Kiamichi ride Nov. 3, 4
- Thread starter JMD
- Start date
- Thread starter
- #5
Devil, the Kiamichi Mountains are in southeast Oklahoma. We stage out of the Talimena State Park near Talihina, OK. Lots of rocky single track, along with miles and miles of dirt roads and two-track. Talimena St. Pk. lets dirt bikers ride right out of camp onto the trails; there are flushing toilets and showers, hookups or just tent sites. $8 a night. It's some of the best riding I've ever seen, anywhere. But it's rocky. And we leave camp in the morning and don't get back until night, so you have to carry tire tools, spare parts, food and water. Sometimes we stop in Muse for lunch, about 35 miles from camp. You can gas up there, but it's good to have a 50-mile range, just in case. Come on out, if it sounds good, and you can follow the guys who know their way around.
- May 5, 2004
- 362
- 0
I will have to make plans. I need some bike repair time but will put the effort in to make the trip. Brake pads are on order. The leaky rear shock needs checked out. I really don't want to ride the TTR if avoidable.
I talked to the wife and she may have the time off and can also go. I will try to get the box van road ready before then.
I talked to the wife and she may have the time off and can also go. I will try to get the box van road ready before then.
Last edited:
- May 5, 2004
- 362
- 0
I found this on one of the Okie State hunting sites http://www.wildlifedepartment.com/seasons.htm. The turkey season and muzzle loader deer season is open.
DEER SEASONS: The archery deer season runs from Oct 1 through Jan 15.
The muzzleloading season opens on the fourth Saturday in October
and runs for nine days. The deer gun season opens the Saturday before Thanksgiving
and runs for 16 days.
ARCHERY: Oct. 1 - 2007-Jan. 15, 2008 ( Jan. 1-15, 2008, Antlerless only )
MUZZLELOADING: Oct. 27 - Nov. 4, 2007 (Antlerless days vary by zone)
GUN: Nov. 17 - Dec. 2, 2007 (Antlerless days vary by zone)
YOUTH DEER GUN: Oct. 19-21; statewide
SPECIAL ANTLERLESS SEASON: Dec. 21-23 & Dec. 28-30 (Open only in certain zones).
WILD TURKEY: Check regulations pertaining to individual counties.
Fall 2007 Season: Gun: Nov. 3-16; open only in select counties.
Archery: Oct 1, 2007 - Jan. 15, 2008; statewide
DEER SEASONS: The archery deer season runs from Oct 1 through Jan 15.
The muzzleloading season opens on the fourth Saturday in October
and runs for nine days. The deer gun season opens the Saturday before Thanksgiving
and runs for 16 days.
ARCHERY: Oct. 1 - 2007-Jan. 15, 2008 ( Jan. 1-15, 2008, Antlerless only )
MUZZLELOADING: Oct. 27 - Nov. 4, 2007 (Antlerless days vary by zone)
GUN: Nov. 17 - Dec. 2, 2007 (Antlerless days vary by zone)
YOUTH DEER GUN: Oct. 19-21; statewide
SPECIAL ANTLERLESS SEASON: Dec. 21-23 & Dec. 28-30 (Open only in certain zones).
WILD TURKEY: Check regulations pertaining to individual counties.
Fall 2007 Season: Gun: Nov. 3-16; open only in select counties.
Archery: Oct 1, 2007 - Jan. 15, 2008; statewide
- May 5, 2004
- 362
- 0
It looks like I am in. I am still waiting on bike parts but it is looking good. I will take the TTR230 as a backup. I have the box van coming together but will have to take off Thursday also to get it inspected and registered. I will try to leave on Thursday night and grab an RV spot and hopefully in the back corner. I talked to the Ranger today at Talimena and he stated that had quite a few calls for this weekend already but as we all know "1st to arrive gets their pick".
Look for a white Ford Expedition and white GMC box van. Does everyone have a way to get there?
Look for a white Ford Expedition and white GMC box van. Does everyone have a way to get there?
- Thread starter
- #13
Randy, if you get a chance, get the spot with the little gazebo in the back. I like that gazebo. I even like the word "gazebo." Kind of like a gazelle crossed with a zebra's elbow. I'll be there Friday evening, maybe even in time for a night ride. Woo woo!
- May 5, 2004
- 362
- 0
No more drop outs please! Get pumped!!!!
I just called MX South on my parts. They confirmed Thursday delivery. It is in UPS hands now.
I just called MX South on my parts. They confirmed Thursday delivery. It is in UPS hands now.
- Thread starter
- #20
First, just in case not everybody reads this sickeningly long post, thanks to everybody who was there. One of my favorite Kiamichi trips ever. Special thanks to Mike Carpenter and Cody for the meals, and everybody who helped prepare them, including Jeb, Kenny, and others I'm probably neglecting to mention, forgetful jerk that I am. Nice to meet everybody who was there; I'll ride with any of you guys anytime, anywhere.
There were 17 of us there for the weekend, by my count, but I went to law school because they assured me there would be no math. We broke into two large groups -- the KTMtalk guys, led by Todd, and the Muenster Mafia. I was the only one of the Muenster crew who knows his way around, so I was their Fearless Leader -- Lust, Darrell, Ryan S., Cody, Mudd Slinger, Boggs, my son Jimbo, and Jedd Clampett. Nine in all in our group., all KTMs except Boggs's CR500 (yikes!) and Jedd's CR250 with autoclutch. I rode my new 450 xcr, and found that the suspension is sprung too soft for me and damped too harsh for the rocks; I skittered around a lot, like a drop of water on a hot skillet. Look at me, Ma, I'm skitterin'!
Todd and his crew were going to ride the Indian Nations Trail north of Highway 1, to Billy Creek, and down into Muse for lunch. We were going to take the southern leg of the INT along with some of my favorite alternate trails, also to Billy Creek and into Muse. Todd left camp about 9, and we got out at about 9:30 a.m., after Jedd's late arrival. Some of my natives were getting restless waiting for Jedd, but he won everybody over by the end of the day with gritty riding and an unfailing good attitude.
We first hit my fun trails out of the park, just about your only chance to see any dirt between the rocks. There are lots of little jumps and easy creek crossings. Jedd took a very hard fall in the rocks just a couple of miles out and had to fix his tweaked throttle, but he wasn't hurt, thankfully. Shortly later, Jimmy and I, in the lead, came over a little hillock and went through a perpetually deep waterhole, taking the only two correct lines, me to the far right, Jimmy to the extreme left. I stopped him just past the mudhole and said, "Let's just watch." Sure enough, before we had completely halted, even before I could have stopped him if I had wanted to, Cody came over the hump, ran right through the center, and went over the bars in the three-feet-deep yellow water. Everybody who rides there has done that one time or another in that sneaky hole. Poor Cody. I almost wish I had stopped him. (I really don't.) Yes I do; I really wish I had said something. (Not really.) I'm sorry; there's a little man who lives in my mouth, and sometimes he says bad things. He's going to shut up, now. (No I'm not; you shut up.) Really, that's it. I'm better now.
Anyway, we continued past the Waterfall, the Neon Rocks, and Three Times Hill, then I took a wrong turn and accidentally sent us up Boy Scout Hill, one of the nastiest climbs out there. It's three miles long, and I didn't realize where we were until halfway up. I let the fast guys go by and stayed back to help Cody, Randy, and Jedd. Jedd was very tired, and asked if we were just about to the top. I lied and said just a little more steep stuff and we were there. He looked ahead and asked, "Is that the hill?" and I said, yes, to which he replied, "Holy sh*t!" But everybody made it up eventually. Lots of loose rocks, off-camber uphill turns, ruts to cross, rock ledges. It was a blast. Jedd and Cody fell a few times and stalled a few more, but they made it.
Realizing where I had taken a wrong turn, we looped around on Road 6010 and hit the Waterfall trail again, past the Neon Rocks, etc., and back down Three Times Hill, where I took the correct trail across the concrete spillway and turned left toward the Horse Falls, then to the Bus Bodies and up the hill to the White Rocks. We had a good race up that hill, another really gnarly climb. The ATV guys at the top couldn't believe we made it up on two-wheelers. We're just that good, I guess. It wasn't as tough as Boy Scout, but it's rocky and slippery and long. Still, it rewards you with a panoramic view of the valley to the south. Jedd wasn't interested in the view right away, though; he was so tired when he got there, he just collapsed on the ground, spread-eagled supine, motionless. One of the women on an ATV asked, "Is he dead?" No, we said. That's just his way of saying he's a little tired and he'd like to slip into a little coma to rest.
We rode back down the hill, as there's no other way off the White Rocks, though one of these days I'm going to find one. We finally hit the dirt roads and raced our way into Muse for lunch. There we met up with Todd and his group, who had just finished eating. We had 37 miles under our belts, and they had about the same.
We ate at Bird's Cafe, Gas, and General Store, the only commercial establishment in Muse; we gassed up with 89 octane, the only gas in town, and prepared to take off again, when we were treated to a genuine country hassling by a state trooper, apparently the only butthole in town. Not really; he was pretty cool, I guess, and he let us continue on our way after a lecture that I thought was a little snottier than it needed to be, but I kept my mouth shut, mostly, and took one for the team. He got his own little butt-chewing shortly later, though. With 17 hungry dirt bikers eating lunch and buying gas and assorted pain killers and anti-inflammatory notions, lotions, and potions, the owner of the cafe said she made more money that day than she makes in two normal weeks. Everybody tipped them well, and I even donated $10 to the disabled veterans' fund they had going, just because I want to stay on their good side, and I'm so grateful to the veterans of this country who sacrifice so much so we can do stupid things like ride motorized bicycles over rough ground. Anyway, the owner chewed the cop out petty well for hassling us, according to Cody, who overheard it. I hope it did some good. It's nice to be able to ride into Muse for lunch. The cop did say he didn't have any problem with our riding along the shoulder of the roads, in the grass.
Cody and Jedd were totally exhausted, and Jedd's brakes were MIA. They didn't want to ride the 35 miles back on the trails, so Jedd caught a ride back and drove his truck and trailer back to Muse, where Cody waited with the bikes. That's when Cody overheard the cafe owner reaming out the cop for interfering with her customers. In his defense, the cop said somebody had called him to complain, so he obviously had to do something. He was about as cool as he could have been, I guess, under the circumstances. Jerk. No, I'm just kidding. (Not really.) Yes, I am; he was cool. (Jerk)
The rest of our group, now seven in number, departed Muse after the cop left. We rode up Billy Creek Road, hit the INT north of the campground and crossed Billy Creek, where Randy (Mudd Slinger) and his WR250 promptly went swimming. No harm done to bike nor man. He had a smallmouth bass in his teeth when he came up, but as the stream is catch-and-release, after a short argument, we persuaded Randy to spit it out, and it swam away a bit dazed, possibly from severe halitosis shock, but otherwise unharmed. We rode the first 15 miles of the INT, my favorite part of the trail. It's less rocky, a bit more open, and you can really rail the turns. It reminds me a little of the high desert of New Mexico. On the other hand, many things remind me of the high desert in New Mexico. In fact, you remind me just a little bit of the high desert in New Mexico. Let's see; where was I?
About 10 miles from camp, and after about 65 total miles for the day, I was starting to wear out, and some of the faster guys in better shape were getting impatient, so they passed me and took to waiting at the intersections for directions, They missed a junction and got off the INT, but I found a way back on track without going backwards. Darrell was very tired, and he took a header into a tree at a scary creek crossing. He hit the tree so hard three squirrels fell out, landed on their heads, and staggered around like drunks with stupid expressions of their little furry faces, muttering, "Duh, I was just passin' by; just passin' by." I couldn't believe Darrell got up from that crash, but he did. Just shook his head, kicked the drunk squirrels to the side, picked his bike up, and headed down the trail. Tough guy. Ugly, but tough.
We rejoined the group, and when we hit Road 6010, most of us were ready to ride some gravel roads, so we headed down 6010 to Highway 63, rode the shoulder to Rifle Range Road, and headed up to the trailhead just north of Frazier Creek Road. Then we rode the fun trails back toward camp. At that point, everybody kind of split into two groups again. Jimmy and Luster pretty much know the way back, and they led most of the group while I stayed back with Darrell.
Darrel and I rode slowly back, conserving our energy and consoling ourselves with thoughts of Tortoises and Hares. However, everybody was already at camp when we arrived; so much for frickin' Aesop and his fables. Everybody was back, that is, but Boggs, as it turned out. It took us a while to realize he wasn't back yet. After half an hour, I was preparing to go look for him with my helmet light, as darkness was approaching, when he straggled in. Seems he had been caught in a Talimena version of the Bermuda Triangle, going around and around looking for the way back. He passed the same family of African-American hikers three times as he looped around. The third time, he heard them say, "Here comes that white boy again." They took pity on him and showed him the way back to camp. He was a little miffed that we had all left him cold and lonely and, he said, in need of a hug. Sorry, Boggsy; dirt bikers don't hug. OK, come here, you big lug. There, there.
Mike Carpenter and Cody provided fajitas for everybody Saturday night. They were delicious, even more so than free food usually is. Thanks, guys. In gratitude, I didn't even examine my food too closely under the lantern's light. I know better than to do that with camp food. A guy I know who did that once found that he was actually eating one of his tent-mate's old riding socks. So I just eat my food in the dark; sometimes it's better not to know. But this food was actually good, unlike most camp food about which the best that can be said is that it didn't make your hair fall out. In fact, it was so good, I didn't even bother to cook the steaks I had brought. I did roast some jalapenos, but they were too hot to eat. Nobody would touch them, except Luster and me. We each ate two bites. My lips burned for an hour. Luster said his pepper was hotter than lava. Mine was only as hot as the surface of the sun, but still, that's very hot. Anyway, we all split our time beween the two campfires, in Mike's camp and Darrell's, until about midnight, telling outrageous lies, drinking too much, and stinking up the place with noisy, obnoxious bodily emissions. Not me, of course; I always tell the truth.
Just before bed, I ate a banana in the hope of avoiding my almost inevitable leg cramps, and crawled into my nest of sleeping bags and blankets in the van. Jimmy, as is his invariable habit, declined to sleep in the van, though there is plenty of room. It seems he always has the same nightmare when he stays in the van; he is being assaulted by a huge, loathesome white beast with an incessant nasal roar that rattles the windows and sometimes sets off the burglar alarm. The disgusting creature periodically shatters the night with ripping sounds accompanied by a stupefyingly rancid odor. Poor guy; he just has too vivid an imagination to sleep in the van; he chooses a tent every time. So I always stay in the van alone, as, apparently, all my friends have also had that same nightmare. How strange that they should all have the same dream. The metal and fiberglas structure of the high-top Chevy van must somehow have a channeling effect on the unnatural wavelengths of the psychic world. I must make a mental note to research that issue, when I have more time. Right now, it's time for bed, and I can already feel my stomach rumbling from something I ate.
Sunday morning, Mike C. and Kenny cooked up an amazing breakfast of biscuits and gravy, eggs, and sausage. I eat like a starving sailor, then feel my stomach rumbling again, but keep it to myself. Mostly.
Anyway, Todd and his crew were going to hit Boy Scout Hill and a portion of the INT. My guys wanted to ride the west side of Highway 271 to see the abandoned railroad trestle in Crusher Hollow. Getting to the Hollow, there was one half-mile-long hill, very rocky and twisty, that provided some challenge, though not as much as Boy Scout. Mudd Slinger, continuing in his tradition, took a dive into the creek at the bottom, but again no damage done, if you don't count a frog in your mouth as damage. The frog may have a different perspective, but hell, he's just an amphibian, hardly a sentient being at all. What do we care what he thinks?
We rode a lot of fun fire roads and Jeep trails, putting in about 25 miles by eleven-thirty or so. Jedd was really starting to get the hang of the rocks; I think his bored and stroked KTM 125 (170cc) worked a lot better than the CR250. It was nice to have a little bit of an easier day for everybody, at least in our group.
We returned to camp as Todd, Jeb, 2Wheeln, Kenny, and their hard-core crew were returning. I heard that they had a good ride up Boy Scout and along the INT. I don't know whether everybody make it up clean or had a close encounter of the rocky kind. Confession is good for the soul, guys. Personally, I never crashed all weekend, though on two occasions I was overcome by the sudden urge to get off the 450 and examine some interesting moss on a couple of oddly shaped rocks, and didn't have time to use the kickstand.
At any rate, by about noon we had all changed our clothes, said our goodbyes, and packed up to head home. Jimmy and I stopped in Talihina with Cody and Mudd Slinger for lunch at Pam's Diner, then hit the road again. Jimmy and I made it home by 4:30, barbecued our leftover steaks and watched the two TiVo'd Mavericks games we had missed, then washed the bikes. I slept well that night, aside from a few times waking up in a cold sweat screaming, "The rocks! The rocks! Stop, you fool, you'll kill us all!" Other than that, I slept fine.
I had one of my best weekends at Talimena ever. Great riding, good friends, lots of good food, and no leg cramps, for a change. Must have been the banana.
I'll say this; the guys who struggled out there really earned my admiration. They threw their bikes up rock ledges and climbed up on all fours, spun out on off-camber uphills and started from a dead stop; they bounced from one side of the trail to the other like pinballs, nailed bowling-ball-sized rocks dead center and saved it, fishtailed wildly lying on the seat with their legs trailing behind. They crashed in the rocks, picked their bikes up, dusted themselves off, ignored bruises, gravel rash, burns, and ringing ears, got back on their mangled machines and made it over every stinkin' obstacle out there. It was like the Last Man Standing. For some of us who are more experienced in Talimena's ultra-rocky conditions, it was a bit easier, but my hat is really off to these guys who had it a little tougher and gutted it out. Nice job, guys. Thanks for the inspiration. You're my heroes. Really. Thanks to everybody there. It was a real privilege. A rocky privilege, but a privilege nonetheless.
There were 17 of us there for the weekend, by my count, but I went to law school because they assured me there would be no math. We broke into two large groups -- the KTMtalk guys, led by Todd, and the Muenster Mafia. I was the only one of the Muenster crew who knows his way around, so I was their Fearless Leader -- Lust, Darrell, Ryan S., Cody, Mudd Slinger, Boggs, my son Jimbo, and Jedd Clampett. Nine in all in our group., all KTMs except Boggs's CR500 (yikes!) and Jedd's CR250 with autoclutch. I rode my new 450 xcr, and found that the suspension is sprung too soft for me and damped too harsh for the rocks; I skittered around a lot, like a drop of water on a hot skillet. Look at me, Ma, I'm skitterin'!
Todd and his crew were going to ride the Indian Nations Trail north of Highway 1, to Billy Creek, and down into Muse for lunch. We were going to take the southern leg of the INT along with some of my favorite alternate trails, also to Billy Creek and into Muse. Todd left camp about 9, and we got out at about 9:30 a.m., after Jedd's late arrival. Some of my natives were getting restless waiting for Jedd, but he won everybody over by the end of the day with gritty riding and an unfailing good attitude.
We first hit my fun trails out of the park, just about your only chance to see any dirt between the rocks. There are lots of little jumps and easy creek crossings. Jedd took a very hard fall in the rocks just a couple of miles out and had to fix his tweaked throttle, but he wasn't hurt, thankfully. Shortly later, Jimmy and I, in the lead, came over a little hillock and went through a perpetually deep waterhole, taking the only two correct lines, me to the far right, Jimmy to the extreme left. I stopped him just past the mudhole and said, "Let's just watch." Sure enough, before we had completely halted, even before I could have stopped him if I had wanted to, Cody came over the hump, ran right through the center, and went over the bars in the three-feet-deep yellow water. Everybody who rides there has done that one time or another in that sneaky hole. Poor Cody. I almost wish I had stopped him. (I really don't.) Yes I do; I really wish I had said something. (Not really.) I'm sorry; there's a little man who lives in my mouth, and sometimes he says bad things. He's going to shut up, now. (No I'm not; you shut up.) Really, that's it. I'm better now.
Anyway, we continued past the Waterfall, the Neon Rocks, and Three Times Hill, then I took a wrong turn and accidentally sent us up Boy Scout Hill, one of the nastiest climbs out there. It's three miles long, and I didn't realize where we were until halfway up. I let the fast guys go by and stayed back to help Cody, Randy, and Jedd. Jedd was very tired, and asked if we were just about to the top. I lied and said just a little more steep stuff and we were there. He looked ahead and asked, "Is that the hill?" and I said, yes, to which he replied, "Holy sh*t!" But everybody made it up eventually. Lots of loose rocks, off-camber uphill turns, ruts to cross, rock ledges. It was a blast. Jedd and Cody fell a few times and stalled a few more, but they made it.
Realizing where I had taken a wrong turn, we looped around on Road 6010 and hit the Waterfall trail again, past the Neon Rocks, etc., and back down Three Times Hill, where I took the correct trail across the concrete spillway and turned left toward the Horse Falls, then to the Bus Bodies and up the hill to the White Rocks. We had a good race up that hill, another really gnarly climb. The ATV guys at the top couldn't believe we made it up on two-wheelers. We're just that good, I guess. It wasn't as tough as Boy Scout, but it's rocky and slippery and long. Still, it rewards you with a panoramic view of the valley to the south. Jedd wasn't interested in the view right away, though; he was so tired when he got there, he just collapsed on the ground, spread-eagled supine, motionless. One of the women on an ATV asked, "Is he dead?" No, we said. That's just his way of saying he's a little tired and he'd like to slip into a little coma to rest.
We rode back down the hill, as there's no other way off the White Rocks, though one of these days I'm going to find one. We finally hit the dirt roads and raced our way into Muse for lunch. There we met up with Todd and his group, who had just finished eating. We had 37 miles under our belts, and they had about the same.
We ate at Bird's Cafe, Gas, and General Store, the only commercial establishment in Muse; we gassed up with 89 octane, the only gas in town, and prepared to take off again, when we were treated to a genuine country hassling by a state trooper, apparently the only butthole in town. Not really; he was pretty cool, I guess, and he let us continue on our way after a lecture that I thought was a little snottier than it needed to be, but I kept my mouth shut, mostly, and took one for the team. He got his own little butt-chewing shortly later, though. With 17 hungry dirt bikers eating lunch and buying gas and assorted pain killers and anti-inflammatory notions, lotions, and potions, the owner of the cafe said she made more money that day than she makes in two normal weeks. Everybody tipped them well, and I even donated $10 to the disabled veterans' fund they had going, just because I want to stay on their good side, and I'm so grateful to the veterans of this country who sacrifice so much so we can do stupid things like ride motorized bicycles over rough ground. Anyway, the owner chewed the cop out petty well for hassling us, according to Cody, who overheard it. I hope it did some good. It's nice to be able to ride into Muse for lunch. The cop did say he didn't have any problem with our riding along the shoulder of the roads, in the grass.
Cody and Jedd were totally exhausted, and Jedd's brakes were MIA. They didn't want to ride the 35 miles back on the trails, so Jedd caught a ride back and drove his truck and trailer back to Muse, where Cody waited with the bikes. That's when Cody overheard the cafe owner reaming out the cop for interfering with her customers. In his defense, the cop said somebody had called him to complain, so he obviously had to do something. He was about as cool as he could have been, I guess, under the circumstances. Jerk. No, I'm just kidding. (Not really.) Yes, I am; he was cool. (Jerk)
The rest of our group, now seven in number, departed Muse after the cop left. We rode up Billy Creek Road, hit the INT north of the campground and crossed Billy Creek, where Randy (Mudd Slinger) and his WR250 promptly went swimming. No harm done to bike nor man. He had a smallmouth bass in his teeth when he came up, but as the stream is catch-and-release, after a short argument, we persuaded Randy to spit it out, and it swam away a bit dazed, possibly from severe halitosis shock, but otherwise unharmed. We rode the first 15 miles of the INT, my favorite part of the trail. It's less rocky, a bit more open, and you can really rail the turns. It reminds me a little of the high desert of New Mexico. On the other hand, many things remind me of the high desert in New Mexico. In fact, you remind me just a little bit of the high desert in New Mexico. Let's see; where was I?
About 10 miles from camp, and after about 65 total miles for the day, I was starting to wear out, and some of the faster guys in better shape were getting impatient, so they passed me and took to waiting at the intersections for directions, They missed a junction and got off the INT, but I found a way back on track without going backwards. Darrell was very tired, and he took a header into a tree at a scary creek crossing. He hit the tree so hard three squirrels fell out, landed on their heads, and staggered around like drunks with stupid expressions of their little furry faces, muttering, "Duh, I was just passin' by; just passin' by." I couldn't believe Darrell got up from that crash, but he did. Just shook his head, kicked the drunk squirrels to the side, picked his bike up, and headed down the trail. Tough guy. Ugly, but tough.
We rejoined the group, and when we hit Road 6010, most of us were ready to ride some gravel roads, so we headed down 6010 to Highway 63, rode the shoulder to Rifle Range Road, and headed up to the trailhead just north of Frazier Creek Road. Then we rode the fun trails back toward camp. At that point, everybody kind of split into two groups again. Jimmy and Luster pretty much know the way back, and they led most of the group while I stayed back with Darrell.
Darrel and I rode slowly back, conserving our energy and consoling ourselves with thoughts of Tortoises and Hares. However, everybody was already at camp when we arrived; so much for frickin' Aesop and his fables. Everybody was back, that is, but Boggs, as it turned out. It took us a while to realize he wasn't back yet. After half an hour, I was preparing to go look for him with my helmet light, as darkness was approaching, when he straggled in. Seems he had been caught in a Talimena version of the Bermuda Triangle, going around and around looking for the way back. He passed the same family of African-American hikers three times as he looped around. The third time, he heard them say, "Here comes that white boy again." They took pity on him and showed him the way back to camp. He was a little miffed that we had all left him cold and lonely and, he said, in need of a hug. Sorry, Boggsy; dirt bikers don't hug. OK, come here, you big lug. There, there.
Mike Carpenter and Cody provided fajitas for everybody Saturday night. They were delicious, even more so than free food usually is. Thanks, guys. In gratitude, I didn't even examine my food too closely under the lantern's light. I know better than to do that with camp food. A guy I know who did that once found that he was actually eating one of his tent-mate's old riding socks. So I just eat my food in the dark; sometimes it's better not to know. But this food was actually good, unlike most camp food about which the best that can be said is that it didn't make your hair fall out. In fact, it was so good, I didn't even bother to cook the steaks I had brought. I did roast some jalapenos, but they were too hot to eat. Nobody would touch them, except Luster and me. We each ate two bites. My lips burned for an hour. Luster said his pepper was hotter than lava. Mine was only as hot as the surface of the sun, but still, that's very hot. Anyway, we all split our time beween the two campfires, in Mike's camp and Darrell's, until about midnight, telling outrageous lies, drinking too much, and stinking up the place with noisy, obnoxious bodily emissions. Not me, of course; I always tell the truth.
Just before bed, I ate a banana in the hope of avoiding my almost inevitable leg cramps, and crawled into my nest of sleeping bags and blankets in the van. Jimmy, as is his invariable habit, declined to sleep in the van, though there is plenty of room. It seems he always has the same nightmare when he stays in the van; he is being assaulted by a huge, loathesome white beast with an incessant nasal roar that rattles the windows and sometimes sets off the burglar alarm. The disgusting creature periodically shatters the night with ripping sounds accompanied by a stupefyingly rancid odor. Poor guy; he just has too vivid an imagination to sleep in the van; he chooses a tent every time. So I always stay in the van alone, as, apparently, all my friends have also had that same nightmare. How strange that they should all have the same dream. The metal and fiberglas structure of the high-top Chevy van must somehow have a channeling effect on the unnatural wavelengths of the psychic world. I must make a mental note to research that issue, when I have more time. Right now, it's time for bed, and I can already feel my stomach rumbling from something I ate.
Sunday morning, Mike C. and Kenny cooked up an amazing breakfast of biscuits and gravy, eggs, and sausage. I eat like a starving sailor, then feel my stomach rumbling again, but keep it to myself. Mostly.
Anyway, Todd and his crew were going to hit Boy Scout Hill and a portion of the INT. My guys wanted to ride the west side of Highway 271 to see the abandoned railroad trestle in Crusher Hollow. Getting to the Hollow, there was one half-mile-long hill, very rocky and twisty, that provided some challenge, though not as much as Boy Scout. Mudd Slinger, continuing in his tradition, took a dive into the creek at the bottom, but again no damage done, if you don't count a frog in your mouth as damage. The frog may have a different perspective, but hell, he's just an amphibian, hardly a sentient being at all. What do we care what he thinks?
We rode a lot of fun fire roads and Jeep trails, putting in about 25 miles by eleven-thirty or so. Jedd was really starting to get the hang of the rocks; I think his bored and stroked KTM 125 (170cc) worked a lot better than the CR250. It was nice to have a little bit of an easier day for everybody, at least in our group.
We returned to camp as Todd, Jeb, 2Wheeln, Kenny, and their hard-core crew were returning. I heard that they had a good ride up Boy Scout and along the INT. I don't know whether everybody make it up clean or had a close encounter of the rocky kind. Confession is good for the soul, guys. Personally, I never crashed all weekend, though on two occasions I was overcome by the sudden urge to get off the 450 and examine some interesting moss on a couple of oddly shaped rocks, and didn't have time to use the kickstand.
At any rate, by about noon we had all changed our clothes, said our goodbyes, and packed up to head home. Jimmy and I stopped in Talihina with Cody and Mudd Slinger for lunch at Pam's Diner, then hit the road again. Jimmy and I made it home by 4:30, barbecued our leftover steaks and watched the two TiVo'd Mavericks games we had missed, then washed the bikes. I slept well that night, aside from a few times waking up in a cold sweat screaming, "The rocks! The rocks! Stop, you fool, you'll kill us all!" Other than that, I slept fine.
I had one of my best weekends at Talimena ever. Great riding, good friends, lots of good food, and no leg cramps, for a change. Must have been the banana.
I'll say this; the guys who struggled out there really earned my admiration. They threw their bikes up rock ledges and climbed up on all fours, spun out on off-camber uphills and started from a dead stop; they bounced from one side of the trail to the other like pinballs, nailed bowling-ball-sized rocks dead center and saved it, fishtailed wildly lying on the seat with their legs trailing behind. They crashed in the rocks, picked their bikes up, dusted themselves off, ignored bruises, gravel rash, burns, and ringing ears, got back on their mangled machines and made it over every stinkin' obstacle out there. It was like the Last Man Standing. For some of us who are more experienced in Talimena's ultra-rocky conditions, it was a bit easier, but my hat is really off to these guys who had it a little tougher and gutted it out. Nice job, guys. Thanks for the inspiration. You're my heroes. Really. Thanks to everybody there. It was a real privilege. A rocky privilege, but a privilege nonetheless.
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GhostRider32
Member
- Feb 10, 2004
- 473
- 0
Hey guys, long time no see. I've been working a lot lately. Haven't take my kids riding in about 3 months now. Haven't been on this site in about 5 months, just too busy. :(
Anyway, sounds like you guys had fun. Hopefully I can get with you guys and ride again, soon. :)
Anyway, sounds like you guys had fun. Hopefully I can get with you guys and ride again, soon. :)
GhostRider32
Member
- Feb 10, 2004
- 473
- 0
I hope to see you guys soon too. :)
