Having talked to one of the chiefs the night before re: volunteering revealed they had plenty of help, but we were welcome to show up 6am at the sign up for any last-minute fill in.
Once there, we observed the club prez setting up a raffle table. We gave him a hand at laying out all the items donated by two dealers and four shops; no: my sticky fingers could not be used. Shorty assembled a plastic Cycra bike stand for display, while I eyed a drink system for he and/or his brother, and gear bag for me. I ended up buying a few tickets (we lost; dang!)
Things were moving slowly (other than the doughnuts and fake juice) until registration/sign in opened. I asked one of the ranch heads (Aaron – the wheelie/flip guy from two weekends ago) if he needed help and he said he had plenty but we could come out and ride, if we wanted to. So we scuttled home to load the bikes, gear and buy fuel. When we returned the parking lot was full with what may have been up to the 367 whom had entered today’s festivities.
Not wanting to stay behind for the start I spoke with one of the chiefs to verify directions to Ryan’s Ranch, Aaron’s domain. He suggested the southern way but I suggested took the northern through Atascadero, by Creston as the road from that direction has less curves; he looked at me as if to say: “I’ve never considered that” - he had enough on his mind that morning.
We pulled into the ranch 30 minutes later then had to rely on memory and guesses at which split of the graded roads lead to the gas stop/BBQ area. One fellow in a small pickup came up real close behind despite the dust cloud, which meant we were going the right direction or we were both going to get lost. I can only suppose he tailgated to minimize dust-suck because the following cloud would linger. Eventually coming upon easy-route arrows confirmed our course was correct.
Most of the good parking spaces on the right were already taken yet we found some shade under a tall pine tree on the left. Everything for gasoline dispensing and the eating area – tables and chairs – was already setup. Aaron came up to us when we finished gearing up and asked us to run the hard loop splits and let him know if any additional markings were needed. In order to do so we had to go back to the ranch entrance and take the trail to this staging spot. Fine with us.
Returning to the ranch entrance on two wheels revealed no one posted to direct nor acknowledge incoming traffic. Three vehicles arrived at the gate when we were about to spin off and roost on down the course. One of the drivers had that disoriented look so I went up and asked what he needed. They wanted to go to the gas stop but did not know the way. I told them to follow me along the road, in particular the one with the big trailer with new bikes (DR650, a rather large KTM DS, 450M/XC, RM250F, YZ250, DR125L & KLX110). I hadn’t figured the lead/trailer guy was going to roll along like a turtle even though he did not need to. Leaving them at the gas stop/BBQ area, we went back to the entrance and rode the course.
Shorty wanted to be in the front and moved along at a fairly good clip. The course took us through the oak-covered hills, with various turns and at least two or three hard/easy splits. Half of it composed of grated roads, which were good for flat tracking, with the first section of hard splits difficult although relatively short up hills, followed by tight meanderings though woods and off- and on-camber turns (there’s a new word). About half way through came upon a crew placing arrows, and from then on it was what most-looked like this-should-be-the-way as our trail. Shorty made it though all without incident while I hung back due to the dust clouds, though not without a watchful eye of his exploits.
Passing though camp we observed the first comings of riders, and let Aaron know one stake/arrow had been broken and was in need of replacement - one by the cattle watering. Food was starting to come off the BBQ and the line was beginning to grow, but I felt it proper to wait until the bulk of the riders had their share.
Continuing on the loop took us down last year’s impossible hill climb – few riders made it through then. It was all rutted out from failed and the few successful attempts. It was wise to reverse the course, albeit a year too late. What remains today is an unusual pattern, were ½ dozen or so tracks exist, each a tire’s width, for at least a mile up the clay/hardpack-grated road. The odd thing is even though I have a GPR stabilizer; upon our descent my bars were wagging back and forth repeatedly as the tire made attempts to track - a strange sensation. Shorty was shown where I manned last year’s ranch check in.
Returning to camp a second time, we walked to the three pickups which were escorted in earlier, only to find out they were from a dealer; had three canopies set up for chain lube, flats and minor repairs. In exchange for the service they would place their sticker on the customer’s front fender. The bikes they had brought along were for display only - no demos, other than the watching of flat repairs and chain lubing.
Watching the riders coming and going afforded some different observations. I remember at least three with enduro jackets, although as hot as it became flow-though jerseys and pants were more appropriate. Most of the fellows appeared to be between their late 30s and 50s; a group of sliver-haired guys were pushing perhaps 70; there were dads and sons, and at least one pair doubling up.
Bikes. About half were Hondas - XR400, a dozen XR600s and 650s; the second largest group consisted of KTM RFSes and Blue WRFs, followed by several DRZs, and two KLXes. One guy had a KX500! There were a few brave souls with exotics and big cruisers, and two guys on clean XT/TT500s.
Since the food line hadn’t diminished in our hour of observation, we decided to do the loop again. This time Shorty said he was going to whup me, to which I said, “uh, okay; but don’t get hurt”. Riding off of the road onto a cow trail, seated, and running in a high gear, a pile of dirt launched him into the air and forward; somehow he grabbed throttle and saved it, thereafter he returned to the grated road but surprisingly recovered his speedy attitude. When we joined the trail he was hot, in the groove and making time, which allowed me to really do likewise from the rear. Since most if not all of the entrants already passed, the trail was beaten into fine powder, and the best position was close to his back tire. It became a bit disconcerting when I could feel the bike moving under me but not see what I was traversing, but feeling it – not my idea of riding loose. Rounding one off camber, the front end washed out on him and he got sideways, then flop! to the ground – time for a break, and to lessen the pace. He was gaining a new thigh bruise and had stressed his wrist, yet opted to continue on (is he tough and stupid like dad?) He was doing well up to this point. Upon resuming he picked a slower pace but without the aggressive-attacking posture so necessary here, therefore was making little mistakes leading to another albeit harmless lay down in the sandy berms amongst the wooded oaks just prior to camp.
By then the food line was non-existent, allowing us to walk right up to the serving tables. The dead cow was cooked to perfection, having just enough pepper for my pallet. Shorty filled his plate to overflowing, more than I’d ever seen, leading me to conclude he built up quite an appetite, and then went for seconds! Before we left I had done my duty and removed all of the Moose Racing barrier tape in the area.
After washing the bikes and himself in the shower, Shorty went off into dreamland well into the evening.
Once there, we observed the club prez setting up a raffle table. We gave him a hand at laying out all the items donated by two dealers and four shops; no: my sticky fingers could not be used. Shorty assembled a plastic Cycra bike stand for display, while I eyed a drink system for he and/or his brother, and gear bag for me. I ended up buying a few tickets (we lost; dang!)
Things were moving slowly (other than the doughnuts and fake juice) until registration/sign in opened. I asked one of the ranch heads (Aaron – the wheelie/flip guy from two weekends ago) if he needed help and he said he had plenty but we could come out and ride, if we wanted to. So we scuttled home to load the bikes, gear and buy fuel. When we returned the parking lot was full with what may have been up to the 367 whom had entered today’s festivities.
Not wanting to stay behind for the start I spoke with one of the chiefs to verify directions to Ryan’s Ranch, Aaron’s domain. He suggested the southern way but I suggested took the northern through Atascadero, by Creston as the road from that direction has less curves; he looked at me as if to say: “I’ve never considered that” - he had enough on his mind that morning.
We pulled into the ranch 30 minutes later then had to rely on memory and guesses at which split of the graded roads lead to the gas stop/BBQ area. One fellow in a small pickup came up real close behind despite the dust cloud, which meant we were going the right direction or we were both going to get lost. I can only suppose he tailgated to minimize dust-suck because the following cloud would linger. Eventually coming upon easy-route arrows confirmed our course was correct.
Most of the good parking spaces on the right were already taken yet we found some shade under a tall pine tree on the left. Everything for gasoline dispensing and the eating area – tables and chairs – was already setup. Aaron came up to us when we finished gearing up and asked us to run the hard loop splits and let him know if any additional markings were needed. In order to do so we had to go back to the ranch entrance and take the trail to this staging spot. Fine with us.
Returning to the ranch entrance on two wheels revealed no one posted to direct nor acknowledge incoming traffic. Three vehicles arrived at the gate when we were about to spin off and roost on down the course. One of the drivers had that disoriented look so I went up and asked what he needed. They wanted to go to the gas stop but did not know the way. I told them to follow me along the road, in particular the one with the big trailer with new bikes (DR650, a rather large KTM DS, 450M/XC, RM250F, YZ250, DR125L & KLX110). I hadn’t figured the lead/trailer guy was going to roll along like a turtle even though he did not need to. Leaving them at the gas stop/BBQ area, we went back to the entrance and rode the course.
Shorty wanted to be in the front and moved along at a fairly good clip. The course took us through the oak-covered hills, with various turns and at least two or three hard/easy splits. Half of it composed of grated roads, which were good for flat tracking, with the first section of hard splits difficult although relatively short up hills, followed by tight meanderings though woods and off- and on-camber turns (there’s a new word). About half way through came upon a crew placing arrows, and from then on it was what most-looked like this-should-be-the-way as our trail. Shorty made it though all without incident while I hung back due to the dust clouds, though not without a watchful eye of his exploits.
Passing though camp we observed the first comings of riders, and let Aaron know one stake/arrow had been broken and was in need of replacement - one by the cattle watering. Food was starting to come off the BBQ and the line was beginning to grow, but I felt it proper to wait until the bulk of the riders had their share.
Continuing on the loop took us down last year’s impossible hill climb – few riders made it through then. It was all rutted out from failed and the few successful attempts. It was wise to reverse the course, albeit a year too late. What remains today is an unusual pattern, were ½ dozen or so tracks exist, each a tire’s width, for at least a mile up the clay/hardpack-grated road. The odd thing is even though I have a GPR stabilizer; upon our descent my bars were wagging back and forth repeatedly as the tire made attempts to track - a strange sensation. Shorty was shown where I manned last year’s ranch check in.
Returning to camp a second time, we walked to the three pickups which were escorted in earlier, only to find out they were from a dealer; had three canopies set up for chain lube, flats and minor repairs. In exchange for the service they would place their sticker on the customer’s front fender. The bikes they had brought along were for display only - no demos, other than the watching of flat repairs and chain lubing.
Watching the riders coming and going afforded some different observations. I remember at least three with enduro jackets, although as hot as it became flow-though jerseys and pants were more appropriate. Most of the fellows appeared to be between their late 30s and 50s; a group of sliver-haired guys were pushing perhaps 70; there were dads and sons, and at least one pair doubling up.
Bikes. About half were Hondas - XR400, a dozen XR600s and 650s; the second largest group consisted of KTM RFSes and Blue WRFs, followed by several DRZs, and two KLXes. One guy had a KX500! There were a few brave souls with exotics and big cruisers, and two guys on clean XT/TT500s.
Since the food line hadn’t diminished in our hour of observation, we decided to do the loop again. This time Shorty said he was going to whup me, to which I said, “uh, okay; but don’t get hurt”. Riding off of the road onto a cow trail, seated, and running in a high gear, a pile of dirt launched him into the air and forward; somehow he grabbed throttle and saved it, thereafter he returned to the grated road but surprisingly recovered his speedy attitude. When we joined the trail he was hot, in the groove and making time, which allowed me to really do likewise from the rear. Since most if not all of the entrants already passed, the trail was beaten into fine powder, and the best position was close to his back tire. It became a bit disconcerting when I could feel the bike moving under me but not see what I was traversing, but feeling it – not my idea of riding loose. Rounding one off camber, the front end washed out on him and he got sideways, then flop! to the ground – time for a break, and to lessen the pace. He was gaining a new thigh bruise and had stressed his wrist, yet opted to continue on (is he tough and stupid like dad?) He was doing well up to this point. Upon resuming he picked a slower pace but without the aggressive-attacking posture so necessary here, therefore was making little mistakes leading to another albeit harmless lay down in the sandy berms amongst the wooded oaks just prior to camp.
By then the food line was non-existent, allowing us to walk right up to the serving tables. The dead cow was cooked to perfection, having just enough pepper for my pallet. Shorty filled his plate to overflowing, more than I’d ever seen, leading me to conclude he built up quite an appetite, and then went for seconds! Before we left I had done my duty and removed all of the Moose Racing barrier tape in the area.
After washing the bikes and himself in the shower, Shorty went off into dreamland well into the evening.
