Two months ago I had the privilege of sweeping a local desert race near Alamogordo, NM called the Tarantula 100. The leader of the sweepers, Tad, was quite a character, as were the others. Out of the blue Tad called me last week, inviting me amongst others to join in on a ride at a private ranch south-west of Albuquerque.
Seeing I could not refuse this once-a-year event, reservations were immediately made at a nearby hotel - I could not reasonably make the +3-hour drive without splitting driving duties; no other local rider could make it, nor did I care to camp, not being familiar with the area.
As my wife would not be going, the hotel was a cut-rate type an hour south in Socorro (another site of the desert race series); I found a coupon on line although the owner made it up with taxes – seemed fishy to me but I wasn’t going to push it as my bike would be parked indoor in the room. Although the room was clean, the ceiling was awfully low, within arms reach.
Needing some company I turned the TV on and watched Deliverance; I remember that film from college days some decades ago, and did not know shortly after the movie’s release 30 some-odd folks died trying to navigate the river as in the movie. I won’t cover other details of the film for obvious reasons to those who may have seen it (the squeeling).
By then it was well past my bedtime and time for some shut eye. 5 am, then 6 am came quickly with the TV in the next room on the loud side. I gathered all my belongings then left the small town and drove the last hour north.
The gas station/convenience store was as Tad had said, across the highway from WallyWorld. There was already a pickup (with dirt bike) parked and I pulled in nearby, after filling up and cleaning the bugs off of the windshield.
One-by-one the folks came in to where there were eight of us. They all seemed familiar with each other, me being a newcomer to the group, although I rode sweep with a few of them two months ago. One couple came as far away as Roswell, though most were from the nearby region. There was a mixture of KTMs (mine, a 525 and a 200), Hondas (an ancient XR600R, and CRF450), Yamahas (YZ250 and TT250R), and Kawasakis (200 and 2 KX500s).
Once all were accounted for we left the station in a hurry and headed west into the rolling hills for ~15 miles. We turned into the entrance for the land fill which doubles as the ranch entrance; reminded me of the Hungry Valley entrance station in build, though no green sticker nor spark arrestor check required, nor was it manned to take a fee. The road from there was very well graded, smooth and covered with fine-crushed gravel. A few miles later we had to turn onto the ranch road, then wound up then down through the foothills to what appeared to be an old homestead. We were way back and out of cell-phone coverage.
One of the houses we passed seemed well cared for (current ranch-owner dwelling). We parked near a second made of local rock and clay, and it looked like it was built in the 1930s.
It was rather cool out; perhaps it was the elevation, though it seemed like it was going to get warm as the day progressed, so I did my usual and (over) dressed for the parking lot.
Off loading and suited up, we headed off for the hills along a graded road; mountain muffins everywhere. The terrain here was more open than the Chihuahuan desert where I’m from, sandy and rocky in various parts. The mesas can be seen off in the distant west, which was our destination. We crossed a creek at one point with more water than one would think out here in the dry southwest, and the river rocks were tainted with the minerals; a strange and dull Caterpillar-yellow color. Once closer to the spectacular and broad mesas it was obvious we were not going to the top, but rather along the bases.
Crossing in parallel to the bases was rather difficult from the flash flooding and rocks. Cactus was abundant and were surrounded with stubby (10’ max) evergreens; there was much straw/dried weeds. We all took our turn at traversing the drop offs, ledges and climbs. Traction was okay but not abundant as the soil was quite dry. Everyone cleared all the sections, some with assist.
We came upon one vista where a canyon was full of color below and above. The view we had was not unlike the Grand Canyon (without the expanse); breathtaking, and we were headed down into it after a long pause to take it in.
Before then we were on one of the lower mesas, and off in the distance you could see two separate herds of wild mustangs, over a doz. in each group. Tad explained to me the feds had asked him to herd them at one time to test their blood (for diseases?) Then the following week National Geographic did a wild horse documentary and had his crew do the rustling, and of all things on dirt bikes; he said the horses were viewed/presented by NG as superior to bikes!
Now in these washes you just let it all go: rotate the loud handle to the stop, and point the way. Climbing out of the wash we stopped to play on some small hills made of odd clay. The fellow on the 200 kept asking me 'bout my KTM 250/351 RFS, so I let him ride it back to camp. It took me a short while to get used to a smoker again, as it had to be kept in the bulge to go, but once you were there, it did scoot. He sure took a liking to mine, so much that he wanted to trade for good but I have too much into mine to let it go.
Back at base camp we downed sandwiches; our host brought burgers and BBQ sauce-laden chicken. I switched into Sahara gear as it was getting rather warm by then. After a splash of fuel, we took off for our second 35-mile loop. This time we headed to the lower lands.
Dust was so thick we lost sight of the leaders, although they waiting at important junctions. We then entered another sand wash, though this one wider and more speed intense. We cut over the main incoming road then off into the bushes, eventually making it to a huge clay mount – nothing grows on it, except fun on two wheels. Everyone was using their own expression in carving and crawling over and under then through. There was a big sink hole in the middle where some water goes in the rare event it falls from the sky.
Tad took us to another even wider sand wash; this one was top gear (for me) and big sweepers; rev, shift, rev, shift, downshift, rev – rev, shift, downshift, lean left, rev, shift, lean right, rev, shift and so on. The further we got and higher in elevation, the narrower, and the change in speeds meant I lost sight of the leaders as my lesser-powered bike and lesser-skilled operator does not recover as quickly as their's and they; up ‘til then it was a good chase but I had no more gears, power, nor skill to continue the chase.
At a break point we waited for the guy behind me, and with the sand workout he just about collapsed upon pulling up. We then went back into another even wider sand wash and the leaders (2 KX500s, XR600, CRF450) just left me for dead; it was one of a few places I could have used more displacement and/or a 7th gear.
We crossed over on the east side of the clay mounts and to another wash, working our way back to camp. While waiting for the straggler, Tad took off backwards to rope in the last rider, and while waiting we found one of the KX500s lost the drive-side rear hub bearing. Then Tad and the straggler went on by another way, so I took off and caught them, but by then they had gone a ways away. The straggler and I hung out and Tad went back to check on the other group, but they too had left presumably on a beeline back to camp with the weakened 500, so we soldiered on cross country.
After some miles of real cow trailing we entered into one last wash and it was another top-gear run, lean it over and full throttle moments. This time I clicked my ODO to see how fast we were going and it was around 50 MPH; bars shaking and all - it sure seemed faster.
Well it had been a while since I’ve been able to ride on private property, where there are no whoops and traffic concerns.
What a day; I got back home at nine that night. And still have monkey butt as of this writing...
Seeing I could not refuse this once-a-year event, reservations were immediately made at a nearby hotel - I could not reasonably make the +3-hour drive without splitting driving duties; no other local rider could make it, nor did I care to camp, not being familiar with the area.
As my wife would not be going, the hotel was a cut-rate type an hour south in Socorro (another site of the desert race series); I found a coupon on line although the owner made it up with taxes – seemed fishy to me but I wasn’t going to push it as my bike would be parked indoor in the room. Although the room was clean, the ceiling was awfully low, within arms reach.
Needing some company I turned the TV on and watched Deliverance; I remember that film from college days some decades ago, and did not know shortly after the movie’s release 30 some-odd folks died trying to navigate the river as in the movie. I won’t cover other details of the film for obvious reasons to those who may have seen it (the squeeling).
By then it was well past my bedtime and time for some shut eye. 5 am, then 6 am came quickly with the TV in the next room on the loud side. I gathered all my belongings then left the small town and drove the last hour north.
The gas station/convenience store was as Tad had said, across the highway from WallyWorld. There was already a pickup (with dirt bike) parked and I pulled in nearby, after filling up and cleaning the bugs off of the windshield.
One-by-one the folks came in to where there were eight of us. They all seemed familiar with each other, me being a newcomer to the group, although I rode sweep with a few of them two months ago. One couple came as far away as Roswell, though most were from the nearby region. There was a mixture of KTMs (mine, a 525 and a 200), Hondas (an ancient XR600R, and CRF450), Yamahas (YZ250 and TT250R), and Kawasakis (200 and 2 KX500s).
Once all were accounted for we left the station in a hurry and headed west into the rolling hills for ~15 miles. We turned into the entrance for the land fill which doubles as the ranch entrance; reminded me of the Hungry Valley entrance station in build, though no green sticker nor spark arrestor check required, nor was it manned to take a fee. The road from there was very well graded, smooth and covered with fine-crushed gravel. A few miles later we had to turn onto the ranch road, then wound up then down through the foothills to what appeared to be an old homestead. We were way back and out of cell-phone coverage.
One of the houses we passed seemed well cared for (current ranch-owner dwelling). We parked near a second made of local rock and clay, and it looked like it was built in the 1930s.
It was rather cool out; perhaps it was the elevation, though it seemed like it was going to get warm as the day progressed, so I did my usual and (over) dressed for the parking lot.
Off loading and suited up, we headed off for the hills along a graded road; mountain muffins everywhere. The terrain here was more open than the Chihuahuan desert where I’m from, sandy and rocky in various parts. The mesas can be seen off in the distant west, which was our destination. We crossed a creek at one point with more water than one would think out here in the dry southwest, and the river rocks were tainted with the minerals; a strange and dull Caterpillar-yellow color. Once closer to the spectacular and broad mesas it was obvious we were not going to the top, but rather along the bases.
Crossing in parallel to the bases was rather difficult from the flash flooding and rocks. Cactus was abundant and were surrounded with stubby (10’ max) evergreens; there was much straw/dried weeds. We all took our turn at traversing the drop offs, ledges and climbs. Traction was okay but not abundant as the soil was quite dry. Everyone cleared all the sections, some with assist.
We came upon one vista where a canyon was full of color below and above. The view we had was not unlike the Grand Canyon (without the expanse); breathtaking, and we were headed down into it after a long pause to take it in.
Before then we were on one of the lower mesas, and off in the distance you could see two separate herds of wild mustangs, over a doz. in each group. Tad explained to me the feds had asked him to herd them at one time to test their blood (for diseases?) Then the following week National Geographic did a wild horse documentary and had his crew do the rustling, and of all things on dirt bikes; he said the horses were viewed/presented by NG as superior to bikes!
Now in these washes you just let it all go: rotate the loud handle to the stop, and point the way. Climbing out of the wash we stopped to play on some small hills made of odd clay. The fellow on the 200 kept asking me 'bout my KTM 250/351 RFS, so I let him ride it back to camp. It took me a short while to get used to a smoker again, as it had to be kept in the bulge to go, but once you were there, it did scoot. He sure took a liking to mine, so much that he wanted to trade for good but I have too much into mine to let it go.
Back at base camp we downed sandwiches; our host brought burgers and BBQ sauce-laden chicken. I switched into Sahara gear as it was getting rather warm by then. After a splash of fuel, we took off for our second 35-mile loop. This time we headed to the lower lands.
Dust was so thick we lost sight of the leaders, although they waiting at important junctions. We then entered another sand wash, though this one wider and more speed intense. We cut over the main incoming road then off into the bushes, eventually making it to a huge clay mount – nothing grows on it, except fun on two wheels. Everyone was using their own expression in carving and crawling over and under then through. There was a big sink hole in the middle where some water goes in the rare event it falls from the sky.
Tad took us to another even wider sand wash; this one was top gear (for me) and big sweepers; rev, shift, rev, shift, downshift, rev – rev, shift, downshift, lean left, rev, shift, lean right, rev, shift and so on. The further we got and higher in elevation, the narrower, and the change in speeds meant I lost sight of the leaders as my lesser-powered bike and lesser-skilled operator does not recover as quickly as their's and they; up ‘til then it was a good chase but I had no more gears, power, nor skill to continue the chase.
At a break point we waited for the guy behind me, and with the sand workout he just about collapsed upon pulling up. We then went back into another even wider sand wash and the leaders (2 KX500s, XR600, CRF450) just left me for dead; it was one of a few places I could have used more displacement and/or a 7th gear.
We crossed over on the east side of the clay mounts and to another wash, working our way back to camp. While waiting for the straggler, Tad took off backwards to rope in the last rider, and while waiting we found one of the KX500s lost the drive-side rear hub bearing. Then Tad and the straggler went on by another way, so I took off and caught them, but by then they had gone a ways away. The straggler and I hung out and Tad went back to check on the other group, but they too had left presumably on a beeline back to camp with the weakened 500, so we soldiered on cross country.
After some miles of real cow trailing we entered into one last wash and it was another top-gear run, lean it over and full throttle moments. This time I clicked my ODO to see how fast we were going and it was around 50 MPH; bars shaking and all - it sure seemed faster.
Well it had been a while since I’ve been able to ride on private property, where there are no whoops and traffic concerns.
What a day; I got back home at nine that night. And still have monkey butt as of this writing...
