The name sounds like a Washington joke, but Capitol Reef is real, and so is the long wrinkle in the earth it protects. The Waterpocket Fold is a hundred-mile buckle in the crust, a monocline where the rocks on the west were lifted several thousand feet above those on the east, and then eroded into a maze of cliffs, domes, and canyons. Early travellers called the barrier a reef, like a reef in the sea, and the white domes of Navajo sandstone looked to them like the Capitol building. Hence the name.
The ride arrives at the little oasis of Fruita, where the Fremont River cuts through the fold and a group of Mormon pioneers planted orchards in the late nineteenth century. They are still there. The park maintains the apricot, cherry, apple and peach trees, and in season you can pick fruit in the orchards and pay by weight at the honour boxes. Nearby is a small historic homestead where they bake fruit pies, which people drive hours to eat. Petroglyphs left by the Fremont culture, who lived here a thousand years ago and more, are carved into a cliff beside the highway, and a boardwalk lets you stand under them.
On the bike, Highway 24 is a joy through the park, winding between red cliffs, with the road following the river and then rising through badlands. From the west, the Scenic Byway 12 comes over Boulder Mountain at nearly three thousand metres, with cold air and aspen forest, and drops into red-rock country. The surface is good and the corners are open and fast, with long views. Watch for deer and cattle on open range, and for gusty winds on the ridges. Summer is hot, with thunderstorms and flash floods in the canyons, and winter snow can close the high passes. Spring and autumn are the best seasons.
Services are limited. The nearest big fuel stop is in Torrey, about eleven miles west, and the park does not sell fuel, so top up before you come. Loa, a bit farther, is another option. The Fruita campground is a shaded place to rest, with deer wandering through the orchard at dusk.
Take a short drive on the park's scenic road in the late afternoon, when the sun slants low across the fold and every ledge turns to copper.