I was ready. I had taken Friday off to prep the bikes and load up the trailer for the 100+ miles we would be traveling that night to the hare scramble at Red Mountain, CA. All was well; new brakes and tires on the truck, new oil in the bikes, clean filters, new plugs, and some fresh premixed C-12. Plus steak and eggs and beer and coffee in the fridge. All set.
We set out at about 6PM after stopping for necessary burritos and taquitos. And we drove, and drove and drove (yawn). We found Johannesburg and Randsburg and Red Mountain but couldn’t find the signs to camp. So we drove around some more until my wife and I drove each other crazy driving around until 11PM. Sheesh! So we camped for the night just inside the Spangler OHV area. Turns out we were only a few miles away.
Saturday morning we wake up with the cold, cold wind and head into Ridgecrest to get grub, as we didn’t want to unload the toybox just to cook and then move again. We quite possibly ate at the worlds worst Denny’s. It was absolutely nasty. We have only been to one place worse, a mom and pop café in Parker AZ that had a very unfitting sign on the wall about the positive correlation between quality and price. Anyway…
After breakfast we headed back out to the staging area and I notice the high-pitched whine coming from the truck is getting worse. Anything but the transmission, I think to myself. So we get everything unloaded and spread out and settle in to kick back and relax for a few. That gets boring quickly so we go for a short ride to check out the area, as we had never been there before. As usual, I speed ahead and circle around for Pam as she gets warmed up and gains her sometimes-fleeting confidence. Once she’s in the grove we wander farther and start picking up the pace.
After an hour or so we head back to camp. I get on the YZ125 – I’m still not sure it’s jetted well enough – and my wife wants to ride my KTM200. So off we go again. When we stop, she’s grinning wide and won’t give the KTM back. Fair enough – I ride the YZ for the rest of the afternoon. We keep going for quite a while and Pam’s really rollin’ on my bike until she panics in a big sandy berm, grabs a handful of front brake and goes over the bars right in front of me. And she’s not getting up too fast. Turns out she broke her scapula (shoulder blade) – we didn’t know it at the time – but she just shook it off and rode back to camp. So the next morning she’s in real pain. I said we should get her to the local ER but she insists we stay for my race. Gotta love her.
I eat some breakfast, gear up and cruse the bomb run. I came back to try and relax before the race, but nothing much helped. We headed out to the start and I got the goose bumps when I saw all the bikes lined up and heard the motors revving. As the first three rows started, I watched everyone and figured out that kicking it over in 2nd with the clutch in was prolly the way to go. I could feel my blood pulsing as the banner went up and the motors went silent. The banner dropped and I was right – about 2nd gear. As I revved the snot out of my 200, I caught glimpses of some blue bikes and some orange bikes off to both sides of me. As I topped out in 4th and then into 5th, I realized how freeking fast I was going on no line whatsoever. I backed off the gas and reminded myself that my goal on this day was to simply finish the race – not that I could have kept that pace for very long. I soon found out that tear-offs are cool.
The way I remember the race is in the order of my get-offs. Heh.
#1) Right outside the first check there was a short uphill, not too bad, but rutted and rocky. Should have been easy. So bam! I nail a sharp loose rock with the front tire, and loop out right in the middle of the hill with other riders all around me. I got up, fired up the 200 with one kick (of course) and continued on.
#2) I remember some whoops and sand washes about here but the nasty part was a road/sand wash crossing the trail. I had been dismissing the down-arrow cautions up to this point, as they were not too bad. Big mistake. I flew out of a trail, almost over the crossing, and smacked the other side real good. The other side was a small uphill; seems most riders slowed down and went down the wash a few feet THEN up the other side. I hit it slightly sideways so the front tire deflected, sending me into the hill. I broke the fall with my head and bad hand. After the stars cleared up and I got the feeling back in my right hand, I was off again. I remember a guy behind me saw this one, stopped and asked if I was okay. Thanks dude! It must have looked pretty gnarly.
#3) I don’t think this next part qualifies as a crash, but I did have to stop a couple times and I stalled the bike. I got to the really tight part of the race, where beginners had the choice of an alternate route. I started heading for the easy way, but my adrenaline and testosterone got the better of me. Another mistake. I found all those guys who got the good starts. There were about 10 or 15 guys in 30 foot of tight rocky trail, most of them stalled and turning purple kicking big ole 4-strokes. So I stop, dumbfounded, looking for a line. Nada – I’m not sure what to do. Then a guy comes up behind me and wants me to “go around!” So I try, and now one more bike is stalled on the hill. It wouldn’t have been such a bad section, but I was exhausted after restarting and muscling the bike around the other riders. I stopped and got out of the way at the top of the trail to catch my breath. Whew…
#4) Lastly was my high-speed get-off. I figured the finish was close, and the course went into another sand wash – the kind I like, the kind WITHOUT three-foot whoops. So I really got on it and was motorin’ along in 5th. So I pass one guy. And another two, and was closing on a fourth. Then comes a gradual left turn and I get on the gas. I was warned that there was a rock out there with my name on it, but I figured it was that first one I hit. No so! There was a small round rock just under the sand at the outside of the turn. It was just enough to deflect the front tire to the outside and launch me about 20 feet or so. I landed on my shoulder with a good “thud” but luckily still within the sand. Didn’t hurt much at the time, but two weeks later it still hurts like a mother when I sneeze. Two of the three guys I passed in that section cruised on by while was getting myself together, but I eventually passed one again before the finish. After I was on my way again, I remembered that you never see the rock with your name on it – and if you do see it, that’s not your rock. Good advice, but there’s not much you can do about it, now is there?
So I managed to keep it together for the rest of the race and didn’t come in dead last, didn’t break myself or my bike – it seemed. I found out later that I sheared my shark fin disk guard right off and figured I should’ve had a front flat 3 times over. I can’t believe the front rim is still straight. And I beat up myself pretty good; two weeks later I’m still sore.
Anyway, I was exhausted, my wife’s shoulder broken, and we had a 100+ mile drive home. We loaded up the toybox, hooked up the truck and were ready to go. I got in the truck, turned the key and nothing happened. I hit up some guy in the Viewfinder’s club for cables and got a jump from another random passerby. We made our way down the road towards the highway and the truck died in the middle of the road. Up comes jumper cable guy and gives me another jump. A few feet later it dies, he gives me another jump and offers to follow me into town. So I get to the highway constantly revving the truck and judging from the 9 reading on the alt gauge, I figured we didn’t have long. Then it died, I lost power steering, gauges went wacky, and we managed to coast to a stop in front of the first gas station inside Ridgecrest. I told jumper cable guy it’s was a lost cause but thanks so much for the help – we’ll call AAA. If I have a reason to join any D-37 club, this guy just came through for the Viewfinders.
Now this is what blows my mind. There we are stuck in Ridgecrest, far from home with a bad alternator on a Sunday afternoon. Right after the Viewfinder guy leaves, a couple pulls up in an old Chevy blazer and asks if we need a jump. He says they were out four-wheelin’ and watched the race and on their way back saw us getting jumped started. I say the alt is shot and he says “there’s a AutoZone down the street, I’ll help you pull the old one, we’ll drive you down there, get another, put it in, and jump you again.” I was completely dumbfounded. Wow. “Um, sure thanks” I said. So we pulled out tools and got to work. Half an hour later we were on our way to get Pam’s shoulder x-rayed, and yes it was broken.
In all it was a good trip; even with the unexpected setbacks. I still can’t believe how damn helpful everyone was. It was so refreshing and renewed my faith in the average person. Although the one thing everyone had in common was off-roading. Sorry to “jumper cable guy” and “off-roading couple for Ridgecrest,” my nerves were so frazzled by that time I don’t remember names. But thanks again.
:)
wp
We set out at about 6PM after stopping for necessary burritos and taquitos. And we drove, and drove and drove (yawn). We found Johannesburg and Randsburg and Red Mountain but couldn’t find the signs to camp. So we drove around some more until my wife and I drove each other crazy driving around until 11PM. Sheesh! So we camped for the night just inside the Spangler OHV area. Turns out we were only a few miles away.
Saturday morning we wake up with the cold, cold wind and head into Ridgecrest to get grub, as we didn’t want to unload the toybox just to cook and then move again. We quite possibly ate at the worlds worst Denny’s. It was absolutely nasty. We have only been to one place worse, a mom and pop café in Parker AZ that had a very unfitting sign on the wall about the positive correlation between quality and price. Anyway…
After breakfast we headed back out to the staging area and I notice the high-pitched whine coming from the truck is getting worse. Anything but the transmission, I think to myself. So we get everything unloaded and spread out and settle in to kick back and relax for a few. That gets boring quickly so we go for a short ride to check out the area, as we had never been there before. As usual, I speed ahead and circle around for Pam as she gets warmed up and gains her sometimes-fleeting confidence. Once she’s in the grove we wander farther and start picking up the pace.
After an hour or so we head back to camp. I get on the YZ125 – I’m still not sure it’s jetted well enough – and my wife wants to ride my KTM200. So off we go again. When we stop, she’s grinning wide and won’t give the KTM back. Fair enough – I ride the YZ for the rest of the afternoon. We keep going for quite a while and Pam’s really rollin’ on my bike until she panics in a big sandy berm, grabs a handful of front brake and goes over the bars right in front of me. And she’s not getting up too fast. Turns out she broke her scapula (shoulder blade) – we didn’t know it at the time – but she just shook it off and rode back to camp. So the next morning she’s in real pain. I said we should get her to the local ER but she insists we stay for my race. Gotta love her.
I eat some breakfast, gear up and cruse the bomb run. I came back to try and relax before the race, but nothing much helped. We headed out to the start and I got the goose bumps when I saw all the bikes lined up and heard the motors revving. As the first three rows started, I watched everyone and figured out that kicking it over in 2nd with the clutch in was prolly the way to go. I could feel my blood pulsing as the banner went up and the motors went silent. The banner dropped and I was right – about 2nd gear. As I revved the snot out of my 200, I caught glimpses of some blue bikes and some orange bikes off to both sides of me. As I topped out in 4th and then into 5th, I realized how freeking fast I was going on no line whatsoever. I backed off the gas and reminded myself that my goal on this day was to simply finish the race – not that I could have kept that pace for very long. I soon found out that tear-offs are cool.
The way I remember the race is in the order of my get-offs. Heh.
#1) Right outside the first check there was a short uphill, not too bad, but rutted and rocky. Should have been easy. So bam! I nail a sharp loose rock with the front tire, and loop out right in the middle of the hill with other riders all around me. I got up, fired up the 200 with one kick (of course) and continued on.
#2) I remember some whoops and sand washes about here but the nasty part was a road/sand wash crossing the trail. I had been dismissing the down-arrow cautions up to this point, as they were not too bad. Big mistake. I flew out of a trail, almost over the crossing, and smacked the other side real good. The other side was a small uphill; seems most riders slowed down and went down the wash a few feet THEN up the other side. I hit it slightly sideways so the front tire deflected, sending me into the hill. I broke the fall with my head and bad hand. After the stars cleared up and I got the feeling back in my right hand, I was off again. I remember a guy behind me saw this one, stopped and asked if I was okay. Thanks dude! It must have looked pretty gnarly.
#3) I don’t think this next part qualifies as a crash, but I did have to stop a couple times and I stalled the bike. I got to the really tight part of the race, where beginners had the choice of an alternate route. I started heading for the easy way, but my adrenaline and testosterone got the better of me. Another mistake. I found all those guys who got the good starts. There were about 10 or 15 guys in 30 foot of tight rocky trail, most of them stalled and turning purple kicking big ole 4-strokes. So I stop, dumbfounded, looking for a line. Nada – I’m not sure what to do. Then a guy comes up behind me and wants me to “go around!” So I try, and now one more bike is stalled on the hill. It wouldn’t have been such a bad section, but I was exhausted after restarting and muscling the bike around the other riders. I stopped and got out of the way at the top of the trail to catch my breath. Whew…
#4) Lastly was my high-speed get-off. I figured the finish was close, and the course went into another sand wash – the kind I like, the kind WITHOUT three-foot whoops. So I really got on it and was motorin’ along in 5th. So I pass one guy. And another two, and was closing on a fourth. Then comes a gradual left turn and I get on the gas. I was warned that there was a rock out there with my name on it, but I figured it was that first one I hit. No so! There was a small round rock just under the sand at the outside of the turn. It was just enough to deflect the front tire to the outside and launch me about 20 feet or so. I landed on my shoulder with a good “thud” but luckily still within the sand. Didn’t hurt much at the time, but two weeks later it still hurts like a mother when I sneeze. Two of the three guys I passed in that section cruised on by while was getting myself together, but I eventually passed one again before the finish. After I was on my way again, I remembered that you never see the rock with your name on it – and if you do see it, that’s not your rock. Good advice, but there’s not much you can do about it, now is there?
So I managed to keep it together for the rest of the race and didn’t come in dead last, didn’t break myself or my bike – it seemed. I found out later that I sheared my shark fin disk guard right off and figured I should’ve had a front flat 3 times over. I can’t believe the front rim is still straight. And I beat up myself pretty good; two weeks later I’m still sore.
Anyway, I was exhausted, my wife’s shoulder broken, and we had a 100+ mile drive home. We loaded up the toybox, hooked up the truck and were ready to go. I got in the truck, turned the key and nothing happened. I hit up some guy in the Viewfinder’s club for cables and got a jump from another random passerby. We made our way down the road towards the highway and the truck died in the middle of the road. Up comes jumper cable guy and gives me another jump. A few feet later it dies, he gives me another jump and offers to follow me into town. So I get to the highway constantly revving the truck and judging from the 9 reading on the alt gauge, I figured we didn’t have long. Then it died, I lost power steering, gauges went wacky, and we managed to coast to a stop in front of the first gas station inside Ridgecrest. I told jumper cable guy it’s was a lost cause but thanks so much for the help – we’ll call AAA. If I have a reason to join any D-37 club, this guy just came through for the Viewfinders.
Now this is what blows my mind. There we are stuck in Ridgecrest, far from home with a bad alternator on a Sunday afternoon. Right after the Viewfinder guy leaves, a couple pulls up in an old Chevy blazer and asks if we need a jump. He says they were out four-wheelin’ and watched the race and on their way back saw us getting jumped started. I say the alt is shot and he says “there’s a AutoZone down the street, I’ll help you pull the old one, we’ll drive you down there, get another, put it in, and jump you again.” I was completely dumbfounded. Wow. “Um, sure thanks” I said. So we pulled out tools and got to work. Half an hour later we were on our way to get Pam’s shoulder x-rayed, and yes it was broken.
In all it was a good trip; even with the unexpected setbacks. I still can’t believe how damn helpful everyone was. It was so refreshing and renewed my faith in the average person. Although the one thing everyone had in common was off-roading. Sorry to “jumper cable guy” and “off-roading couple for Ridgecrest,” my nerves were so frazzled by that time I don’t remember names. But thanks again.
:)
wp
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