Well, it was an amazing ride. I drove all the way from McKinney to Talihina Friday evening, with the storm following me the whole way. I had to stop to take shelter several times when the wind and rain became too violent to drive. I couldn't get Tony on the cell phone, so I had no idea whether any other idiots would brave the tempest. But when I rolled into the Talihena State Park at about 11 p.m., there were eight other maniacs there as well. Tony, Gene, and Randy were already asleep, but Keith, Jeff, Derek, and Darron were in the pavilion drinking beer and Diet Pepsi. Harley, our guide for Saturday, was also there. They said that it had rained like crazy all evening, and had just let up. We told lies until midnight or so, then everybody drifted off to get some sleep.
It rained most of the night, and I began to suspect that it would not be very dusty for Saturday's ride. We got started about 10 a.m. Saturday. The plan was to ride 35 miles in Muse, Okla., for lunch, then ride back. We rode right out of the campground and hit the Indian Nations Trail right away. Surprisingly, it wasn't all that muddy--probably because water plus rocks does not equal mud. It was very rocky, comparable to Cloudcroft or the Zink Ranch. Most of the rocks are planted, but they're sharp-edged. The mud didn't stick to the rocks, though, the way it does around Cloudcroft. Traction wasn't too bad. What was bad, though, were the stream crossings. We made a couple of small crossings without much trouble--water up to the skid plate, bowling ball-sized rocks hidden under the water, but not too much trouble. Still, the combination of slick rocks and wet leaves was giving some riders problems, especially on the hills, and it was pretty slow going. Tony was on his 400M/XC, and while the e-start was pretty nice, he felt he would have been better off on his 200E/XC. I was on my 400SX, and I was wishing all day I had brought my YZ instead. In slow, slick going, it's just more nimble and less work to maneuver. Darron's KX250 was geared a tad high, and that made it difficult in the slow, technical stuff. Dereck and Jeff were riding like pros on their KX250s, though, and Randy's WR250F seemed to be working fine as well. Keith rode his YZ426F like the trials pro that he is, and Harley, our guide, rode a YZ400F. Gene was on his CR250, of course.
The woods were beautiful, pine trees mixed with oaks. The hills weren't extreme, but very rocky, as I said. We hadn't gone four miles when we came to a pretty deep looking creek crossing. Harley said that he had never seen it so deep, and then he plunged right in. He made it more than halfway across, water almost up to the bottom of the tank, when he hit a submerged rock, bounced sideways, and went under. Luckily, he killed the motor before it went all the way under. Keith put his bike on the sidestand and waded across to help Harley get his bike out on the opposite bank. Nobody else felt really good about trying that particular crossing, so Randy and I set out on foot to find a better place to cross. We found one about fifty yards upstream. It was much shallower, but still challenging, and we had to clear a path through the trees just to get to it. I wanted to wait until Harley got his bike started before we all crossed, though, just in case we had to turn back. Harley and Keith took the pipe off and dumped a quart or two of water out. They took off the air filter and squeezed it dry. After about half an hour, the YZF fired up, died, fired again and died, then fired and ran. I went across the stream at our new crossing, paddling a little bit, and spinning on a big rock on the opposite bank, but made it safely across. Keith and Gene came across, and we stationed ourselves in the stream to help others get across. We also cleared out most of the big rocks in the path, underwater and above on the bank. Eventually everybody made it across. We picked our way through the trees to where Harley sat, and all took off again.
A short way down the trail there were several downed trees blocking the way. We had to stop again and lift almost everybody's bikes across. There were other creek crossings, but none as deep as that. One crossing was followed immediately by a steep, rocky (big surprise) hill with no room to get a run. Keith tried it first and made it about halfway. Then Harley and a few others helped him haul his bike up the rest of the way. The hill curved to the right slightly; there was a large, flat, slick rock a quarter of the way up, then a lot of small baseball-sized rocks in the mud. Near the top it got steeper, with an almost vertical clay face six or seven feet tall. I thought I could make it, and should have, really. I planned to ride the left bank and avoide the big rocks, but as I approached, something threw me sideways and I had to head right up the middle. I cleared the first big rock but stalled about halfway up, just like Keith. Had to throttle walk it up with help. How humiliating! Derek, Jeff, and Harley rode right up, spinning tires and slinging rocks and mud like pros. Everybody else had to have help.
We rode a few more miles and wound up on a horse trail winding up a small hill. It was very, very rocky, and with lots more wet leaves than we had seen, the rocks were more slippery. Everybody was having trouble getting up the hill, and it seemed to go on forever. Harley and Gene went scouting, and found a way out with the help of Gene's GPS. We had to head straight down the hill, ride the creek a short way, and hit a trail at the bottom. It was pretty tricky, and Harley wound up riding a three or four bikes down the hill, one at a time. He's young and strong, so I just watched him and rested.
It was already about 1:30, and we had only gone 6 miles! Looked like we could make it to Muse for lunch sometime on Wednesday, if we hustled. So we decided to head back to camp, if we could find a way. Some of our guys had fallen multiple times in the rocks, and everybody was pretty tired of hauling bikes by hand and fighting the rocks and walking around scouting trails. We hit a main trail, followed some ATV tracks, and found a gravel road. A couple more creek crossings and we hit the highway, then rode back to camp. I had a bit of a scare when I reached back and couldn't find my Camelbak. My keys were in it. I thought I had left it on the mountain. I had to go back. Gene was such a good guy, he offered to go back with me. But then I remembered I had put my jacket on over my Camelbak, and it was safe and sound under the jacket. Whew!
We made it back to camp about 2 p.m., with only about 12 miles under our belts, but they were twelve tough miles. I don't think Tony had ever ridden anything that challenging, but he toughed it out with true grit. Everything else is going to be easy from now on. Gene didn't have any problems, and his CR250 seemed to run great. Darryl was returning after a knee injury, and I lent him my CTi2's. This was not a milk run over easy terrain the way you'd prefer for your first ride after an injury, but he came through with flying colors. Keith rode everything there was, except the big hill, without problems. I should have gone back down the hill and tried again, but I was a coward. Randy had come out with his son, who had a TTR125L, but his son wisely decided this was not the right day for him, and he stayed at camp. But Randy had no problems on his YZ250F; nice bike. Derek and Jeff made the big hill and rode everything else without problems. And Harley was a great guide. He stopped to help everybody who needed it, often riding other bikes through difficult sections.
We all went into Talihina for lunch at Pam's Cafe; good burgers and onion rings. Some of us headed home then, and the others went back to the state park to rest up for Sunday's ride. I can't wait to go back. The Kiamichi woods will soak up any amount of rain, and the riding is still fun. I think it's my new favorite place. Thanks, Tony, for setting it up.