Our fearless leader steps up to the plate once again and shows us a thing or three: how to do trails a man's way. But first: the days sequence of events - not so fast there; one thing at a time.
I pulled in to Oak "Slopes" camp ~8:30am, and to see the sheriff sittin' in his pickup (?!) So why mention this? Ah! I had left but two things back at the bachelor pad; make that three: the latest green sticker for the borrowed beater-bike (more on that thang later), the registration, and the shock mud guard - the first two being of immediate concern. Can they impound if I do not have registration? You bet! With that on my mind I made sure to park ffffffaaaaaarrrrrrrrr away; outta site, outta mind.
My plan was to get gone ASAP so if Mr. Sheriff comes sniffin' around he'd avoid the "missing" green current sticker altogether. The current one is not only expired but has these HUGE letters, screaming, shouting "2002", as in "write me up! Now!" or "money to be had for the state coffers". You see, my few experiences with rangers, although pleasant and cordial, are that they do not miss any detail - afterall, that is their job, being law-enforcement personnel. So I was practicing my lines "uh, could I get a "fix-it" ticket instead of the $1mil fine/jail time/confiscation+impound fees? There's such a nice CHP office in my hometown!" "Where might that be?" "Santa Maria (please say: yes!)" "Can you prove you live there?" "We'll, ur, eh....not this very minute, officer. You see, I went to the DMV earlier this week, but being a holiday, they..." Time out! I'm sure glad not to have that conversation.
Jonala arrives but oh 20-minutes later, and finds me hiding in the back somewhere. He unloads, gets ready, and just after he asks re: mcassle, the latter pulls in. And so does Mr. Sheriff. On an ATV. With a gun and radio. Uh oh. Me feels funny, as in sick. Jonala and I discuss my escape plan, but he advises me to be nonchalant. As Mr. Sheriff pulls up, I put on my phony smile to cover up my (your're busted! Come with me, son!) thoughts, "how's it going?"'s are exchanged, and with some light chat about maps "no, but thank you - I have one already" he buzzes off to my tremendous relief. I supose I didn't look guilty...phew!
So mcassle gears up, and after bike warm ups, our leader takes us on up the road in search of today's challenges.
He took us to the north, then northeast around the preserve. Before our first break I claimed the first mishap. To be perfectly honest, I'm not one for liking ruts whatsoever - my nemesis, especially muddy ones. Somehow the site of them hits this switch in my brain, and like I mentally break down - things get turned off - I momentarily become a whole different (flay-ing) rider, and feel/act like I'm on ice. OK; enough of the excuse talk. So I lay it over - not even completely thru the long rut - and somehow kept it running (I wanted to make a get-away before mcassle saw me, but, alas, to rather a full revelation - he got a front-row seat to the escapade). Now upright, I had this goo on my gloves, but let's be a real man! and off we went. Huh? No front brake lever? Dang! Lost it to the mud. See: my fear is justified. And Jonala happened to have a spare he loaned me, which I used 'til camp. Ever try to ride a two-smoke without a front brake? I tied for a short while. Take my word for it - it doesn't work well at all.
Did I mention it was a fine day for riding? Air was clean, the sky blue, and Mr. Sheriff went about his business.
After a stop/turn-around at a dead end near the extreme NE end of the preserve, our leader takes us back, then forward again onto an awesome single-track cut into the side of a mountain. Miles of it. It ends at a microwave tower. By then, the effects of no hand guards were bearing down on my fingers, becoming somewhat swollen from the repeated hits; the beater doesn't have any, being a SoCa GP bike, and I did not have time to set them on Friday night, but that's another story for another time...
So we are out there, like in way out there, and Jonala has this odd look on him, as if to say "we're really not lost". "(Do) you know where we are?" I ask, to which he replies "no" lightly, "but I know the way back". "Oh; then that's all that matters" a=to whcih mcasssle and I nod in agreement; that's a good thing.
He leads us on some easier trails, and others no so light weight. Mcassle took a tumble on a stair-step rock section (that's OK Matt: it wan't easy for us either) that gave him a slap in the back of the knee. Thereafter our wise and benevolent leader searched less demanding routes with ernest.
We arrived back at camp ~2pm for a lunch break 47-49 miles later, and with that mcassle headed out as his knee was giving him minor problems.
Remember Mr. Sheriff? Well by then there was a whole truck load of them. Geesh! Turns out they had a trailer full of ATVs, and was in and out on some patrol.
Jonala took me out for another loop, much shorter than the first but no less fun in itself. We headed out ~4:30pm. On the road out I clipped a rock with my pickup that ended up punctured one of my tires. With the help of Jonala I was on my way again in no time.
And with that I conclude another "fine(less)" day
I pulled in to Oak "Slopes" camp ~8:30am, and to see the sheriff sittin' in his pickup (?!) So why mention this? Ah! I had left but two things back at the bachelor pad; make that three: the latest green sticker for the borrowed beater-bike (more on that thang later), the registration, and the shock mud guard - the first two being of immediate concern. Can they impound if I do not have registration? You bet! With that on my mind I made sure to park ffffffaaaaaarrrrrrrrr away; outta site, outta mind.
My plan was to get gone ASAP so if Mr. Sheriff comes sniffin' around he'd avoid the "missing" green current sticker altogether. The current one is not only expired but has these HUGE letters, screaming, shouting "2002", as in "write me up! Now!" or "money to be had for the state coffers". You see, my few experiences with rangers, although pleasant and cordial, are that they do not miss any detail - afterall, that is their job, being law-enforcement personnel. So I was practicing my lines "uh, could I get a "fix-it" ticket instead of the $1mil fine/jail time/confiscation+impound fees? There's such a nice CHP office in my hometown!" "Where might that be?" "Santa Maria (please say: yes!)" "Can you prove you live there?" "We'll, ur, eh....not this very minute, officer. You see, I went to the DMV earlier this week, but being a holiday, they..." Time out! I'm sure glad not to have that conversation.
Jonala arrives but oh 20-minutes later, and finds me hiding in the back somewhere. He unloads, gets ready, and just after he asks re: mcassle, the latter pulls in. And so does Mr. Sheriff. On an ATV. With a gun and radio. Uh oh. Me feels funny, as in sick. Jonala and I discuss my escape plan, but he advises me to be nonchalant. As Mr. Sheriff pulls up, I put on my phony smile to cover up my (your're busted! Come with me, son!) thoughts, "how's it going?"'s are exchanged, and with some light chat about maps "no, but thank you - I have one already" he buzzes off to my tremendous relief. I supose I didn't look guilty...phew!
So mcassle gears up, and after bike warm ups, our leader takes us on up the road in search of today's challenges.
He took us to the north, then northeast around the preserve. Before our first break I claimed the first mishap. To be perfectly honest, I'm not one for liking ruts whatsoever - my nemesis, especially muddy ones. Somehow the site of them hits this switch in my brain, and like I mentally break down - things get turned off - I momentarily become a whole different (flay-ing) rider, and feel/act like I'm on ice. OK; enough of the excuse talk. So I lay it over - not even completely thru the long rut - and somehow kept it running (I wanted to make a get-away before mcassle saw me, but, alas, to rather a full revelation - he got a front-row seat to the escapade). Now upright, I had this goo on my gloves, but let's be a real man! and off we went. Huh? No front brake lever? Dang! Lost it to the mud. See: my fear is justified. And Jonala happened to have a spare he loaned me, which I used 'til camp. Ever try to ride a two-smoke without a front brake? I tied for a short while. Take my word for it - it doesn't work well at all.
Did I mention it was a fine day for riding? Air was clean, the sky blue, and Mr. Sheriff went about his business.
After a stop/turn-around at a dead end near the extreme NE end of the preserve, our leader takes us back, then forward again onto an awesome single-track cut into the side of a mountain. Miles of it. It ends at a microwave tower. By then, the effects of no hand guards were bearing down on my fingers, becoming somewhat swollen from the repeated hits; the beater doesn't have any, being a SoCa GP bike, and I did not have time to set them on Friday night, but that's another story for another time...
So we are out there, like in way out there, and Jonala has this odd look on him, as if to say "we're really not lost". "(Do) you know where we are?" I ask, to which he replies "no" lightly, "but I know the way back". "Oh; then that's all that matters" a=to whcih mcasssle and I nod in agreement; that's a good thing.
He leads us on some easier trails, and others no so light weight. Mcassle took a tumble on a stair-step rock section (that's OK Matt: it wan't easy for us either) that gave him a slap in the back of the knee. Thereafter our wise and benevolent leader searched less demanding routes with ernest.
We arrived back at camp ~2pm for a lunch break 47-49 miles later, and with that mcassle headed out as his knee was giving him minor problems.
Remember Mr. Sheriff? Well by then there was a whole truck load of them. Geesh! Turns out they had a trailer full of ATVs, and was in and out on some patrol.
Jonala took me out for another loop, much shorter than the first but no less fun in itself. We headed out ~4:30pm. On the road out I clipped a rock with my pickup that ended up punctured one of my tires. With the help of Jonala I was on my way again in no time.
And with that I conclude another "fine(less)" day
