- Oct 28, 2001
- 4,704
- 0
So RickShaw Racing (RSR) sends me an e-mail about riding this past Sunday. Between soccer games, football games, and wifey commitments, we have a small window of opportunity to blow the carbon out of our bikes.
The plan was to meet at M-59 and M-23 at 0'dark-thirty Sunday morning, drive a few hours, ride a$$, then shoot back home in time for family dinner. So we meet as planned, load RSR's 400 into the factory trailer, and hit the highway for Grayling.
We considered anything within 2-3 hours drive time, but I had been wanting to ride my old stomping grounds since I got back into riding 2 years ago. Times have changed, so a call to the local DNR officer confirmed that riding in the Grayling National Guard Reserve was OK.... as long as you were street legal. :cool:
Well RSR was street legal, but his plate had expired tabs. I happened to have an extra plate with current tabs, so we zip-tied it to RSR's chest protector, and we were good to go. As it would turn out, this little gem would end up saving us $140. :ride:
The cottage I grew up in is now owned by a distant family relative. I quick call for permission to stage there was approved, so that's where we parked. It's only about 1 mile from the hundreds of miles of 2-track I grew up riding. Arrived around 9:45 AM, and were headed out to the trail by 10AM. Temps were in the low 70's, with crisp, clear, blue skies. Life was good!
To give you an idea of the riding area, it's basically 8 miles east of Grayling, and runs from North Down River road to well north of county road 612. East/west it runs from Hartwick Pines to the town of Lovells. As a kid, this area seemed larger than life... funny how much smaller it is as an adult.
So RSR and I tear down the first 2-track, and it all starts coming back to me. The trees, corners, sand washes, hills, and familiar fields were suddenly whizzing by, quite a nostalgic feeling after a 20 year absence. It meant even more, considering my step-dad passed away 3 years ago, and it was he I followed around these same trails since age 12.
Not every trail or intersection was familiar though. Some areas were logged, some overgrown. With an extensive grid of N/E/S/W trails, we only had to follow the sun to get around. We were exploring, with no particular place to go, other than down the next 2-track that took our fancy.
About 1/4 of the area is permanently blocked out-of-bounds, and is used by the National Guard for their war games. I would have liked to sneak in though a fence somewhere, as this area has some awesome hill climbs and fire towers to explore. Signs marked "DANGER - EXPLOSIVE DUD AREA" kept us on the right course, however.
We soon came upon a small body of water named Kyle Lake. This is where we would camp, ride, and jet ski - all in the middle of nowhere, without another soul around for miles. We explored around the lake shoreline for a while, then stupidity hit. I rode up an incline that led down to the lake, through some trees and brush. I turned around half-way up, and headed back down toward the lake. Feeling completely invigorated with the surroundings and the ride, I proceeded to gently ride through some branches and brush. Well, from 15' away, the branches appeared to be at bike or chest level. With the incline, however, upon reaching the branches, they were suddenly at neck level. Too late to duck, thought I'd just "power" though them. Well, the grouping of 2" branches didn't move, as they evidently were blocked from going forward by some other trees. As the branch hit my neck, it tried to take me off the bike. My body involuntarily reacted by tightly squeezing hard on the grips, and with my body being pulled backwards, it only served to apply a handful of throttle to my little 2-hundy. Well, she snapped to attention like she always does, and surged forward, wheeling off the embankment, with me tangled at the neck by branches that refused to give. I had a death grip on the bike, and really should have bailed.
Fortunately, RSR had a front row seat to this spodely move. I landed next to the bike, feeling like somebody had just sucker-punched me in the throat. I've never had a crushed windpipe, but I think I know now what one would feel like. I immediately took off my helmet, if only to make sure I could still breath. I wasn't too worried about the tree gouges in my neck, it was golf ball sized lump and swelling in my throat that I didn't like. RSR assured me he knew CPR, but would never use it on a sweaty dirt bike guy. Figuring that there's not much to do, we headed off for some more sweet 2 track to ride.
We eventually made it north of 616, and rode around the perimeter of the northern bombing range. Not much to see except a large valley, but in the past we've been able to sneak in to watch the fighter jets bomb targets. We made our way over to the town of Lovells, and had some lunch, 800mg of IB, and gassed up. Again, the weather could not have been better.
Heading back towards the cottage after lunch was just a matter of following the sun, and randomly picking various 2-tracks to fly down in the grid. We had just crossed the main N/S corridor in the area, Stephan's Bridge Road, and noticed a green pickup cruising north. We came upon an intersection with 4-5 possible choices, so stopped to check our bearings. The green pickup turned in towards us, and only then did we realize it was our friendly CO. Cool - we're legal... pretty much anyway. So he writes down our plate numbers, then calls in the numbers to make sure they're valid. He commented that a lot of people were running either expired plates, or plates for the wrong bike, so needed to run a check. Not knowing what to think, he came of truck with the thumbs up - both plates were valid, and registered to 2004 KTMs! Not only did RSR save $140, he's riding a sweet '04!
As we were getting ready to pull away, up came 3 rednecks on quads, and stopped right next to the CO. We can only imagine that the DNR collected at least $420 that day.
Other than that, we saw 1 dirt bike / 1 quad combo, and a family of quad riders - kids had helmets, parents didn't. :|
This area has about a half dozen main tank trails - extremely wide, very sandy road. Made by tanks, for tanks. Anyway, RSR and I are pinned on this road, trying to stay on top of the sand, and flying over smooth, rolling whoops. The kind that only tanks can make. Suddenly, we come across this man and woman walking in the sand by themselves. They needed help. Evidently, they had been out on a pleasure ride in their mini-van, and (surprise, surprise), had gotten stuck. Only problem was that they were stuck, heading downhill, and wanted to be pushed back uphill. Ahh..... right!
So RSR and I made a valiant attempt to push the mini-van every which way... no go. This thing was buried up to it's chassis in sand. So we ask them "Do you have a cell phone to call home?" No, they left their cell phone at home. OK, then, you can use my cell phone to call home. "Ahhh.... we just moved up from Warren, and don't know our phone number". Alrightly then.... you can use my cell phone to call information, to call a neighbor. Hmmmm..... They don't know anyone in the area, and only a few neighbors by their first name. Then the guy tells us maybe if he can get a ride back to his house, he can get his Jeep to help pull out the minivan. RSR and I look at each other.... Mr. Brainiac has a Jeep at home, but took the minivan out 4-wheeling. Alrighty then.... Here, use my cell phone, call whoever you can call for help. So the lady starts calling friends down in Warren for help. Ya.... that'll work. Finally, they get a hold of some newly acquainted neighbors, who are going to send out a search party to look for them.... and they'll be in a minivan, or Buick LeSabre. Again, RSR look at each other, and decided that: 1) There's plenty of daylight left for them to walk out if necessary, 2) The wife, packing more rolls than the Pillsbury Dough Boy, could most definitely use the walk, 3) There was a CO driving around in the area, 4) They had friends coming to get them, 5) Once their friends found them and got stuck in their LeSabre, RSR and I didn't want to be around, and 5) People that clueless could use a hard-earned lesson so that it doesn't happen again!
So RSR and I said our tearful goodbyes, gave sweaty hugs, and bid our sand-stranded friends good luck. As we continued on down the sandy road they were stuck on, we could not comprehend how they even made it as far as they did. And.... there were plenty of opportunities to turn the hell around. Oh well, just paying it forward.
There wasn't any other drama as we rolled in back at the cottage, with 81 miles of fast and fun 2-track under our belt. We pulled out at 4pm, and headed back home for dinner!
Thanks for hooking up on the ride Rick! Brought back lots of great memories. :cool:
Slideshow -->> http://community.webshots.com/slideshow?ID=193228931&key=ivzhiq
The plan was to meet at M-59 and M-23 at 0'dark-thirty Sunday morning, drive a few hours, ride a$$, then shoot back home in time for family dinner. So we meet as planned, load RSR's 400 into the factory trailer, and hit the highway for Grayling.
We considered anything within 2-3 hours drive time, but I had been wanting to ride my old stomping grounds since I got back into riding 2 years ago. Times have changed, so a call to the local DNR officer confirmed that riding in the Grayling National Guard Reserve was OK.... as long as you were street legal. :cool:
Well RSR was street legal, but his plate had expired tabs. I happened to have an extra plate with current tabs, so we zip-tied it to RSR's chest protector, and we were good to go. As it would turn out, this little gem would end up saving us $140. :ride:
The cottage I grew up in is now owned by a distant family relative. I quick call for permission to stage there was approved, so that's where we parked. It's only about 1 mile from the hundreds of miles of 2-track I grew up riding. Arrived around 9:45 AM, and were headed out to the trail by 10AM. Temps were in the low 70's, with crisp, clear, blue skies. Life was good!
To give you an idea of the riding area, it's basically 8 miles east of Grayling, and runs from North Down River road to well north of county road 612. East/west it runs from Hartwick Pines to the town of Lovells. As a kid, this area seemed larger than life... funny how much smaller it is as an adult.
So RSR and I tear down the first 2-track, and it all starts coming back to me. The trees, corners, sand washes, hills, and familiar fields were suddenly whizzing by, quite a nostalgic feeling after a 20 year absence. It meant even more, considering my step-dad passed away 3 years ago, and it was he I followed around these same trails since age 12.
Not every trail or intersection was familiar though. Some areas were logged, some overgrown. With an extensive grid of N/E/S/W trails, we only had to follow the sun to get around. We were exploring, with no particular place to go, other than down the next 2-track that took our fancy.
About 1/4 of the area is permanently blocked out-of-bounds, and is used by the National Guard for their war games. I would have liked to sneak in though a fence somewhere, as this area has some awesome hill climbs and fire towers to explore. Signs marked "DANGER - EXPLOSIVE DUD AREA" kept us on the right course, however.
We soon came upon a small body of water named Kyle Lake. This is where we would camp, ride, and jet ski - all in the middle of nowhere, without another soul around for miles. We explored around the lake shoreline for a while, then stupidity hit. I rode up an incline that led down to the lake, through some trees and brush. I turned around half-way up, and headed back down toward the lake. Feeling completely invigorated with the surroundings and the ride, I proceeded to gently ride through some branches and brush. Well, from 15' away, the branches appeared to be at bike or chest level. With the incline, however, upon reaching the branches, they were suddenly at neck level. Too late to duck, thought I'd just "power" though them. Well, the grouping of 2" branches didn't move, as they evidently were blocked from going forward by some other trees. As the branch hit my neck, it tried to take me off the bike. My body involuntarily reacted by tightly squeezing hard on the grips, and with my body being pulled backwards, it only served to apply a handful of throttle to my little 2-hundy. Well, she snapped to attention like she always does, and surged forward, wheeling off the embankment, with me tangled at the neck by branches that refused to give. I had a death grip on the bike, and really should have bailed.
Fortunately, RSR had a front row seat to this spodely move. I landed next to the bike, feeling like somebody had just sucker-punched me in the throat. I've never had a crushed windpipe, but I think I know now what one would feel like. I immediately took off my helmet, if only to make sure I could still breath. I wasn't too worried about the tree gouges in my neck, it was golf ball sized lump and swelling in my throat that I didn't like. RSR assured me he knew CPR, but would never use it on a sweaty dirt bike guy. Figuring that there's not much to do, we headed off for some more sweet 2 track to ride.
We eventually made it north of 616, and rode around the perimeter of the northern bombing range. Not much to see except a large valley, but in the past we've been able to sneak in to watch the fighter jets bomb targets. We made our way over to the town of Lovells, and had some lunch, 800mg of IB, and gassed up. Again, the weather could not have been better.
Heading back towards the cottage after lunch was just a matter of following the sun, and randomly picking various 2-tracks to fly down in the grid. We had just crossed the main N/S corridor in the area, Stephan's Bridge Road, and noticed a green pickup cruising north. We came upon an intersection with 4-5 possible choices, so stopped to check our bearings. The green pickup turned in towards us, and only then did we realize it was our friendly CO. Cool - we're legal... pretty much anyway. So he writes down our plate numbers, then calls in the numbers to make sure they're valid. He commented that a lot of people were running either expired plates, or plates for the wrong bike, so needed to run a check. Not knowing what to think, he came of truck with the thumbs up - both plates were valid, and registered to 2004 KTMs! Not only did RSR save $140, he's riding a sweet '04!
As we were getting ready to pull away, up came 3 rednecks on quads, and stopped right next to the CO. We can only imagine that the DNR collected at least $420 that day.
Other than that, we saw 1 dirt bike / 1 quad combo, and a family of quad riders - kids had helmets, parents didn't. :|
This area has about a half dozen main tank trails - extremely wide, very sandy road. Made by tanks, for tanks. Anyway, RSR and I are pinned on this road, trying to stay on top of the sand, and flying over smooth, rolling whoops. The kind that only tanks can make. Suddenly, we come across this man and woman walking in the sand by themselves. They needed help. Evidently, they had been out on a pleasure ride in their mini-van, and (surprise, surprise), had gotten stuck. Only problem was that they were stuck, heading downhill, and wanted to be pushed back uphill. Ahh..... right!
So RSR and I made a valiant attempt to push the mini-van every which way... no go. This thing was buried up to it's chassis in sand. So we ask them "Do you have a cell phone to call home?" No, they left their cell phone at home. OK, then, you can use my cell phone to call home. "Ahhh.... we just moved up from Warren, and don't know our phone number". Alrightly then.... you can use my cell phone to call information, to call a neighbor. Hmmmm..... They don't know anyone in the area, and only a few neighbors by their first name. Then the guy tells us maybe if he can get a ride back to his house, he can get his Jeep to help pull out the minivan. RSR and I look at each other.... Mr. Brainiac has a Jeep at home, but took the minivan out 4-wheeling. Alrighty then.... Here, use my cell phone, call whoever you can call for help. So the lady starts calling friends down in Warren for help. Ya.... that'll work. Finally, they get a hold of some newly acquainted neighbors, who are going to send out a search party to look for them.... and they'll be in a minivan, or Buick LeSabre. Again, RSR look at each other, and decided that: 1) There's plenty of daylight left for them to walk out if necessary, 2) The wife, packing more rolls than the Pillsbury Dough Boy, could most definitely use the walk, 3) There was a CO driving around in the area, 4) They had friends coming to get them, 5) Once their friends found them and got stuck in their LeSabre, RSR and I didn't want to be around, and 5) People that clueless could use a hard-earned lesson so that it doesn't happen again!
So RSR and I said our tearful goodbyes, gave sweaty hugs, and bid our sand-stranded friends good luck. As we continued on down the sandy road they were stuck on, we could not comprehend how they even made it as far as they did. And.... there were plenty of opportunities to turn the hell around. Oh well, just paying it forward.
There wasn't any other drama as we rolled in back at the cottage, with 81 miles of fast and fun 2-track under our belt. We pulled out at 4pm, and headed back home for dinner!
Thanks for hooking up on the ride Rick! Brought back lots of great memories. :cool:
Slideshow -->> http://community.webshots.com/slideshow?ID=193228931&key=ivzhiq
