Even in this sprawling metropolis there are gravel roads to be found. And other things.
The former Supercross guys were out today. Motos long since traded for pedal power. A road very similar to the one pictured, led me to their 'sky park' playground. Sixteen years in the making. Long rows of steeply sloped ramps separated by gaps of nothing but air. Sailing over sage and cacti, weightless for a moment. Smooth landings, but then a mid-air, mid-jump bail, legs continue to pedal a bike fallen away. Arms spin for balance before a landing at full run.
Stumbled upon, this intruder watched from afar. Noticed. A burst of speed, one jump then two. Effortless and confident. Greetings. "Not sure I'd try it on that bike." I completely agree. Recognized from a previous meeting. Stories exchanged. A history of place, of build and rebuild. Another run - one jump, two, then three and a successful landing. I leave. Follow a rocky trail. Shifting weight. Weaving around rocks, hopping over others. I stop at a distance. One last look, a long way off. A rider against the sky rides along a mesa top that only my eyes see.