I received a late-week invite from Fremont Guy (FG), and Jr. happened to have the day off. Good timing. There wasn’t enough time to mount large tanks on both bikes that evening, although the time became available when something stirred me at 4am; 1 ½ hours later big tanks were on, bikes and gear loaded.
As Jr. arrived home from his paper route I asked it he was ready and he said no, needing to eat. He went through his usual routine of fixing anything and everything to a plate overflowing, set before him to wolf down while perusing today’s headlines, which afforded a wakeup call to Shorty – the latter was coaxed into coming along to stay out of mom’s hair for the day.
I asked Jr. to drive, me not getting my full night’s rest. With the laying of the seat-back down a restful position was found though no sleep was to be had, moreover with the easily recognizable offending fragrance drifting in the cabin from the Paso Robles water treatment plant adjacent to 101 north. Shorty asked why it was thus and all I could think of was the dead bacteria was going though a decay process enhanced/neutralized by chemicals - yes?
Jr. had a lot to say about driving dad’s pickup, specifically how from the opposite-side of the automotive spectrum it was compared to his Bimmer. Me: I could care less as the pavement joints disallowed the sleep I was seeking anyways.
Northeast of King City and then to the connecting highway we were approached from behind by a green GM and red Toyota pickups; Jr. let them by and I recognized the wheeled horses in the beds as the rest of our company. We eventually met up with the same as our tour guides at Oak “slope”.
Greetings ensued, with some conversation about FG’s friend ’96 CR250, my favorite year of that lineage even to this day. He’s fresh from installing an auto clutch (I’ll call him Cheater!) and was looking forward to rippin’ the trails. Turns out he’s an even better rider with good form, and quite a sense of humor. Both he and Les have an affinity for the bush as we shall see.
Shorty’s to hang at camp whilst the other four of us – Les, 450E/XC, his friend (Cheater!) on the CR250R, Jr. on my RMX, and me on the KDX - do the manly trails. I say manly as our fine trail boss(es) took us on all of which could be found of the upcoming Quicksilver and Wild Boar loops.
We left camp up one of the access trails after crossing the creek, the steep one with the water bars you NorCal riders are familiar with. Following Jr. afforded me a thorough viewing of his abilities. He rode 2x last year and maybe once or twice every year since 2000 or so, being busy with his jobs and school, so you can understand I was curious how far he had fallen behind. It was surprising how soon he was able to get back up to a reasonable pace, although he did have some difficulties we will get into later.
The area received a light rain within the last 36 hours, and as such the trails were superb, on the tacky side yet somewhat slick. When Jr. sped off in a hurry, chunks of mud the size of the space between knobs would continue to rain well after him being gone! As such I was on the receiving end of much roost and had to clean my goggles at every stop, but worth the up-closeness of seeing roost thrown hither and yonder. (Am I sick for liking the site of it?) Which brings me to wonder if that 250 of mine couldn’t/shouldn’t hook up better. It came from the factory with an already heavy flywheel, and a bolt-on weight was added on top of that! Now the 200 I was on behaved quite differently as it struggled to get out of the flat midrange and into the top; I do need to buy a richer-tapered needle for sure. Once wound out it would move – it’s just the short delay in getting there: seems like too much flywheel but it’s definitely lean in the middle RPMs. And the bars are too far back for comfortable standing – I’d like to buy another top clamp but feel enough $ has gone into this thing; no wonder my other sons when on this thing do more sitting than standing. As it turned out the setup wasn’t so bad for the bushes and manzanita we were about to encounter, and the paddling/outrigging through lengthy and deep uphill and downhill “vee” ruts. Yeah, I looked like a squid but I survived and am here to write about it!
Once we were out of site of camp our leaders took us right into the thick of it; vegetation so dense, if you were not on someone’s tail you could only hear – if you stalled - and not see what was next, be it left, right, up or down or upside down. All the while over rocks, roots, ruts and cross ruts, some more wet ruts and not so wet ruts, mud bogs, creeks, more mud, jersey-snagging branches, sticks, pinecones, loose soil then tacky then loose, steep up hills then steep down hills, rock and vegetable (bush) gardens, wet rocks, and even bigger rocks. Big fun. In two hours we had gone 10 miles!
On one sudden uphill none of us had a prayer of a chance except the lead/Cheater. It’s good he waiting on yonder peak as it took some fandangling to do the same. FG struggled a little to get over a large rock just before the run up, loosing some rubber, then had to manhandle his 450 on a root later on the same climb near the top. I had to help Jr. over said rock, then plonked on through around the troublesome rock, and took the lead of the us two slower guys (in the same family, the only slow guys in the group) right up to FG’s fender. By then Cheater had come down and helped by placing stones, sticks and pinecones in the hole FG had dug. Once FG’s bike was over the root, it was my turn, and I pretty much used momentum to pop/bounce over. By then Jr. was overheating the 250 real good, clawing up by clutching and throttling and waiting, letting the bike idle for a no small amount of time. Not good. I asked Cheater if he wanted to bring the bike up and he obliged, and that with style.
The top of the hill afforded a chance to catch my breath and view of a pond in the distance made for the wild animals by the BLM. Ah: water for the overheated 250? We coasted to the edge but found only one rusty and one shot through can left by some hillbillies. Our leaders each volunteered rubber gloves Jr. used to scoop somewhat clear water to refill the radiator. Two trips to the watering hole was all it needed.
The rest was a blur. We continued following ribbon to a dead end, but this was no small dead end. A length and precarious downhill preceded by rocky tight bush, and we were down perhaps 500 feet with no way to continue. Another monster uphill and we took a spur to the right. (Jr. had to make a second attempt as he turned his gas off on the descent.) This ended up at a gnarly, muti-step rock-face off-camber climb fit for trials competition. No exaggerating here. My review of the precipice determined it doable but we’d have to manhandle each bike up a series of steps, over and over. The group voted no, and we retraced back up higher to where we last saw ribbon. On the way back up the bushes had scraped Jr. off the saddle more than once. Oh: and earlier he did flip the 250, trying to find the right mix or transition from wheel spin to traction; aftermarket UFO enduro rear fenders do hold up to abuse! All was needed was for it to be turned back inside out and we were on our way.
As all good things must come to an end, and 40 miles out the two laggers were running out of steam, so we said our thank you for such a demanding yet fulfilling excursion, saying it felt like we had actually done an enduro, and headed back to camp (when in fact no timekeeping was involved, rest stops were for the taking, and we only had 40 more miles of this stuff left in an actual event!) In summary I cross-rutted twice and dug in each time, and had two layovers. Jr. had many more, and hero FG came through with a few minor events - nothing noteworthy; Cheater had not even breathed hard: I never even saw him ride much, as if he was beamed up to waiting spot! But being the gracious leader he was, always waited and asked how we were doing, be it fuel or energy. And FG waited at intersections. Thanks guys: we had a great time due to your courtesy, and thanks for not taking us beyond our abilities - near the limit but not beyond, as you both could have without much effort on your part.
Back at camp I felt beat, and all Jr. wanted to do was eat, then eat some more, and after that then continue to eat. Of course it’s understandable, having been out on the trail for 6+ hours. Eventually he helped load up and we head out, this time me driving. I ask him to call home as soon as we get a signal, but he fell asleep before reaching King City, his cell phone falling out of his hand to the floor. I asked Shortly to call and let mom know we were safe and on our way.
As Jr. arrived home from his paper route I asked it he was ready and he said no, needing to eat. He went through his usual routine of fixing anything and everything to a plate overflowing, set before him to wolf down while perusing today’s headlines, which afforded a wakeup call to Shorty – the latter was coaxed into coming along to stay out of mom’s hair for the day.
I asked Jr. to drive, me not getting my full night’s rest. With the laying of the seat-back down a restful position was found though no sleep was to be had, moreover with the easily recognizable offending fragrance drifting in the cabin from the Paso Robles water treatment plant adjacent to 101 north. Shorty asked why it was thus and all I could think of was the dead bacteria was going though a decay process enhanced/neutralized by chemicals - yes?
Jr. had a lot to say about driving dad’s pickup, specifically how from the opposite-side of the automotive spectrum it was compared to his Bimmer. Me: I could care less as the pavement joints disallowed the sleep I was seeking anyways.
Northeast of King City and then to the connecting highway we were approached from behind by a green GM and red Toyota pickups; Jr. let them by and I recognized the wheeled horses in the beds as the rest of our company. We eventually met up with the same as our tour guides at Oak “slope”.
Greetings ensued, with some conversation about FG’s friend ’96 CR250, my favorite year of that lineage even to this day. He’s fresh from installing an auto clutch (I’ll call him Cheater!) and was looking forward to rippin’ the trails. Turns out he’s an even better rider with good form, and quite a sense of humor. Both he and Les have an affinity for the bush as we shall see.
Shorty’s to hang at camp whilst the other four of us – Les, 450E/XC, his friend (Cheater!) on the CR250R, Jr. on my RMX, and me on the KDX - do the manly trails. I say manly as our fine trail boss(es) took us on all of which could be found of the upcoming Quicksilver and Wild Boar loops.
We left camp up one of the access trails after crossing the creek, the steep one with the water bars you NorCal riders are familiar with. Following Jr. afforded me a thorough viewing of his abilities. He rode 2x last year and maybe once or twice every year since 2000 or so, being busy with his jobs and school, so you can understand I was curious how far he had fallen behind. It was surprising how soon he was able to get back up to a reasonable pace, although he did have some difficulties we will get into later.
The area received a light rain within the last 36 hours, and as such the trails were superb, on the tacky side yet somewhat slick. When Jr. sped off in a hurry, chunks of mud the size of the space between knobs would continue to rain well after him being gone! As such I was on the receiving end of much roost and had to clean my goggles at every stop, but worth the up-closeness of seeing roost thrown hither and yonder. (Am I sick for liking the site of it?) Which brings me to wonder if that 250 of mine couldn’t/shouldn’t hook up better. It came from the factory with an already heavy flywheel, and a bolt-on weight was added on top of that! Now the 200 I was on behaved quite differently as it struggled to get out of the flat midrange and into the top; I do need to buy a richer-tapered needle for sure. Once wound out it would move – it’s just the short delay in getting there: seems like too much flywheel but it’s definitely lean in the middle RPMs. And the bars are too far back for comfortable standing – I’d like to buy another top clamp but feel enough $ has gone into this thing; no wonder my other sons when on this thing do more sitting than standing. As it turned out the setup wasn’t so bad for the bushes and manzanita we were about to encounter, and the paddling/outrigging through lengthy and deep uphill and downhill “vee” ruts. Yeah, I looked like a squid but I survived and am here to write about it!
Once we were out of site of camp our leaders took us right into the thick of it; vegetation so dense, if you were not on someone’s tail you could only hear – if you stalled - and not see what was next, be it left, right, up or down or upside down. All the while over rocks, roots, ruts and cross ruts, some more wet ruts and not so wet ruts, mud bogs, creeks, more mud, jersey-snagging branches, sticks, pinecones, loose soil then tacky then loose, steep up hills then steep down hills, rock and vegetable (bush) gardens, wet rocks, and even bigger rocks. Big fun. In two hours we had gone 10 miles!
On one sudden uphill none of us had a prayer of a chance except the lead/Cheater. It’s good he waiting on yonder peak as it took some fandangling to do the same. FG struggled a little to get over a large rock just before the run up, loosing some rubber, then had to manhandle his 450 on a root later on the same climb near the top. I had to help Jr. over said rock, then plonked on through around the troublesome rock, and took the lead of the us two slower guys (in the same family, the only slow guys in the group) right up to FG’s fender. By then Cheater had come down and helped by placing stones, sticks and pinecones in the hole FG had dug. Once FG’s bike was over the root, it was my turn, and I pretty much used momentum to pop/bounce over. By then Jr. was overheating the 250 real good, clawing up by clutching and throttling and waiting, letting the bike idle for a no small amount of time. Not good. I asked Cheater if he wanted to bring the bike up and he obliged, and that with style.
The top of the hill afforded a chance to catch my breath and view of a pond in the distance made for the wild animals by the BLM. Ah: water for the overheated 250? We coasted to the edge but found only one rusty and one shot through can left by some hillbillies. Our leaders each volunteered rubber gloves Jr. used to scoop somewhat clear water to refill the radiator. Two trips to the watering hole was all it needed.
The rest was a blur. We continued following ribbon to a dead end, but this was no small dead end. A length and precarious downhill preceded by rocky tight bush, and we were down perhaps 500 feet with no way to continue. Another monster uphill and we took a spur to the right. (Jr. had to make a second attempt as he turned his gas off on the descent.) This ended up at a gnarly, muti-step rock-face off-camber climb fit for trials competition. No exaggerating here. My review of the precipice determined it doable but we’d have to manhandle each bike up a series of steps, over and over. The group voted no, and we retraced back up higher to where we last saw ribbon. On the way back up the bushes had scraped Jr. off the saddle more than once. Oh: and earlier he did flip the 250, trying to find the right mix or transition from wheel spin to traction; aftermarket UFO enduro rear fenders do hold up to abuse! All was needed was for it to be turned back inside out and we were on our way.
As all good things must come to an end, and 40 miles out the two laggers were running out of steam, so we said our thank you for such a demanding yet fulfilling excursion, saying it felt like we had actually done an enduro, and headed back to camp (when in fact no timekeeping was involved, rest stops were for the taking, and we only had 40 more miles of this stuff left in an actual event!) In summary I cross-rutted twice and dug in each time, and had two layovers. Jr. had many more, and hero FG came through with a few minor events - nothing noteworthy; Cheater had not even breathed hard: I never even saw him ride much, as if he was beamed up to waiting spot! But being the gracious leader he was, always waited and asked how we were doing, be it fuel or energy. And FG waited at intersections. Thanks guys: we had a great time due to your courtesy, and thanks for not taking us beyond our abilities - near the limit but not beyond, as you both could have without much effort on your part.
Back at camp I felt beat, and all Jr. wanted to do was eat, then eat some more, and after that then continue to eat. Of course it’s understandable, having been out on the trail for 6+ hours. Eventually he helped load up and we head out, this time me driving. I ask him to call home as soon as we get a signal, but he fell asleep before reaching King City, his cell phone falling out of his hand to the floor. I asked Shortly to call and let mom know we were safe and on our way.
