Somehow the tide of the “let’s ride Saturday” thread turned my way and I was able to meet up with some Northern Californians at Clear Creek. It’s on BLM-managed land, situated in the San Benito mountains (coast range) a little over two hours south of the San Francisco bay area. It’s even closer to those who live in the central valley. 50k acres are contained within the confines of this pristine area, which was mined as late as 1970 for cinnabar to process into liquid mercury. And if that’s not enough, the area contains friable serpentine asbestos; what I remember from my schooling, there were at least two types: a straight, and another with “hooks” – the latter may very well be the stuff here. Ugh.
I left my place before the sunrise, thinking it be proper not to be late in meeting my guides at the agreed time. As it turned out the drive up was not only pleasant but rather efficient going up Highway 101. Thinking this could very well be a speed trap I kept it at the legal limit.
Big acreage and farms abound in the southern end of the Salinas Valley, along with low-laying fog, especially with the green rolling hills covered with oak trees, green grass and cattle. Yes siree, this is cow country. Dig it. That’s future tri tip and carne asada tacos in them hills. And there is actually water flowing in the streambeds; imagine that – something I haven’t seen for some time. Does that mean I will actually cross water today?
Arriving ahead of all the others afforded me the time to sort out a few things in an efficient manner. But my first “oops!” came when fueling up me horse: feeling something strange on my thigh, I pulled back the gas can, only to douse the tank top with premix. Drip, drip, drip. What a mess. Oh well: it will evaporate in time.
As the fuel was vaporizing, Jonala pulled in, followed by Bigbird; usual intros ensued (hey, I don’t feel so old after all), and we geared up.
D36 shows with his flaming/purple KDX, unloads and dresses in a hurry. The first crash of the day came when his stand gave in- all at zero MPH. He lost only the ball-end of his clutch lever.
Then my second “oops!” came when inadvertently locking up my cab – with both ignition keys inside! What a bonehead. Jonala tries his key to no avail (must work only on GMs), so he gave me a hanger to play with, saying, “at least y9ou can ride today - thanks for the encouragement, brother. After a few futile attempts, I was able to unlatch the doors with the door lock/unlock button. Phew!
Jonala and BB go over to the posted map to strategize the day’s trails, we then head off, crossing the creek first thing. Cool. A splish/splash and we go up the hill. Every 25 feet or so there’s a water bar to jump, and after a few awkward jumps I find a rhythm. Then BB comes to a sudden stop. “WTF?” I see his chain dragging in the dirt. Upon closer examination, his chain snapped, and wedged in the case saver; no tools were going to get it out. With that he coasted back to camp (we were maybe ¾-mile uphill) and the work ensued. After forcing this and that, trying this or that tool, he insists we head off while he continues to work on it.
Jonala leads D36 and me back up and over the hill into some fine single track. At one split he stops and points in another direction as if we made a wrong turn, in need of going another way than we were. So we waited a few seconds for D36 to turn around, which he didn’t, and Jonala went off to what I though was to get him turned around. But they kept going, so after ten minutes I head off after them, trying to read the tracks like an Indian hunter. My attempts were in vain so I headed back to wait another 10 minutes at the spot I last saw them. No sign. I scouted the hills to and fro then decided it’d be best to head back to camp. Turns out they came back to the same spot, perhaps between my waits.
BB had gotten his chain completely off and on again and was adding a clip to the second master link when I pulled in. After that we were able to regroup and head off together again. This loop was longer and afforded us some unimaginable variety. Beautiful country and vistas; some trails wide-open, many tight and twisty. Hill climbs galore. Stream crossings. One downhill took us to some really tight, jersey-snagging area where there was this groove you placed both tires in and essentially slid down; left, right, then repeat again and again. Some spots were so steep I could feel the rear tire come up in the air. Often. Then there was this on RH turn/step down I knew I had to bulldog down. Now mind you, being rather proud in the saddle, I’m not one to bulldog – nope, haven’t done it in decades, if ever, but here there was another option and therefore had to not only eat my pride but some soil as I had to side-saddle on the downhill side (wrong!) and the bike took a plop, me a shoulder roll. I heard D36 say “oh, man”; as I got it up upright, I couldn’t see a thing – goggles being fogged up, yet they had to be on otherwise experience eye shish-ka-bob, Bob. So you see, Bob, I had quite the dilemma. But my kind NoCa brethren had the patience to let this undernourished desert lizard have a breather before the final descent into the creek and onto the other side of salvation. Phew!
Oh! I forgot to mention that one ¼ mile downhill, filled with bowling ball-sized rocks, and when you tried to control downhill speed, they simply dislodged and went with you. Touchy stuff.
We had ~43 fun-filled miles before packing it up for the day, and vowed to do it again soon.
Day Two.
Another fine drive up and I arrive well in advance, enough for a 5-10 minute nap. Fremontguy (hereafter FG) approaches and introduces himself, leaving us to get ready then wait for the rest. And wait we did. Then a ranger passes by. She looked familiar, although we’ve never met. “You John’s sister?” “Why yes” she said, rather pleasantly and surprised. She pointed off to where they usually stage, with the Moron Magnet, as she called it (his trailer with the Aftershock banner). I ask here about the turkey brick; she laughs (about the overcooked Thanksgiving turkey John mentioned).
Well, no shows yet, so FG takes me on a short loop, then back to camp. No Farmer and friends. We do another loop. Nope: they houred out - DQ’d for sure. With that we plotted a course and ventured off to the Netherlands. On the first up hill I’m following FG too closely as he clears this water bar. Upon landing sends this bucket-o-roost/rocks pelting my new Arai and chest protector. I mad the mistake of letting off and boooggg, boooooogggg, bbooog, bog_____. Mmmm; mestuck on hill too steep and loose to restart, so must go back down and try again. FG waits for me but is not one for many breaks so he take me into some of neat-o single track thru the north face of the hills, still damp for the storm few weeks ago. As we approached the far end some connectors had nasty rock up hills, but we were able to conquer those without incident. We tried some spurs, but most were dead ends. At one point thinking we had traveled far enough we broke for lunch, perched atop a high mountain. You could see the snow-capped Sierras and fog in the California central valley. Then there were the two microwave relay towers off in the distance on two separate peaks.
After lunch FG suggests I lead (mistake?!). We went down and then up some really steep and long hills; going down was nothing more or less than controlled slides; up a test of line selection and horsepower. After a failed attempt FG confessed hills weren’t his best arena, so I looked for different paths. We ventured into the Natural Area (off-road use limited) only to turn around; the way out was just as much of a challenge since there was a mud bog every few hundred feet. On one of the longer ones I jetted across the water just fine but near the end the mud said “hold it there, partner” and I laid it over; at least it was not in the water. A little clutch slippage and extra throttle, then I was out of that muck. We then connected to a trail, eventually leading us to the plan crash site; mangled pieces of aluminum and steel.
Once there we figured it’d be good to head back to camp as it was past 2pm. Dumping out at a place called Sawmill, we circled around to find a way over the ridge, and eventually found our way back to the main valley and camp. Fun!
With that the adventures of the desert lizard came to a close. What I can say is Clear Creek is one outrageous big and scenic place to ride; one is not lacking for variety.
Later that evening as I was hosing down my bike in the darkness, the neighbor kid – maybe eight-, maybe ten-years old, approaches me and says: “Is that a dirt bike?” “Yep.” “Then why are you washing it?” “Well, I have to work on it; don’t want to get dirty now.” “Is this where you put your feet?” pointing to the peg. “Yep. And where do you put your hands?” “Here?” “Yep” “Gotta go.” “Bye.”
I left my place before the sunrise, thinking it be proper not to be late in meeting my guides at the agreed time. As it turned out the drive up was not only pleasant but rather efficient going up Highway 101. Thinking this could very well be a speed trap I kept it at the legal limit.
Big acreage and farms abound in the southern end of the Salinas Valley, along with low-laying fog, especially with the green rolling hills covered with oak trees, green grass and cattle. Yes siree, this is cow country. Dig it. That’s future tri tip and carne asada tacos in them hills. And there is actually water flowing in the streambeds; imagine that – something I haven’t seen for some time. Does that mean I will actually cross water today?
Arriving ahead of all the others afforded me the time to sort out a few things in an efficient manner. But my first “oops!” came when fueling up me horse: feeling something strange on my thigh, I pulled back the gas can, only to douse the tank top with premix. Drip, drip, drip. What a mess. Oh well: it will evaporate in time.
As the fuel was vaporizing, Jonala pulled in, followed by Bigbird; usual intros ensued (hey, I don’t feel so old after all), and we geared up.
D36 shows with his flaming/purple KDX, unloads and dresses in a hurry. The first crash of the day came when his stand gave in- all at zero MPH. He lost only the ball-end of his clutch lever.
Then my second “oops!” came when inadvertently locking up my cab – with both ignition keys inside! What a bonehead. Jonala tries his key to no avail (must work only on GMs), so he gave me a hanger to play with, saying, “at least y9ou can ride today - thanks for the encouragement, brother. After a few futile attempts, I was able to unlatch the doors with the door lock/unlock button. Phew!
Jonala and BB go over to the posted map to strategize the day’s trails, we then head off, crossing the creek first thing. Cool. A splish/splash and we go up the hill. Every 25 feet or so there’s a water bar to jump, and after a few awkward jumps I find a rhythm. Then BB comes to a sudden stop. “WTF?” I see his chain dragging in the dirt. Upon closer examination, his chain snapped, and wedged in the case saver; no tools were going to get it out. With that he coasted back to camp (we were maybe ¾-mile uphill) and the work ensued. After forcing this and that, trying this or that tool, he insists we head off while he continues to work on it.
Jonala leads D36 and me back up and over the hill into some fine single track. At one split he stops and points in another direction as if we made a wrong turn, in need of going another way than we were. So we waited a few seconds for D36 to turn around, which he didn’t, and Jonala went off to what I though was to get him turned around. But they kept going, so after ten minutes I head off after them, trying to read the tracks like an Indian hunter. My attempts were in vain so I headed back to wait another 10 minutes at the spot I last saw them. No sign. I scouted the hills to and fro then decided it’d be best to head back to camp. Turns out they came back to the same spot, perhaps between my waits.
BB had gotten his chain completely off and on again and was adding a clip to the second master link when I pulled in. After that we were able to regroup and head off together again. This loop was longer and afforded us some unimaginable variety. Beautiful country and vistas; some trails wide-open, many tight and twisty. Hill climbs galore. Stream crossings. One downhill took us to some really tight, jersey-snagging area where there was this groove you placed both tires in and essentially slid down; left, right, then repeat again and again. Some spots were so steep I could feel the rear tire come up in the air. Often. Then there was this on RH turn/step down I knew I had to bulldog down. Now mind you, being rather proud in the saddle, I’m not one to bulldog – nope, haven’t done it in decades, if ever, but here there was another option and therefore had to not only eat my pride but some soil as I had to side-saddle on the downhill side (wrong!) and the bike took a plop, me a shoulder roll. I heard D36 say “oh, man”; as I got it up upright, I couldn’t see a thing – goggles being fogged up, yet they had to be on otherwise experience eye shish-ka-bob, Bob. So you see, Bob, I had quite the dilemma. But my kind NoCa brethren had the patience to let this undernourished desert lizard have a breather before the final descent into the creek and onto the other side of salvation. Phew!
Oh! I forgot to mention that one ¼ mile downhill, filled with bowling ball-sized rocks, and when you tried to control downhill speed, they simply dislodged and went with you. Touchy stuff.
We had ~43 fun-filled miles before packing it up for the day, and vowed to do it again soon.
Day Two.
Another fine drive up and I arrive well in advance, enough for a 5-10 minute nap. Fremontguy (hereafter FG) approaches and introduces himself, leaving us to get ready then wait for the rest. And wait we did. Then a ranger passes by. She looked familiar, although we’ve never met. “You John’s sister?” “Why yes” she said, rather pleasantly and surprised. She pointed off to where they usually stage, with the Moron Magnet, as she called it (his trailer with the Aftershock banner). I ask here about the turkey brick; she laughs (about the overcooked Thanksgiving turkey John mentioned).
Well, no shows yet, so FG takes me on a short loop, then back to camp. No Farmer and friends. We do another loop. Nope: they houred out - DQ’d for sure. With that we plotted a course and ventured off to the Netherlands. On the first up hill I’m following FG too closely as he clears this water bar. Upon landing sends this bucket-o-roost/rocks pelting my new Arai and chest protector. I mad the mistake of letting off and boooggg, boooooogggg, bbooog, bog_____. Mmmm; mestuck on hill too steep and loose to restart, so must go back down and try again. FG waits for me but is not one for many breaks so he take me into some of neat-o single track thru the north face of the hills, still damp for the storm few weeks ago. As we approached the far end some connectors had nasty rock up hills, but we were able to conquer those without incident. We tried some spurs, but most were dead ends. At one point thinking we had traveled far enough we broke for lunch, perched atop a high mountain. You could see the snow-capped Sierras and fog in the California central valley. Then there were the two microwave relay towers off in the distance on two separate peaks.
After lunch FG suggests I lead (mistake?!). We went down and then up some really steep and long hills; going down was nothing more or less than controlled slides; up a test of line selection and horsepower. After a failed attempt FG confessed hills weren’t his best arena, so I looked for different paths. We ventured into the Natural Area (off-road use limited) only to turn around; the way out was just as much of a challenge since there was a mud bog every few hundred feet. On one of the longer ones I jetted across the water just fine but near the end the mud said “hold it there, partner” and I laid it over; at least it was not in the water. A little clutch slippage and extra throttle, then I was out of that muck. We then connected to a trail, eventually leading us to the plan crash site; mangled pieces of aluminum and steel.
Once there we figured it’d be good to head back to camp as it was past 2pm. Dumping out at a place called Sawmill, we circled around to find a way over the ridge, and eventually found our way back to the main valley and camp. Fun!
With that the adventures of the desert lizard came to a close. What I can say is Clear Creek is one outrageous big and scenic place to ride; one is not lacking for variety.
Later that evening as I was hosing down my bike in the darkness, the neighbor kid – maybe eight-, maybe ten-years old, approaches me and says: “Is that a dirt bike?” “Yep.” “Then why are you washing it?” “Well, I have to work on it; don’t want to get dirty now.” “Is this where you put your feet?” pointing to the peg. “Yep. And where do you put your hands?” “Here?” “Yep” “Gotta go.” “Bye.”
