Dave beat me to the Continental breakfast in the morning, and was through two muffins and a cup of juice by the time I showed up.  A throng of people jockeyed for position around the eight toaster ovens on the counter; a bunch of hungry hyeanas.  I slid my bagel in first and stepped back.  We finally got a table and discussed the day’s plan.
    Minutes later we were speeding north on 191 toward one of the multiple bike trails in the greater Moab area.  Before long I was sweating and straining my way up Gemini Bridges Trail.  The first mile was a very rough unending bumpy hill, absurdly steep.  Yet, gluttons for punishment by the hundreds rode the same path.  Seconds before I experienced acute pulmonary collapse, the hill dropped away and I rode down a relatively smooth, long slope to the bottom.  Dave was far ahead the whole time.  He takes slopes at full speed.  I don’t.  A safe and sane 23 or 24 mph is all the thrill I require.
At the bottom of the hill lay the foot of another, though not quite so steep.  We went up; nowhere else to go.  Before long we arrived at Gemini Bridges, two natural bridges spanning a tremendous chasm.
A parade of people flowed into the area, completing the theme park feel.  Soon a dozen four wheel vehicles had arrived, each proudly demonstrating their gusto and lack of brains by performing various acts of machismo stupidity.  Consider the redneck urge to DRIVE across the natural sandstone bridge.  Consider the man who repelled into the chasm with the plan of being pulled up by a Jeep-mounted wench parked on the thin ledge above.  Sounds like a decent plan.  (At least it sounded decent in the hotel room the night before after eight shots of tequila.)  Once again the human potential for smelling imminent disaster kicked in and a crowd gathered.  Sick people.  Dave and I sat right in front.  The crowd cheered as the man got to the bottom.  After a few moments of showboating, the wench was activated, and the cable was pulled in.  Sandstone is very soft.  Nobody on the "HOGGS’ 4x4 crew could’ve possibly predicted that the cable would cut through the sandstone ledge like a band saw.  Before they had pulled cool guy up twenty feet, the Gemini Bridges ledge had a nice neat foot deep slice in it.  America the beautiful.  The cool guy’s friends, in a sudden lack of ingenuity, quite uncharacteristic for men who routinely wear boots, abandoned the Jeep and walked around to the opposite edge to examine the situation.  Ideas were slow in coming.  Hecklers came out of the woodwork.  Not a pretty sight.  Dave and I decided to get out before the crowd turned ugly.  As we departed, the rough riders had pooled their collective genius and come up with a scheme to have the guy unclip from the wench cable and climb up a rope by himself.  Good plan.  I hope it worked.
    The ride back was an order of magnitude more fun, and we made it back in good time.
Lunch time was spent at Taco Bell and the afternoon was spent watching television at the motel (free cable).  We drove to Slickrock Trail at 4:15 to ride, but failed to consider the entrance fee of $2 each.  We had only $3.  We went back to the hotel.
    After showering we went to Smitty’s Steak House, a decent steak shop on Main Street.  I don’t recommend it.  Back at the hotel it was more TV.  Sinbad is a very funny comic.  The lure of the hot tub was overpowering and soon we were sitting in bubbly hot goodness.  We chatted about various subjects and were soon joined by a retired chemistry professor from Cleveland.  We swam in the warm pool and then went back to the hot tub briefly before heading back to the room for a shower, more TV and bed.  So ends the final evening of vacation.