or B@lls to the W@lls
The Eeler (E, GG 300) and Gogo-jake (G, YZ250f) voted for a Gorman ride this Sunday; I propose this place instead. Tater (T, YZ426f) and Thumbsy (T, 200 M/XC) were to join in the fray.
My oldest son (jr.), having arrived from delivering the Sunday paper, said he wanted to go - all the better as he younger brother hadn’t apologized to me for displaying his middle index, 2x, re: some disagreement we had. So as jr. was chowing down b-fast I put the final goods on the pickup for today’s ride.
The drive to Ballinger was quite scenic, up the Santa Ynez river valley, green slopes from the little spring precipitation received and some water meandering down to the sea. Jr. tried his best to sleep but seemed unsuccessful unit reaching the campground.
I unloaded as best I could and geared up. In the gearing up process, perspiration became evident and it was not even 8:30am! I then decided it best to don Sahara gear for the eventual warming of the day.
Whilst slipping on my mesh pants four familiar pea-cups passed with loaded WMDs in their beds. The drivers did not notice us parked, so I had driven over on two wheels to let them know we’d be joining their lo-cal. G commented he did not recognize me, perhaps due to being partially geared up, or he had burned-in memories of my towering stature from days of old?
I had to shake jr. from his sleep – surprising with all the mini-pit racers, though they were not obnoxious. The usual greetings ensued once parked together.
The beginning of our loop was through the staging area through to the north half. There are some demanding whoop sections, and one of us went down hard unbeknownst to T and I as we paused ahead on one of the short peak’s crest. A quick back trailing revealed the one shaken yet able to move on.
A few more short ups and downs, and a sharp left to the north ridge on a tricky razorback. Everyone made it fine so we continued on the ridge and regrouped for a headcount every few miles.
There were a few mud/water puddles to surprise us with a splash every so often. Some were deep but presented no problems to any one in the group.
Coming down from the ridge and stopping at the corral afforded us an orientation of our location, although we’d be better served for such from the peaks.
As we spun off the main road, and counted heads, I scooted off, clicking into third and decided to catch a trail spur behind a trail marker. Misjudging clearances my right-side hand guard slammed into the metal sign, driving the backside of my paw into sign or inside hand guard and folding under. Ouch! T had seen it all and was surprised I was still upright. The pain was intense but not enough to call it a day, too soon. We hung a right into the canyon, then up a series of switchbacks onto another ridge.
Briefly pausing at the end of this section on a steep incline, I explained we were about to enter into a wooded area. It doesn’t get much sun, and that mixed with the tacky soil composition and moisture retention offered some unusual and fun conditions. By this time the pain hadn’t subsided and was affecting my confidence, such as I was questioning the wisdom of going further; my technique was faltering, but I wanted to show a good time for all and kept it to myself.
At one trail intersection we took an extended break. There were three others already there enjoying cold ones (they did not offer!) and carried conversation about how they’ve been coming here since 5 years old; they seemed to be in their early 40s, and mentioned this area used to be the place to do hill climbing, but no more due to various restrictions. As they were getting ready to leave, a large group of 10 riders or so came on through. Funny: were on the extreme east end of the canyon and there’s all this traffic, but only at this one intersection.
Now for more fun we meander down this long canyon. It had two logs arched across, where you have to kiss your gas tank to ride under, or as some opted to dismount and bulldog through. We stopped at one wet spot, hoping to see a show but not this time. On another rutted mud section T had gotten one each tire in two separate ruts, but no noteworthy crashing. We regrouped at the canyon’s mouth, and with some delay the last two joined us; one had taken a mud sample and it had saturated his glove; the stuff was smeared on his left grip and lever, but was squeegeed off with a stick.
My hand had not improved but there was too much fun ahead to care. Taking an ATV trail up the south ridge was next, with water bars for MX-ish jumping. I like doing these at speed as my lighter KDX can get better air that my RMX, of which jr. was on; although the suspension of the latter feels better.
Once near the top the usual confusion with the trail markings and map converged. We were able to figure it out and headed for the far south ridge, with all its whoops and more razor ridges. Fun. I do not know who was behind me (E?) but he was a pushin’, and I hope I gave him his money’s worth.
We then split off down to one of the ATV trails in hope of connection with the spectacular winding washes. But not before we get another dosage of sand whoops. There’s something about this section I cannot master. The whoops are deep and sandy; with short spacing and turns, making it difficult to skim, let alone double – about the best I can do is roll them; getting enough speed to master them is not possible for me. I can put the front tire on top of every other one with my 250, but not quite on my 200.
So here we are, entering into one of the four washes. These are remarkable similar – they differ only in length. We were gong to zigzag them all but jr. had to be at work this after noon so just a sampling was afforded.
As the wash narrowed and became tight, I could hear T coming up from behind. (It reminded me of other rides, having Holeshot or Ol’ 49r pushing my fanny along; maybe they weren’t close but it sure seemed like it with those booming thumpers.) But then after some tight turns there was sudden silence in the rear; turns out he stalled it and G had taken his place as pursuer. Then my front tire dug in the sand, and G passed on the right – he clipped my bars right side and we momentarily thought it was for the worst, but he was able to continue on without hesitation. When resumed and chasing G I heard another come up; this time it was E. At the end we came to a halt and realized just how hot it was; musta been in the mid 80s. Phew. We then took the ridge to the right and back to camp.
I missed a corner and went into some rocks, but was able to keep it upright. A few yahoos passed and hooted out; they must like blood too! Judicious clutching allowed a quick climb out before others could see me in my vulnerable position.
Down we went, and one went into the bush. It took a few moments to get his like dislodged from the bush.
Back at camp to unwind, and load up for our early departure, I received a fine compliment from E about awesome trail introductions.
Arriving at home, jr. hustled to shower and off to work. With my wounded paw I carefully unloaded but broke tradition by passed on washing the bikes; jr. can do that later in the week. The hand is puffy such that the knuckles no longer poke; I hope it heals enough to attend/help with next weekend’s enduros.
The Eeler (E, GG 300) and Gogo-jake (G, YZ250f) voted for a Gorman ride this Sunday; I propose this place instead. Tater (T, YZ426f) and Thumbsy (T, 200 M/XC) were to join in the fray.
My oldest son (jr.), having arrived from delivering the Sunday paper, said he wanted to go - all the better as he younger brother hadn’t apologized to me for displaying his middle index, 2x, re: some disagreement we had. So as jr. was chowing down b-fast I put the final goods on the pickup for today’s ride.
The drive to Ballinger was quite scenic, up the Santa Ynez river valley, green slopes from the little spring precipitation received and some water meandering down to the sea. Jr. tried his best to sleep but seemed unsuccessful unit reaching the campground.
I unloaded as best I could and geared up. In the gearing up process, perspiration became evident and it was not even 8:30am! I then decided it best to don Sahara gear for the eventual warming of the day.
Whilst slipping on my mesh pants four familiar pea-cups passed with loaded WMDs in their beds. The drivers did not notice us parked, so I had driven over on two wheels to let them know we’d be joining their lo-cal. G commented he did not recognize me, perhaps due to being partially geared up, or he had burned-in memories of my towering stature from days of old?
I had to shake jr. from his sleep – surprising with all the mini-pit racers, though they were not obnoxious. The usual greetings ensued once parked together.
The beginning of our loop was through the staging area through to the north half. There are some demanding whoop sections, and one of us went down hard unbeknownst to T and I as we paused ahead on one of the short peak’s crest. A quick back trailing revealed the one shaken yet able to move on.
A few more short ups and downs, and a sharp left to the north ridge on a tricky razorback. Everyone made it fine so we continued on the ridge and regrouped for a headcount every few miles.
There were a few mud/water puddles to surprise us with a splash every so often. Some were deep but presented no problems to any one in the group.
Coming down from the ridge and stopping at the corral afforded us an orientation of our location, although we’d be better served for such from the peaks.
As we spun off the main road, and counted heads, I scooted off, clicking into third and decided to catch a trail spur behind a trail marker. Misjudging clearances my right-side hand guard slammed into the metal sign, driving the backside of my paw into sign or inside hand guard and folding under. Ouch! T had seen it all and was surprised I was still upright. The pain was intense but not enough to call it a day, too soon. We hung a right into the canyon, then up a series of switchbacks onto another ridge.
Briefly pausing at the end of this section on a steep incline, I explained we were about to enter into a wooded area. It doesn’t get much sun, and that mixed with the tacky soil composition and moisture retention offered some unusual and fun conditions. By this time the pain hadn’t subsided and was affecting my confidence, such as I was questioning the wisdom of going further; my technique was faltering, but I wanted to show a good time for all and kept it to myself.
At one trail intersection we took an extended break. There were three others already there enjoying cold ones (they did not offer!) and carried conversation about how they’ve been coming here since 5 years old; they seemed to be in their early 40s, and mentioned this area used to be the place to do hill climbing, but no more due to various restrictions. As they were getting ready to leave, a large group of 10 riders or so came on through. Funny: were on the extreme east end of the canyon and there’s all this traffic, but only at this one intersection.
Now for more fun we meander down this long canyon. It had two logs arched across, where you have to kiss your gas tank to ride under, or as some opted to dismount and bulldog through. We stopped at one wet spot, hoping to see a show but not this time. On another rutted mud section T had gotten one each tire in two separate ruts, but no noteworthy crashing. We regrouped at the canyon’s mouth, and with some delay the last two joined us; one had taken a mud sample and it had saturated his glove; the stuff was smeared on his left grip and lever, but was squeegeed off with a stick.
My hand had not improved but there was too much fun ahead to care. Taking an ATV trail up the south ridge was next, with water bars for MX-ish jumping. I like doing these at speed as my lighter KDX can get better air that my RMX, of which jr. was on; although the suspension of the latter feels better.
Once near the top the usual confusion with the trail markings and map converged. We were able to figure it out and headed for the far south ridge, with all its whoops and more razor ridges. Fun. I do not know who was behind me (E?) but he was a pushin’, and I hope I gave him his money’s worth.
We then split off down to one of the ATV trails in hope of connection with the spectacular winding washes. But not before we get another dosage of sand whoops. There’s something about this section I cannot master. The whoops are deep and sandy; with short spacing and turns, making it difficult to skim, let alone double – about the best I can do is roll them; getting enough speed to master them is not possible for me. I can put the front tire on top of every other one with my 250, but not quite on my 200.
So here we are, entering into one of the four washes. These are remarkable similar – they differ only in length. We were gong to zigzag them all but jr. had to be at work this after noon so just a sampling was afforded.
As the wash narrowed and became tight, I could hear T coming up from behind. (It reminded me of other rides, having Holeshot or Ol’ 49r pushing my fanny along; maybe they weren’t close but it sure seemed like it with those booming thumpers.) But then after some tight turns there was sudden silence in the rear; turns out he stalled it and G had taken his place as pursuer. Then my front tire dug in the sand, and G passed on the right – he clipped my bars right side and we momentarily thought it was for the worst, but he was able to continue on without hesitation. When resumed and chasing G I heard another come up; this time it was E. At the end we came to a halt and realized just how hot it was; musta been in the mid 80s. Phew. We then took the ridge to the right and back to camp.
I missed a corner and went into some rocks, but was able to keep it upright. A few yahoos passed and hooted out; they must like blood too! Judicious clutching allowed a quick climb out before others could see me in my vulnerable position.
Down we went, and one went into the bush. It took a few moments to get his like dislodged from the bush.
Back at camp to unwind, and load up for our early departure, I received a fine compliment from E about awesome trail introductions.
Arriving at home, jr. hustled to shower and off to work. With my wounded paw I carefully unloaded but broke tradition by passed on washing the bikes; jr. can do that later in the week. The hand is puffy such that the knuckles no longer poke; I hope it heals enough to attend/help with next weekend’s enduros.