My middle son (hereafter reluctant2stroke or R2S) and I left home at 6am for the drive to the finest riding spot on the southern Sierras. We stopped at Bakersfield to buy fishing licenses before driving up a different way than ever before, from the west up the Kern River canyon to Lake Isabella, also known as the back way. We had overtaken a bus full of white water rafters just east of town, to give you an idea of one of the river’s popular recreational activities.
Once past the edge of the San Joaquin valley, the highway snakes along the river into the steep canyon for about half the way to lake, and for the rest of this leg the highway turns into two lanes while straightening out compared to the prior winding; after the transition R2S lays his hand on his belly and stares off into the distance with a gaping jaw. As he reaches for a bag his breakfast comes up and out the window, so I quickly pull over for a break while he attends to business. Hiya ralph. Poor guy.
We resume after he composes himself, and I give him an opportunity to choose returning to our traditional route (Hwy 14/395). Not one for attention to his suffering he declines and we head north towards an the old abandoned logging community of Johnsondale, but before getting much closer, have to swing east and up toward the Kern Plateau, halfway to camp.
Along this leg we passed Kernville, situated on the river – a lunch destination for those in times past do a long loop over Sherman Pass. While there I spotted a vitamin shop and stopped for something to settle his stomach, and ended up with some ginger-enhanced candy. The darn stuff did its job but stuck to our teeth like tenacles. And it left this hot afterburner taste in your mouth. Gag.
I considered fishing the North fork of the Kern although declined due to the speed at which the water was moving – plenty of snow melt this year – good for rafting but too much to fast for the fish just yet.
Going up the grade eastward revealed acres and acres of the big fire from a few years ago. Doing the Cannell trail was considered although deciding against it didn’t take much thought as the landscape was rather barren between the tall blacken remains of evergreens. Sad how things got out of hand, and restricting or eliminating proper forest care exacerbates the very reason of having scenic manageable land to begin with.
Near Sherman peak snowdrifts remain even this late past the winter. A few miles past the peak on the downhill was our turnoff for remote fishing.
The dead end was approx. 5-miles. Stopping to review the map revealed we should continue ahead while an older map showed a hairpin. Hmmm. Attempting to restart resulted in a rapid clicking sound from the starter; our first thoughts were the starter had gone bad, of all places. I couldn’t bridge the contacts, nor remove the starter motor altogether due to the space constraints, hot exhaust manifold, and few tools in hand. It was time forgo fishing to unload the bikes and ride the rest of the way to the DRN campsite in search of assistance.
Our 5 mile entrance road was plate legal only and the following trails closed due to some remaining snowdrifts; having green stickers nor trail closures was a constraining factor as we were doing this as an exercise in duress – mind you this was a rather remote location, and signs of civilization long past.
There were no signs of closure where we connected to the first single track, Sherman Pass trail. It became evident why it was closed with the frequent snow mounts. Reaching Trout Creek required a maneuver to access the over creek bridge due to the way they placed taping across the trail. Ah: a cloure sign, for the way we had just come down. While I waited on the other side of the creek, R2S managed to get onto the manmade bridge fine but lost his balance half way and the KDX flopped over the side into the creek upside down. He was okay, but as we heaved the bike upright, I noticed the throttle housing busted at the cable entrance; it fit up well within the rubber cover with minimum cable abrasion, so we were good to go, relatively.
While breaking at Bonita Meadow, I considered our options then continued along the road-legal only 4WD trails as he wasn’t 100% nor was I with 6 hours of road time from home. He repeatedly asked we take the pavement but I did not want to have to explain our actions to a Ranger in the event if little mercy were to be encountered; some rangers understand and some are by the book.
½ way on Mahogany trail we took another break, while I broke the news we were getting closer. We briefly discussed the no-start pickup symptoms and concluded the battery may be the culprit after all. – these no-maintenance batteries die differently than the older type I have experienced in my youth, which for those whom have not met me was a long time ago.
Passing Troy Camp was a relief, and more so from entering Fish Creek campground and seeing 2strok4fun. 2S4F had arrived not long before, and immediately knew something was wrong by us pulling in the way we did, on two wheels instead of four.
Discussing the options, he checked with a large, well equipped nearby group for jumper cables. They did have a charger. Mmm. Mr. Lucky was out on a hike with his dog and Kav, collecting firewood. We decided to wait for The Eel and KelsoRat to return from their tank-draining ride, to ask if they had cables. In the meantime the option of replacing the starter - even if one could be found in the nearby communities - became remote due to the evening coming upon us; loosing track of time, 2S4F reminded me it was past 5 pm. Where did it go?
Both kelso and Eel had cables (boy, did those two fellows look beat), so we borrowed a pair. 2S4F drove us in his nice new diesel pickemup to where the DieHard died, some 50 minutes away, which afforded good conversation; I almost forgot I had a problem. He attempted to jump the starter as I had but found the same obstacle, then boosted a few times to no avail; same clickety click. Seeing his truck had two batteries, he loaned me one and mounted it with some creative cable tie cutting (poles were opposite) and twig fitment/wedging to the existing mounts/fastening clamp. It then started right up! LetMeGiveYouABigKissThankYouForSavingMyBacon was all I could think. (Don't worry: no smackers. hey: he's go a wife and kids. Shame on you.)
Pulling back into camp at 7:30 means I had a few options, and R2S decided to stay behind to set up the tents in the quickly diminishing remaining sunlight while I’d run to Ridgecrest and find a battery, which could have been done the next day although I wanted to recover as much lost weekend plans as possible and sacrificed a good time around the campfire for recovery. Kav in town there so his directions to exactly where within Wally World auto batteries were to be found was appreciated. Before leaving Mr. Lucky offers me a piece of meat, and that was well appreciated.
Just over an hour later I was at the automated brand-battery application mini-processor/display punching in my pickup’s model, make, etc. I had to go through the whole sequence 3x due to sticky buttons and operator error. Topping off the gas tank, fresh ice and drinking water and I was heading back. It took a half hour longer to return to camp higher up the mountain.
I hung in around/made the rounds at the campfire with the DRNers (even Kiwi, but he did insist on hugs this time - phew! skated another year) until midnight, as we wanted to attempt fishing once again early the next morn. But before laying me down to rest, we took in a star-filled sky, Milky Way and all. R2S saw a shooting star, but I was too worn out and missed it completely.
Early next morning we fished the south fork of the Kern to no avail; a few nibbles, more snags but some fine dad-and-son time.
Back at camp it was jetting time. My 250 was running rich whereas the 200 lean, so it demanded and got all my attention. It was bogging rather forcefully, and I suspected a sticking float since it would not weep from the overflows. Now this is no small task, as the sub frame must be rotated upward to provide enough room to remove the carb – no rotation of the latter can be accomplished due to the carb's screw-top being ¼” from a (KX125) frame member – ah: the consequences of owning a hybrid.
The second needle change/experiment reminded me how the oversize tank requires a complete 180 deg. rotation of the petcock. Like duh! Push instead of pull: me bonehead. While having it thus far apart, 2S4F suggested a leaner pilot/richer needle via his laptop/JD program, and in they went without incident.
While my carb endeavors were progressing, Scar Tissue pulls in, two hours ahead of schedule. Good thing as we are closer time-wise to our loop start.
We don our battle gear, load up the bikes and head to the north end of the riding area. This affords us more time on the lesser traveled quality trails. Our loop consisted of Albanita, Little Horse to Oso Meadows, Blackrock, Granite/Broder trails onto the edge on Monache Meadow.
2S4F led most of the way and gave us a spirited pace. The trails were their usual dry and dust conditions, yet the water levels were like no other visit: high, flowing, and clear. At one stop we came upon Chris wetting what appeared to me a belt; ends up it was a bandana with gel thing which retains coolness, and wraps around his neck. At the next stop he asked if we saw it on the trail, having lost it – none did. And it was surprising no one volunteered to go back either - I shouldn't speak.
Speaking of the last stop/rest, Scar and R2S were a bit late in joining speedy Chris and less than speedy me. Apparently beforehand Scar was on my tail with a good clip – I wasn’t aware he was there – but with the dust he was following closely, and I had made a quick cut to another line which he missed, and ended up bouncing off of the bolder – which perhaps I avoided? – and ended up off of the trail. R2S unbeknownst went right by, and later had his own stall/starting woe. But they came rolling in just before the point of wazzup? let's backtrack.
I was having a difficult time "timing" what whoops we encountered. And an attempt at putting my tire on the top of them resulted in a mini flying “W”, which no one saw; nonetheless I came clean and admitted my shortcomings. Once we got near Monache the speeds picked up, and I was able to do it the right way and place the tire on the downside. I don't know if it's lack of muscle/poor technique, or too heavy flywheel on the slower stuff. All I know is things get edgy when I goose it at loser speeds and launch on the edge of control; higher speeds/gears is not a problem.
Somehow Scar got ahead and bypassed our last turnoff for Monache Meadows, so I sped up and stopped 2S4F, who was behind him and asked he catch Scar, who was unintentionally leading us back to Fish Creek via Jackass Peak Trail. Once turned around we went off to Monache, but came to a place where it appeared Kelso got the day before. Not caring for the looks of the long and deep gorp, let alone the same fate, we opted out, backtracked and took the 4WD trail into Monache Mdw and stopped at the south fork of the Kern.
There were oh, a dozen spectators/folks hanging out at hte first river crossing. All of the anglers were elsewhere, for obvious reasons. There was a guy in a YZF something on our side of the river near the bank, apparently took some water when crossing, and eventually got it fired up after much kicking. Following his departure we enjoyed the ½ hour just watching the water go buy – it was higher than normal for this time of year (I've been her for the last 5 summers). It’s a lot of trouble to get to this expanse but you forget it when sitting, watching hte river go by and relaxing - I hate being the one to say: “let’s go”, especially before the weariness of the ride catches up to us.
In the interest of time we took a shorter loop to get back to the drop point: Granite Cut-Off and Albanita trails. There was one long stream crossing which we all had to do. Everyone made it fine except R2S, who managed up to the opposite bank then bounced off and dropped his bike into the water. Several kicks later we were on our way.
Passing on the edge of a few meadows is one of the benefits of Alabanita, along with the twisting through the Aspens.
Alas, back at the pickups and the drive back to camp. We all hung out with 2stroke4fun’s family, as their sons, and Scar’s preferred charred marshmallow technique/creative destruction provided entertainment. I wanted to stop by and see Mr. Lucky and Kav once more but the events of the last few days brought bedtime a’callin’ all too soon.
Early morning packup and the jaunt home was before us; good we were able to be up with the sun. once int he valley floor we stopped at Murray’s Family Farms fruit stand, and I loaded up with watermelons, nectarines, peaches and oranges. The prices were not that favorable, though buying the fruit means it doesn’t have to travel as much and is closer to ripeness.
One stop for fuel, another for retrieving R2S’ reheated leftover warmed-over spaghetti, kept heated under the pickup's hood, and we were back home again 5-1/2 hours later – good time; a lot of trouble to go through but certainly worth it for camaraderie and scenery.