I had been in contact with the main organizer of the event, and he allowed me to join up with the club to mark the trail in preparation for the April 13th ride. I was anxious to go along not only to lend a helping hand, but for that rare opportunity to ride on private land, whoop-de-do free!
We were to meet at the club’s shed on campus. As my custom, wanting to honor my invite-tor, I show up a few minutes early. One-by-one the members with pickups, trailers, and bikes arrived; next thing you know there are 15+ riders – geesh! I was expecting no more than ½ -doz. All were friendly college-aged guys, fresh from spending way too much time out partying Friday night. And there I was, of the age to be their father and then some (uh, more, like a lot).
As before with this group it was difficult to ignore: nice bikes, some even with fat bars and stabilizers, but oh those bald tires! Such is the life of a college student.
Like a swarm of bees they scramble and we all head out of town, eventually forming two caravans: one with those who know where they are going, and me, not knowing up from down, hanging in with the second group. The drive up into the hills NE of San Luis Obispo was scenic and led into a remote ranch. Nice. The hills are grassy and the soil is starting to dry. Nice X2; let's ride.
The day’s leader calls a rider’s meeting, and the instructions were to follow him on which was the actual route, then he would signal the one immediate behind him to stop and point for the remainder of us following at the course’s directional changes; last guy thru was to raise a clenched fist. Easy enuf.
As we were waiting to go, a few of the guys commented on how clean my loaner bike was – mine was by far the third oldest in the group, though not far from the two XRs in attendance. Thing is, they just don’t seem to get around to washing theirs, that’s all. Most others had late-model CR, KX, RM, YZFs and WRFs (say mom and dad: can you send me some more cash? I need a new bike. You know, life here on campus is stressful…)
We didn’t get ¼ mile from camp when one took a fall onto the rocks on the side of a graded road. I believe it had to do with everyone trying to go too fast way too soon. I'm thinking: geesh, guys - this is a trail ride, course-marking party – not a race. Once he gathered himself, everyone sped off like it didn’t happen. Crazy, how these young folks are these days. I kept towards the back, not only because these guys were dangerously fast, but that’s just not my style. They must not realize their whole lives are in front of them.
This ranch (the Ryan Ranch) is a working-cattle grazing type. The terrain was typical central California coast, with oaks, scrubs, and some evergreens. We spent some time weaving in and out of the former, over rolling hills, down into some ravines and back up; some hill climbs too. Fun. The flowers were in full bloom. And did I say there were no whoops?
Speaking of whoops, the cattle seem to like to poop on the same trails we rode. Quite often too. That stuff is nasty! It flings, sticks and stinks one in the same (being the farm boy I am – mustn’t show my city culturing with such a comment; such a small price for the privilege.)
Just as I am wondering when we are going to start ribboning, one of the last trail obstacles was this rock step-up ledge. They all do moto-antics, while lowly ol’ me hits it off-camber and lays the bike over once clearing it – not a good example of trailsmanship.
At one regrouping spot I notice some steam coming from my loaner bike, and it looked like a coolant leak from one of the head nuts being backed out. The aforementioned wrecker and I headed back to camp to call it an early day.
There will be more marking next Saturday, and I hope to help man the BBQ on the day of the event (gotta be near the chow!)
We were to meet at the club’s shed on campus. As my custom, wanting to honor my invite-tor, I show up a few minutes early. One-by-one the members with pickups, trailers, and bikes arrived; next thing you know there are 15+ riders – geesh! I was expecting no more than ½ -doz. All were friendly college-aged guys, fresh from spending way too much time out partying Friday night. And there I was, of the age to be their father and then some (uh, more, like a lot).
As before with this group it was difficult to ignore: nice bikes, some even with fat bars and stabilizers, but oh those bald tires! Such is the life of a college student.
Like a swarm of bees they scramble and we all head out of town, eventually forming two caravans: one with those who know where they are going, and me, not knowing up from down, hanging in with the second group. The drive up into the hills NE of San Luis Obispo was scenic and led into a remote ranch. Nice. The hills are grassy and the soil is starting to dry. Nice X2; let's ride.
The day’s leader calls a rider’s meeting, and the instructions were to follow him on which was the actual route, then he would signal the one immediate behind him to stop and point for the remainder of us following at the course’s directional changes; last guy thru was to raise a clenched fist. Easy enuf.
As we were waiting to go, a few of the guys commented on how clean my loaner bike was – mine was by far the third oldest in the group, though not far from the two XRs in attendance. Thing is, they just don’t seem to get around to washing theirs, that’s all. Most others had late-model CR, KX, RM, YZFs and WRFs (say mom and dad: can you send me some more cash? I need a new bike. You know, life here on campus is stressful…)
We didn’t get ¼ mile from camp when one took a fall onto the rocks on the side of a graded road. I believe it had to do with everyone trying to go too fast way too soon. I'm thinking: geesh, guys - this is a trail ride, course-marking party – not a race. Once he gathered himself, everyone sped off like it didn’t happen. Crazy, how these young folks are these days. I kept towards the back, not only because these guys were dangerously fast, but that’s just not my style. They must not realize their whole lives are in front of them.
This ranch (the Ryan Ranch) is a working-cattle grazing type. The terrain was typical central California coast, with oaks, scrubs, and some evergreens. We spent some time weaving in and out of the former, over rolling hills, down into some ravines and back up; some hill climbs too. Fun. The flowers were in full bloom. And did I say there were no whoops?
Speaking of whoops, the cattle seem to like to poop on the same trails we rode. Quite often too. That stuff is nasty! It flings, sticks and stinks one in the same (being the farm boy I am – mustn’t show my city culturing with such a comment; such a small price for the privilege.)
Just as I am wondering when we are going to start ribboning, one of the last trail obstacles was this rock step-up ledge. They all do moto-antics, while lowly ol’ me hits it off-camber and lays the bike over once clearing it – not a good example of trailsmanship.
At one regrouping spot I notice some steam coming from my loaner bike, and it looked like a coolant leak from one of the head nuts being backed out. The aforementioned wrecker and I headed back to camp to call it an early day.
There will be more marking next Saturday, and I hope to help man the BBQ on the day of the event (gotta be near the chow!)
