dragon Mine" and the town of Dragon. I found some old dug out one room homes still in the hill side and ate my brat weenie lunch amongst some old cans, broken blue glass shards and an old cook oven.

I tried to imagine the once booming town, founded back in the late 1800's. It was once the end of the rail line and with three hotels, hundreds of residents and even a gas filling station near the late 1930's before the trucks shut down the rail line. Hard to believe that out in the middle of nowhere was once somewhere to a lot of people.

This was once the entrance to the depot and then a filling station. All that remains is a dug out behind.

I ruminated and smoked a joint. Then I got back on my stead and took off towards home in a marihuana Baja 1000 flash back flat out frenzy. I made it all the way back in about an hour. An average speed that would have blown the minds of the old rail road workers. Those determined, unbelievably tough and crazy sons of good ol bitches. https://www.abandonedrails.com/uintah-railway