Arriving at home at last from Oahu though San Francisco afforded me some adaptation as my wife was at her class ‘til late in the evening. All I wanted was a glass of milk – something simple yet fulfilling to close out a long day of travel back to the mainland and home. (Never call it the “States” as Hawaii residents are an impressively proud and patriotic folk, belonging not only to the Union, moreover of utmost supportive towards the troops – full-blooded Americans and citizens to the core. I witnessed more yellow “Support Our Troops” ribbon/stickers than can be found amongst central and southern California highways.)
Awaiting her return produced some naptime, where after I awoke at her arrival - she being awfully glad at having a willing adult to place on the receiving end of her one-hour download “this was my week”. Shuteye came thereafter when her thoughts were exhausted and midnight crept upon us.
Friday morning came all too soon, and after waking my unusual groggy self up, a round trip to Trader Joe’s replenished the rather empty fridge – can’t have that in my house with three sons. Then it was off to work for my ½ day entry.
Later back at home Shorty floated the prospect of doing Ballinger Canyon, a good idea as he had no weekend homework and would certainly get into my wife’s hair, he not being kept busy elsewhere. So I scrambled to complete the installation of a WER damper on my 250 (sold my GPR) and headlights on both it and the 200.
Ballinger was displaying the results of the last big storm: bike-eating ruts could be found in a few spots. At one open play area, Shorty brought along his newly acquired video recorder, and footage was taken of him doing various jumps and maneuvers, including one layover. Oops. He had no small thing to say about that, and my not-perfect use of the zoom feature.
Throughout the trails were dry, except the one long canyon on the northeast end. We had made that first part of our return to camp, only to see two other KTM riders backtrack out; being one to scope things for myself, we continued on thinking the area of the trail where 2stroke4fun bravely trudged through years gone by was the challenge to come which turned these two souls back – not so; turns out it was further to the east, where new flooding and a 30’ no-way-around pond had developed. Judging the depth with my trail savvy-sage eye, I picked a line to the far left (the steep canyon walls being too abrupt for any alternatives.) Plodding through, there was a deep dip at the far end which swallowed the bike’s front end, upon which I though it all to be a goner but managed to clutch it and rev to high noon, barely scraping my way though the muck to yonder dry land on the far end. Just as I could have claimed victory, reserved my joy to hand signal Shorty in a “stop: don’t go doing it just yet” fashion. As it turned out he did not see my hand and high arm motion and therefore forged right on in the gorp. He lost all forward momentum in at the deepest section to about a bike’s length short of my side. At that point the water was at the bottom of the air box, and with subsequent stalling, he put both feet down. Since the muck at the bottom had some give, the water came up to above his knees, mid-thigh according to his recollection. I told him what ever he does DO NOT let the bike tip over; and he did not let it. Phew! Now I wasn’t about to go dipping in the pond unless necessary, so I retrieved a tow rope from my fanny pack, and after several failed attempts of his to wrap it around the bars correctly for a tow out, instructed him to do so around the top of the front wheel so as to rotate, a bit at a time, with my towing. We coordinated my pulling and his pushing to extract the stuck 200 up right to the dry side. Yeah.
He was a bit concerned about frostbite, his feet and legs submerged for the duration of the bike extraction. I told him he should be okay as we headed further down the trail back to camp – we were hopefully not going backtrack this way but may have to; remember: this being a steep canyon with no other way out.
As we came to where what should have been the wet area (as remembered a few years ago with Chris) it was surprisingly void of water buildup; nonetheless it was tacky the rest of the few miles out. He was certainly relieved to be back at camp and head home.
We arrived home at 5, and since I am the cook, there was some surprise to find my wife doing dinner. She asked I take over (not a good idea, as we cook totally on opposite ends of the planet) to which I mixed the vegetables with the sloppy Joe filler. At least that’s what I remember her saying I am to do with her fixings. That did not sit well but hey: that’s what I remember she saying, and that, my friends, is when my kingly crown was removed. Uh oh.
For the next day I suggested Jr. drive us east along Highway 166, ending up at Taft where there was a District 37 Big 6 Grand Prix; Plyswfire (Deano) was entered and I wanted to see him race the vet class, let alone he survive without harm. We arrived after making real good time (even though as we discovered his beamer’s chip forces the engine to cut out at 128), and had difficulties finding Deano and sons in the pits, as I was looking for a toy hauler when in fact he brought his bike trailer. We did eventually meet up at the start, where he was readily identified with Fox gear, and I got my first glimpse of his new KX. Nice bike.
His race was delayed while the paramedics had to clear at least one downed rider, but once underway we witnessed some good racing. The first one through the finish gate was none other than Destry Abbot. Paul Krause was present, as was a Maxxis tire rep, whose girlfriend is a daughter of a former trail-riding buddy/coworker; this was our first opportunity to meet although we knew about each other for some time. When he was with IMS then FMF, good pricing was had! He sure has a fine work vehicle, and is a big mofo besides. It’s surprising to see his ride is a KXF.
We said our goodbyes to Deano and headed back west on 166, where a CHP was able to clock us at 75; he wrote Jr. up for 71, though the pickup in front of us was doing more – must be the target, “ticket me” profile (BMW). As thus we both discovered they use radar on the fly, in this case opposite traffic directions (surprise).
Back at home my wife wanted me to drive her to make photocopies of her work. She had mentioned having cramps, so after the copies I dropped her off back at home while I went off to put gas in the pickup. She approached me later, asking why I had dropped her off, and being the simple guy I am told her it was my considerate thought of her cramping, thinking she’d find more comport at home rather than in line at the gas station. Right answer!
Awaiting her return produced some naptime, where after I awoke at her arrival - she being awfully glad at having a willing adult to place on the receiving end of her one-hour download “this was my week”. Shuteye came thereafter when her thoughts were exhausted and midnight crept upon us.
Friday morning came all too soon, and after waking my unusual groggy self up, a round trip to Trader Joe’s replenished the rather empty fridge – can’t have that in my house with three sons. Then it was off to work for my ½ day entry.
Later back at home Shorty floated the prospect of doing Ballinger Canyon, a good idea as he had no weekend homework and would certainly get into my wife’s hair, he not being kept busy elsewhere. So I scrambled to complete the installation of a WER damper on my 250 (sold my GPR) and headlights on both it and the 200.
Ballinger was displaying the results of the last big storm: bike-eating ruts could be found in a few spots. At one open play area, Shorty brought along his newly acquired video recorder, and footage was taken of him doing various jumps and maneuvers, including one layover. Oops. He had no small thing to say about that, and my not-perfect use of the zoom feature.
Throughout the trails were dry, except the one long canyon on the northeast end. We had made that first part of our return to camp, only to see two other KTM riders backtrack out; being one to scope things for myself, we continued on thinking the area of the trail where 2stroke4fun bravely trudged through years gone by was the challenge to come which turned these two souls back – not so; turns out it was further to the east, where new flooding and a 30’ no-way-around pond had developed. Judging the depth with my trail savvy-sage eye, I picked a line to the far left (the steep canyon walls being too abrupt for any alternatives.) Plodding through, there was a deep dip at the far end which swallowed the bike’s front end, upon which I though it all to be a goner but managed to clutch it and rev to high noon, barely scraping my way though the muck to yonder dry land on the far end. Just as I could have claimed victory, reserved my joy to hand signal Shorty in a “stop: don’t go doing it just yet” fashion. As it turned out he did not see my hand and high arm motion and therefore forged right on in the gorp. He lost all forward momentum in at the deepest section to about a bike’s length short of my side. At that point the water was at the bottom of the air box, and with subsequent stalling, he put both feet down. Since the muck at the bottom had some give, the water came up to above his knees, mid-thigh according to his recollection. I told him what ever he does DO NOT let the bike tip over; and he did not let it. Phew! Now I wasn’t about to go dipping in the pond unless necessary, so I retrieved a tow rope from my fanny pack, and after several failed attempts of his to wrap it around the bars correctly for a tow out, instructed him to do so around the top of the front wheel so as to rotate, a bit at a time, with my towing. We coordinated my pulling and his pushing to extract the stuck 200 up right to the dry side. Yeah.
He was a bit concerned about frostbite, his feet and legs submerged for the duration of the bike extraction. I told him he should be okay as we headed further down the trail back to camp – we were hopefully not going backtrack this way but may have to; remember: this being a steep canyon with no other way out.
As we came to where what should have been the wet area (as remembered a few years ago with Chris) it was surprisingly void of water buildup; nonetheless it was tacky the rest of the few miles out. He was certainly relieved to be back at camp and head home.
We arrived home at 5, and since I am the cook, there was some surprise to find my wife doing dinner. She asked I take over (not a good idea, as we cook totally on opposite ends of the planet) to which I mixed the vegetables with the sloppy Joe filler. At least that’s what I remember her saying I am to do with her fixings. That did not sit well but hey: that’s what I remember she saying, and that, my friends, is when my kingly crown was removed. Uh oh.
For the next day I suggested Jr. drive us east along Highway 166, ending up at Taft where there was a District 37 Big 6 Grand Prix; Plyswfire (Deano) was entered and I wanted to see him race the vet class, let alone he survive without harm. We arrived after making real good time (even though as we discovered his beamer’s chip forces the engine to cut out at 128), and had difficulties finding Deano and sons in the pits, as I was looking for a toy hauler when in fact he brought his bike trailer. We did eventually meet up at the start, where he was readily identified with Fox gear, and I got my first glimpse of his new KX. Nice bike.
His race was delayed while the paramedics had to clear at least one downed rider, but once underway we witnessed some good racing. The first one through the finish gate was none other than Destry Abbot. Paul Krause was present, as was a Maxxis tire rep, whose girlfriend is a daughter of a former trail-riding buddy/coworker; this was our first opportunity to meet although we knew about each other for some time. When he was with IMS then FMF, good pricing was had! He sure has a fine work vehicle, and is a big mofo besides. It’s surprising to see his ride is a KXF.
We said our goodbyes to Deano and headed back west on 166, where a CHP was able to clock us at 75; he wrote Jr. up for 71, though the pickup in front of us was doing more – must be the target, “ticket me” profile (BMW). As thus we both discovered they use radar on the fly, in this case opposite traffic directions (surprise).
Back at home my wife wanted me to drive her to make photocopies of her work. She had mentioned having cramps, so after the copies I dropped her off back at home while I went off to put gas in the pickup. She approached me later, asking why I had dropped her off, and being the simple guy I am told her it was my considerate thought of her cramping, thinking she’d find more comport at home rather than in line at the gas station. Right answer!
