Matt has a long drive to get there, so I leisurely make my way to the spot (no, not The Spot! For heaven’s sake, that place will do you trouble – best to avoid!), and arrive unknowingly 10 minutes after him. The short, motor home-height evergreens hide most if not all vehicles from plain sight. Thinking surely he hasn’t arrived, and not wanting to wander thru the campground either on foot or by car, I find a reasonably easy-to-spot site, and start to gear up. As I am he comes putting by in his clean KLX300. After the greetings I follow him to where he parked.
Since he hasn’t ridden since October he’s raring to go, having geared up already 3 hours earlier at home. I do the best I could to scramble, and we quickly head off up the nearby hill. It’s all hard pack with traction galore.
Most of what he led me on was the wider ATV-type trails, and I came to learn from what he said he doesn’t know the place that well after all, but that’s fine with me. There were a variety of terrain, but most memorial of this first leg were all the water bars; just as I’d recover from one, another would come along and it’s – oh, gonna be a big jjjuuummppp up (higher than usual) and ooOOoooffppph! – no hard bottoming, nonetheless this boy is not used to frequent, high jumping. And he was setting a fast pace: I did not want to get too far back as there was dust to be eaten, nor too close as I’d get some zingers from that lil’ thumper roosting.
My bike was running real good. The day before I had swapped out the Fatty pipe for the Gnarly, thinking it’d give me more bottom power and less top/rev, as top does little good in most riding areas outside of the desert (which I miss), but nope: there is just as much hit to hang on for. Not so good, but I’ll manage. Maybe now that I’m riding this tighter terrain Eric Gorr should do me a bottom-end power port job.
So he takes us to this singletrack (finally!) ridge – he calls it a razorback (isn’t that some Midwest college sports team mascot?) Now this trail was a wee bit scary; it reminds me of the ridges at Baldy Mesa (Phelan), only you ride this black diamond trail on the peak – one slip up will take you down a hundred feet on one side, several hundred on the other! To be on the safe side he rolls each and every whoop, and I can tell he’s favoring the lesser drop off.
A few miles on this spectacular, vista-filled trail and we get to some flatter, tighter and turn-intense section. I’m concentrating on the trail, rounding one turn on the hot side and there’s this KX500 guy parked on the trail facing me. I do a panic lay over, and my skid plate contacts his front tire, coming to a stop. As my bike is lying in the prone position, I stand up and ask, “Are you OK? Sorry about that!” then he proceeds to chew me out! As he’s telling me off I’m thinking at this point I can either take the gloves off or just eat it – I decide on the latter as that’s really not a way to settle differences, besides, his buddy is there behind him, and I’m alone; Matt was way ahead by now. And the guys strikes me as a hot head, I mean, why come out here to get away from it all only to bring it with you? I’m glad no one I ride with is such an arse.
Matt is well gone by now, even though there was a trail split not far from this close encounter of the almost-physical kind. I wait 10 minutes, and then decide I had better start reading the tracks. Did he go this way or that way? Could be either. I took one, and then turned around after a ¼ mile or so, going back to the split, then take another, and back again. As I am waiting for his return, I see what appears to be a slim tree on the ridge way far away. Is it moving? Ah, it now is; that must be him! (Even with glasses my eyesight isn’t that good.) So with that I jetted off to meet up. We continued on along this ridge, only now it was hard packed, not the aforementioned sandy conditions. And the there were pines to weave thru, not the previous junipers. Nonetheless, the trails were still on the tight side, and drop offs common. Good stuff. We ended at the extreme east end of the area, about 22 miles out.
After a brief break, he encourages me to lead, so I take us to the extreme northeast end/border, where we decided to turn and find some tight “bush” riding. There’s this one canyon that’s just that, and I can’t wait to show it to those of you wanting to come here to ride; you will never guess what’s around each corner, as it’s this canyon with steep sides. One spot requires you to duck/tuck to go under a fallen tree (there’s more of this elsewhere.) Alas, all good trails do come to an end; we reconnected to the main road but took the wash back most of the way to camp, 30 trail-miles total.
Following a lunch break, we head over to look-see a nice map the forest service posted to strategize or next loop. Let’s see: that will be Trail 9, then 17, 19, and maybe 22 again on our return. Got that? Sure! The first leg of this second loop ends up being another ATV trail, although with some fun up and downs. Then the next turns rugged. I’m surprised the forest service actually allows us to take this one and has it marked as such! It has a rut you have to ride in, and in it the dirt is loose, with an occasional root and rock. Now black rock - from rubber, blubber (don’t call me fat, Cat - or I’ll be the dog that sat on your hat, Pat).
Now this last trail is fine pickin’: it meanders along the north most border of the area, wandering up and up in elevation thru changing vegetation, then it opens up so as to exercise the higher gears. We then pass thru an area Matt calls the tunnel, where the trees and bushes close in – watch out for that root sticking up!
Rejoining the main road back, I see where the water percolating from the soil has frozen – no sun gets here. Oh: remember Mr. Mean Green? Yeah, him. The not-so-nice-guy. He doesn’t slow down when passing traffic on wide roads. Either direction. We saw him do it to us and others. What a jerk.
We then hang a steep left and gain elevation up another black diamond trail, then back onto another ATVer. We see a few more of the difficult types and then do one last venture to the extreme west end. Coming back, on our way to camp, I find this spur up a canyon. It becomes tighter and tighter the more miles we accumulate. Then we are back into some pines; I round a corner and STOP! goes my bike, me thinking it’s another stall from too much rear brake, but no – this time the kick starter doesn’t move, at all. None. No give. Uh, what’s this? Seized? I’ve seized an engine once before, but it freed up in no time. This one is locked solid. No kick-um. So we considered our options. How far away is camp? Which direction? Don’t know - maybe that way? Let’s tow (uphill?) OK. So here we have a guy that’s never been towed before, and one who’s never towed. It’s 4 o’clock and going to get dark real soon. We went maybe a mile before coming up to hill. After pushing my bike up this hill with Matt’s help (never could’ve moved an inch with out him), we could see camp. Only thing is it’s two ridges over, and nothing but wilderness in between. Matt scouts the upcoming trail (both ways head away from camp) only to report it’s all uphill from here ahead. And then we find the tow strap broke, getting wound up in his wheel. Eh! I’m glad to report he had one too. Phew! So now I have to decide to get cozy or religion; uhhh - I chose the latter. Without panicking, being the elder of us two, I decide we’d be best off toe head back to the west end, at the gate where we turned to get on to this nasty trail; there we can decide whether to get back onto the ATV trail (which is a long way) back to camp or break thru the fence and down to the state highway, eventually heading back to the entrance.
So now we go backtrack down the sand wash, whoop-de-doos and all. Since the tow strap is wrapped around my right fork tube, it’s constantly tugging to the left – I’m fighting it to the right, falling every so often. On some of the sections I can coast, and end up doing more pushing than I have to. Am I going to have enough strength for another hour of this? Darkness is settling in, too. Meanwhile I turn my damper on full to compensate for tugging of the tow strap, but it only makes it more difficult to get back to center.
With great relief we make it to the gate before utter darkness, and the gate opens at my becoming – maybe I will go to church someday! We resume our positions and travel down to the highway, passing thru an apple orchard. Once at the highway I can feel the affects of darkness: it’s getting cold now, but who cares as I’m on my way home thanks to my friend.
As we are scooting along the highway shoulder, I beckon him to the pavement; he hesitates until the last car passes, and we finally get some relief: it’s a whole lot easier to tow and be towed once on pavement. He gradually and smoothly grabs gears and I’m like Richard Petty drafting the leader. Occasionally gravel spits up onto me, and I have to be careful as my goggles are packed away; I had to take them off at the wash because they’d fog up from all my work/struggle at keeping upright.
Just as I think I cannot hold onto the tow strap anymore we pull up to camp and I kiss my pickup and his bike; no: Matt will have to settle for a high five. Good job duded: you save my sorry arse. It’s now dark, 5:45pm, and my wife calls me to see what I think of her e-mail message she’s about to post on a cosmetic message board! I didn’t have the heart to turn her away – after all, I could be coyote food by now; nor have the heart to tell here how close I came to primitive stone-age camping that night – it was a pleasure to hear her voice.
After tremendous thanks to Matt, we headed our ways; me one tired dude.
This morning I washed the bike and took the top end off. Rings? Ok. Piston? Beat up, but otherwise intact. Exhaust valve? Intact. A-Ok. Looks like something hard came thru the intake track. Whatever it was, it danced around on the piston crown, damaging the head, and then worked it’s way into the main bearing(s), locking it up. The rings, wrist pin and lower rod bearing seem fine. This is beyond my tools and skill set - too bad as I want to show my SoCa DRN brethren this hot new place to ride, and it looks like Eric Gorr will need at least 4 weeks, maybe six to fix it. Oh well.
Oh, lest I forget: Ballinger is a mixture of Phelan (Baldy Mesa), Hungry Valley (Gorman), and the forest trails in Los Padres. Real fun. I know enough now to put in a good loop or two for those willing to do it. Takers? Althoug I'm going to have to get my repairs done first...
Since he hasn’t ridden since October he’s raring to go, having geared up already 3 hours earlier at home. I do the best I could to scramble, and we quickly head off up the nearby hill. It’s all hard pack with traction galore.
Most of what he led me on was the wider ATV-type trails, and I came to learn from what he said he doesn’t know the place that well after all, but that’s fine with me. There were a variety of terrain, but most memorial of this first leg were all the water bars; just as I’d recover from one, another would come along and it’s – oh, gonna be a big jjjuuummppp up (higher than usual) and ooOOoooffppph! – no hard bottoming, nonetheless this boy is not used to frequent, high jumping. And he was setting a fast pace: I did not want to get too far back as there was dust to be eaten, nor too close as I’d get some zingers from that lil’ thumper roosting.
My bike was running real good. The day before I had swapped out the Fatty pipe for the Gnarly, thinking it’d give me more bottom power and less top/rev, as top does little good in most riding areas outside of the desert (which I miss), but nope: there is just as much hit to hang on for. Not so good, but I’ll manage. Maybe now that I’m riding this tighter terrain Eric Gorr should do me a bottom-end power port job.
So he takes us to this singletrack (finally!) ridge – he calls it a razorback (isn’t that some Midwest college sports team mascot?) Now this trail was a wee bit scary; it reminds me of the ridges at Baldy Mesa (Phelan), only you ride this black diamond trail on the peak – one slip up will take you down a hundred feet on one side, several hundred on the other! To be on the safe side he rolls each and every whoop, and I can tell he’s favoring the lesser drop off.
A few miles on this spectacular, vista-filled trail and we get to some flatter, tighter and turn-intense section. I’m concentrating on the trail, rounding one turn on the hot side and there’s this KX500 guy parked on the trail facing me. I do a panic lay over, and my skid plate contacts his front tire, coming to a stop. As my bike is lying in the prone position, I stand up and ask, “Are you OK? Sorry about that!” then he proceeds to chew me out! As he’s telling me off I’m thinking at this point I can either take the gloves off or just eat it – I decide on the latter as that’s really not a way to settle differences, besides, his buddy is there behind him, and I’m alone; Matt was way ahead by now. And the guys strikes me as a hot head, I mean, why come out here to get away from it all only to bring it with you? I’m glad no one I ride with is such an arse.
Matt is well gone by now, even though there was a trail split not far from this close encounter of the almost-physical kind. I wait 10 minutes, and then decide I had better start reading the tracks. Did he go this way or that way? Could be either. I took one, and then turned around after a ¼ mile or so, going back to the split, then take another, and back again. As I am waiting for his return, I see what appears to be a slim tree on the ridge way far away. Is it moving? Ah, it now is; that must be him! (Even with glasses my eyesight isn’t that good.) So with that I jetted off to meet up. We continued on along this ridge, only now it was hard packed, not the aforementioned sandy conditions. And the there were pines to weave thru, not the previous junipers. Nonetheless, the trails were still on the tight side, and drop offs common. Good stuff. We ended at the extreme east end of the area, about 22 miles out.
After a brief break, he encourages me to lead, so I take us to the extreme northeast end/border, where we decided to turn and find some tight “bush” riding. There’s this one canyon that’s just that, and I can’t wait to show it to those of you wanting to come here to ride; you will never guess what’s around each corner, as it’s this canyon with steep sides. One spot requires you to duck/tuck to go under a fallen tree (there’s more of this elsewhere.) Alas, all good trails do come to an end; we reconnected to the main road but took the wash back most of the way to camp, 30 trail-miles total.
Following a lunch break, we head over to look-see a nice map the forest service posted to strategize or next loop. Let’s see: that will be Trail 9, then 17, 19, and maybe 22 again on our return. Got that? Sure! The first leg of this second loop ends up being another ATV trail, although with some fun up and downs. Then the next turns rugged. I’m surprised the forest service actually allows us to take this one and has it marked as such! It has a rut you have to ride in, and in it the dirt is loose, with an occasional root and rock. Now black rock - from rubber, blubber (don’t call me fat, Cat - or I’ll be the dog that sat on your hat, Pat).
Now this last trail is fine pickin’: it meanders along the north most border of the area, wandering up and up in elevation thru changing vegetation, then it opens up so as to exercise the higher gears. We then pass thru an area Matt calls the tunnel, where the trees and bushes close in – watch out for that root sticking up!
Rejoining the main road back, I see where the water percolating from the soil has frozen – no sun gets here. Oh: remember Mr. Mean Green? Yeah, him. The not-so-nice-guy. He doesn’t slow down when passing traffic on wide roads. Either direction. We saw him do it to us and others. What a jerk.
We then hang a steep left and gain elevation up another black diamond trail, then back onto another ATVer. We see a few more of the difficult types and then do one last venture to the extreme west end. Coming back, on our way to camp, I find this spur up a canyon. It becomes tighter and tighter the more miles we accumulate. Then we are back into some pines; I round a corner and STOP! goes my bike, me thinking it’s another stall from too much rear brake, but no – this time the kick starter doesn’t move, at all. None. No give. Uh, what’s this? Seized? I’ve seized an engine once before, but it freed up in no time. This one is locked solid. No kick-um. So we considered our options. How far away is camp? Which direction? Don’t know - maybe that way? Let’s tow (uphill?) OK. So here we have a guy that’s never been towed before, and one who’s never towed. It’s 4 o’clock and going to get dark real soon. We went maybe a mile before coming up to hill. After pushing my bike up this hill with Matt’s help (never could’ve moved an inch with out him), we could see camp. Only thing is it’s two ridges over, and nothing but wilderness in between. Matt scouts the upcoming trail (both ways head away from camp) only to report it’s all uphill from here ahead. And then we find the tow strap broke, getting wound up in his wheel. Eh! I’m glad to report he had one too. Phew! So now I have to decide to get cozy or religion; uhhh - I chose the latter. Without panicking, being the elder of us two, I decide we’d be best off toe head back to the west end, at the gate where we turned to get on to this nasty trail; there we can decide whether to get back onto the ATV trail (which is a long way) back to camp or break thru the fence and down to the state highway, eventually heading back to the entrance.
So now we go backtrack down the sand wash, whoop-de-doos and all. Since the tow strap is wrapped around my right fork tube, it’s constantly tugging to the left – I’m fighting it to the right, falling every so often. On some of the sections I can coast, and end up doing more pushing than I have to. Am I going to have enough strength for another hour of this? Darkness is settling in, too. Meanwhile I turn my damper on full to compensate for tugging of the tow strap, but it only makes it more difficult to get back to center.
With great relief we make it to the gate before utter darkness, and the gate opens at my becoming – maybe I will go to church someday! We resume our positions and travel down to the highway, passing thru an apple orchard. Once at the highway I can feel the affects of darkness: it’s getting cold now, but who cares as I’m on my way home thanks to my friend.
As we are scooting along the highway shoulder, I beckon him to the pavement; he hesitates until the last car passes, and we finally get some relief: it’s a whole lot easier to tow and be towed once on pavement. He gradually and smoothly grabs gears and I’m like Richard Petty drafting the leader. Occasionally gravel spits up onto me, and I have to be careful as my goggles are packed away; I had to take them off at the wash because they’d fog up from all my work/struggle at keeping upright.
Just as I think I cannot hold onto the tow strap anymore we pull up to camp and I kiss my pickup and his bike; no: Matt will have to settle for a high five. Good job duded: you save my sorry arse. It’s now dark, 5:45pm, and my wife calls me to see what I think of her e-mail message she’s about to post on a cosmetic message board! I didn’t have the heart to turn her away – after all, I could be coyote food by now; nor have the heart to tell here how close I came to primitive stone-age camping that night – it was a pleasure to hear her voice.
After tremendous thanks to Matt, we headed our ways; me one tired dude.
This morning I washed the bike and took the top end off. Rings? Ok. Piston? Beat up, but otherwise intact. Exhaust valve? Intact. A-Ok. Looks like something hard came thru the intake track. Whatever it was, it danced around on the piston crown, damaging the head, and then worked it’s way into the main bearing(s), locking it up. The rings, wrist pin and lower rod bearing seem fine. This is beyond my tools and skill set - too bad as I want to show my SoCa DRN brethren this hot new place to ride, and it looks like Eric Gorr will need at least 4 weeks, maybe six to fix it. Oh well.
Oh, lest I forget: Ballinger is a mixture of Phelan (Baldy Mesa), Hungry Valley (Gorman), and the forest trails in Los Padres. Real fun. I know enough now to put in a good loop or two for those willing to do it. Takers? Althoug I'm going to have to get my repairs done first...