Crossing Utah Lake on a bike

 On January 24th, I woke up with a fully-formed thought in my mind.

"I bet the lake is frozen."

Utah Lake hadn't frozen yet this year, but we had had highs in the teens. The lake is huge and powerful, and the ice conditions can change in a matter of hours, so I knew the window was short.

I rearranged my plans, and I took off from my office around 3:30.

I started just north of Utah Lake State Park. The ice was thin near the shore, but it often is. There isn't any lake ice report, so it's crucial to assess conditions continuously and be super careful. I've done a lot of frozen river and lake travel in Alaska, but Utah Lake is by far the most intimidating (and dangerous) frozen water body I've ever traversed (read to the end for the ending).

There were a lot of pressure ridges where the ice had buckled and stacked.

It made for slow rolling, but I always like to have a few extra layers of ice under me.

Things were smoother away from the shore. The lake's size and power always awes me. Whenever there was a change in ice texture or color. I would stop to tap and assess. This gap had frozen over enough to hold me.

Crossing a pressure ridge. There was a little bit of overflow on the ice.

The lake is surrounded by cities, but it feels every bit as wild as it ever has been out in the middle.

This frozen slush ice texture was the most common. I love to think what it would be like to watch it form.

My favorite mountains and lake.

As I neared Pelican Point on the west side, the sun illuminated Vineyard, Lindon, and American Fork.

Ever since I frostbit my nose in Alaska, I wear this stylish nose guard.

The ice thinned out substantially 100 yards from shore. I almost turned around, but found a path on the ice ridges.

The ridges were around 8 feet tall.

Smoother riding, but I don't like how it cracks and creaks.

Peeking over the ridge.

I just spent a minute on Pelican Point and then hit the ice again.

It was starting to get dark, and I wanted to get back for a date with Emily. I didn't stop a single time to take pictures, so I don't have anything to show for the ride back. I used the new Orem Temple as my main waypoint, and it kept me on course. 

When I was 200 yards from shore, I decided to head to the boat dock. There was a car driving there, and it seemed like I would avoid the thin ice near the shoreline. I turned my back on the temple and headed straight south. The ice was buckled and bulged around the dikes at the mouth of the marina, so I walked the last few feet. Just before stepping onto the rocks of the dike, I broke through the ice. I thought it was just my leg, but then my whole body slipped through. I pushed my bike to the side to keep it from sliding in and in the hopes that I could use it to pull myself out.

The water pressed around me like a weighted blanket until my elbows hit the ice. I was able to pull myself out almost immediately, and I laughed loudly as I carried the bike up the rocks. A reminder of how real the risk is.

It felt like a metaphor for the last few years of my life. There have been some major dips in the water (the island lawsuit and divorce first of all), but they all occurred near help with a way back to the shore. I won't ever take this wild existence for granted. I am so grateful for all the lifeguards who have fished me and my kids out of the cold water so many times.