The BITD Nevada 200 is a three day trail ride out of Caliente, Nevada. On Day 2, the skies were overcast and we knew we were in for some weather when little snowflakes started falling on all of us at the riders meeting.
In their usual, sadistic fashion, Casey Folks and Scot Harden began the ride with mile-or-so jaunt up a creek, ensuring that all the A-B riders would start the day wet. As we climbed into the mountains, it began to snow harder, eventually collecting so much that the trail was completely covered. MAN, was I having FUN!!! A little wet, but this was AWESOME!!
After what felt like just a few miles, we came to the first gas stop. I peeked at the tank and saw plenty of fuel, at least half a tank, probably more. My buddies topped off their desert tanks while I dug out a PowerBar.
We continued to ride over some of the most spectacular terrain you'll ever find, climbing still higher into the mountains. At some point the Big Man really turned on the snow maker. Now the stuff was 3-4" deep and falling in big clumps off the trees. The no-fog goggles were pretty much useless now, fogging not being as much of a problem as the rapid build up of wet, slush on the lens.
Dropping into snow covered sand washes, and climbing back out to tree covered ridges, things were beginning to get uncomfortably cold. My enduro jacket was completely soaked, gloves frozen into and icy mass, fingers and toes long since loosing feeling. We carried on, praying that the lunch stop was "just over that next hill".
Then I heard that disturbing sound a two stroke makes when it's sucked it's last drop of fuel, you know, that super smooth delivery of power followed by a slight increase in rpms, then a baaaaaaaahhhhhhh.
Now two of us (Timster was off on a determined run to lunch) were standing in the middle of a blizzard, somewhere around 8000' above sea level in the middle of the mountains with no idea how much farther my much-needed gas can was, not to mention a campfire and hot lunch.
I tried not to panic, and suggested to Rusty that he go on ahead and save himself - attempting to ride two-up in the deep sand wash wouldn't have worked anyway. I found a tree to stand under and wondered what my dried out, frozen corpse would look like when it was found next spring as I watched him motor away.
After about ten minutes, the greatest sight and sound I've ever experienced appeared just up the trail - Rusty's KX250 with my gas can wobbling between his knees, on his way back. Turns out, the lunch/fuel stop was finally just on the other side of that hill. When I got there I spent two hours trying to dry out and warm up over a campfire. Casey and Scot wisely decided that the halfway point of Day 2's ride was a good place to head back to Caliente considering the weather. 100 or so of us headed to the highway and rode 40 miles back to town behind a 70 mph KTM box van escort.
What a ride!!
Bought a BIG desert tank soon after and fill up at every stop now.