The trail is clearly visible ahead, winding down the side
of the steep slope descending from Big Mountain Pass. The
pony is winded from the climb up to the pass, huffing as it
carries the slight rider down the hill through aspen groves
and pine clinging to the steep hillside. At the bottom of
the hill, the trail is soft dirt running along the frothy
waters of Mountain Dell Creek as it descends into the broad
meadow at the base of Little Mountain. As pony and rider enter
the meadow, they can see the crude cabin and stables: Mountain
Dell Station. Here the rider jumps onto another pony for the
journey over Little Mountain Pass and down Emigration Canyon
to the Salt Lake City Station. Its work done, the pony drinks
from the creek and grazes the lush meadow grasses while awaiting
the arrival of another rider tomorrow and the journey back
over Big Mountain Pass to Snyder's Station in Little Dutch
Hollow. It is May 1861, and the Pony Express has been operating
for 13 months.
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With the historic Pony
Express Trail running within 20 feet of us, it was easy to imagine
horse and rider thinking about the next station. The weather was crisp,
the sky a vivid blue, and Alexander, my son, and I were running top
down in the Boxster. We could feel the wind and hear the rushing creek,
as exposed to our surroundings as the riders on ponies that had beaten
a path still visible more than a century later. Looking down the canyon,
I could envision the rider pushing for the next station, making time
as he anticipated the end of his 100 miles in Salt Lake City, a relative
Eden compared to the dugouts that passed for shelter in the west desert
of Utah.
We began the day with
a drive up Interstate 80, catching a quick detour into Echo Canyon,
which is where the Pony Express Trail entered Utah. Coming out of
Echo Canyon, we turned north to follow the Weber River into Henefer,
which got its start as a stagecoach stop and Pony Express station.
Leaving Henefer, our group
of eight Porsches entered Main Canyon, a straight stretch of highway
flanked by farms and ranches. The group included Ed Mineau, making
a rare appearance in his white 911 cabriolet, three other 911s, a
968, and four Boxsters. UT-65's northeastern terminus is in Henefer,
which sits on the banks of the Weber River. Main Canyon is relatively
arid, rising quickly to the ridgeline that is the boundary of the
East Canyon watershed. As we sprinted up and over undulating hills,
I could see the caravan stretched out behind me for a mile or so.
Blue, yellow, black, red, purple and silver cars, a kaleidoscope in
motion against the backdrop of the browns and yellows of a landscape
still in dormant winter colors.
2,000 horses were driving
our pack of Porsches winding their way up the flanks of Big Mountain,
racing through a series of switchbacks starting in Little Dutch Hollow.
The cars moved briskly toward the pass, their rpms rising and falling
as they transitioned from short straight to curve, from curve to switchback,
then into another short straight. Patches of snow were on either side
of the road, and the air was brisk. Pulling into the crude parking
area at the top of Big Mountain Pass, we could plainly see the original
trail falling away on either side of the pass. It was May 12, 2002,
one hundred and forty-one years after a rider on one horse power tramped
through this pass carrying mail destined for California. The Pony
Express was out of business in October 1861, but the track is still
here.
As we descended from Big
Mountain Pass, we were on the lookout for a spot to take a picture
of the drive group gathered on the original trail. Pulling over to
take a picture, we were joined by a gentleman driving a Cobra. The
gentleman was Larry Miller out for a quick Sunday drive. He declined
to join us for the tour because of other obligations, but he did join
us for the group photograph.
In addition to attracting
Larry Miller, our gaggle of Porsches also attracted the attention
of Officer Tom Bolen, a Salt Lake County Special Operations Deputy
assigned to canyon patrol. With some cajoling, he agreed to pull his
unit in with our cars and turn on his red lights. We promised to send
him a picture so he could tell his friends about the "big bust"
where he nailed 9 Porsches and Larry Miller in his Cobra. For the
club officers whose collective eyebrows just arched, let me reiterate:
the photograph is staged. It does not represent reality. I can also
assure you we will not be using this photo on the cover of the tour
schedule in the future!
Our next stop was the
National Pony Express Monument, located just inside This Is the Place
Park. One of only three national monuments to the Pony Express, the
monument is unknown to most people living in Utah.
Leaving Emigration Canyon,
we took I-215 around to I-15 to the next obscure stop, Pony Express
Drive. This frontage road parallels I-15 from exit 294 to Point of
the Mountain, passing in front of the Utah State Prison Complex. From
Point of the Mountain, the Pony Express Trail turns west towards Cedar
Valley and the Camp Floyd Pony Express Station and Stagecoach Inn
State Park.
Located on a side street
in Fairfield, Utah, which is little more than a reduced speed zone
in the middle of Cedar Valley, Stagecoach Inn State Park is a, well,
Stagecoach Inn. The Inn was built in 1858 to serve travelers on the
Overland Stage route and was used as a Pony Express station from 1860-61.
Camp Floyd is adjacent and was also established in 1858. From 1858
to 1861, Camp Floyd was the largest military establishment in the
U.S., housing a third of the total army (3500 troops) just prior to
the Civil War. The troops were sent to put down a "Mormon Rebellion"
that never materialized and were eventually sent east at the start
of the Civil War. At the Camp's peak, Fairfield was the second largest
town in Utah.
Heading into the arid land to the west of Camp Floyd,
pony and rider were at full gallop. The flat terrain was ideal
for making time, the gravel and hard sand surface perfect
for getting the most out of the ponies, most of which were
cross bred wild mustangs and quarter horses. The ponies were
sturdy, they had endurance, and they were fast. When the Pony
Express started, every rider carried a rifle, two pistols,
extra rounds of ammunition, and a Bible. But the riders soon
discovered their ponies were too fast to be overtaken by the
lesser breeds ridden by bandits and Indians. So they discarded
the extra equipment to save weight. Eventually, they only
carried a loaded pistol, which was more a necessity in dealing
with the evil characters that frequented the stations than
while riding at full speed.
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The paved portion of the Pony Express Trail ends at Faust Creek Station
in the Rush Valley. The trail continues as a dirt road into Nevada
and is maintained as a BLM Scenic Backway intended for offroad vehicles.
At this point, we turned south on UT 36 for the East Tintic Mountains
historic mining areas, passing through Eureka, a virtual ghost town,
on our way to the west shore of Utah Lake.
We ended the drive with a lunch at Bennett's BBQ in South Jordan.
This gave us a chance to talk about the sights we had seen, including
the millions of crickets that absolutely blanketed the road between
Vernon and Tintic. Gave us all a completely new appreciation for the
concept of Biblical plague, not to mention a sense of gratitude and
urgency in seeking out the first available coin-operated water-jet
car wash. My wheel wells looked like they had grown fur, the price
of being on point in cricket country. Thank goodness they washed off
with an investment of four dollars in quarters.
In addition to getting out on some great roads, the Pony Express
Trail was an opportunity to get next to some U.S. and Utah history.
It is in our midst, but easy to overlook. There is something to be
said for spending a day on the trail, imagining the sound of pounding
hoofs and standing on the worn trail. It is an even better day when
the imagination is enlivened by the collective wail of a group of
flat sixes winding up and down as the cars scramble up a mountain
worth of switchbacks. Those ponies had nothing on a Porsche, although
in their day, they were the next best thing.
