This trail is a little misnamed because it is out and back across the same route. Of all the riding Saturday this trail is the best suited to the KLR. Except for one spot going one direction.
There are a lot on nice uphills well suited to the big fourstroke, and muddy turns, with little double-hump water crossings to get the front up on with minimal bottoming on the down side. Of course, the boys on the twosmokers were bouncin' down the trail like twitterpated rabbits.
All was going remarkably well until we came to a long steep uphill composed completely of rocky outcroppings. Lookin' at it from the bottom I was wondering what all the fuss was about and figured I'd just tractor up and over the shit and be on my way. Until Larry stopped. Because The Kid stopped.
One does not stop a KLR650 on a steep, bouldered hillside and expect it to just up and take off again without any fuss. As they say, “An ounce of momentum is worth a pound of traction.” and I was all out of momentum with no traction in sight. Luckily Dr. Jekyll (“Ed”, for short) stayed back to make sure everyone negotiated the obstacle. It was not pretty. Lookin' back, I think I would have made it up the hill OK had Larry not stopped for The Kid stopping, but the sharp obstacled left and the immediate sharp obstacled right would have at least called for stopping to maneuver.
Past “The Rocky Hill” it was mostly all downhill and the big fourstroke enginebrakes well so it was a blast. Coming back the other direction was the usual miles of smiles! The Rocky Hill was pretty uneventful going the other way. Zero pucker factor; Chug! Chug! Chug!, and away we went.
So far I had not dropped the bike and was rapidly building confidence in it. It was obvious to me that the front end was, at once, too stiff at the bottom and too soft at the top of it's stroke compounded by being just plain too short in stroke overall. The other fellas were flyin' down the trail and waiting on me periodically, but my babysitter (Claude) was always nearby.
I can't imagine what a pain in the ass that was, but I carried extra water to make the burden even. I didn't flaunt the refreshments in front of the others at stops on the hot d r y trail, but Claude did.
At one stop, Larry was beaming under the praise of everyone present for the apparent ease with which he was riding given his limited experience. Some more advanced watercrossing techniques were discussed and I guess Larry thought he'd give it a try, so....
Fifty feet into the restart Claude and I hear a twostroke rev to the sky screaming like someone had it by the balls, and see Larry hit a water hole with the front wheel up. What a Splash! It must have impressed him because Larry didn't let off before setting up for the next waterhole immediately following the first. That's when it got ugly. Or funny, depending on your perspective. The bike left the first water hole a bit out of control, hit the second completely out of control and entered the trailside briar patch airbourne. All this to the accompaniment of the sounds of breaking saplings and ripping cloth! Larry didn't stop until he was 15 feet deep into a saw-briar patch well over his head. All we heard after that was a loud pitiful wail of, “Heeeeelllllp!”. He had entered the saw-briar patch with all four appendages spread eagle and only his asshole still connected to the bike. The clenching is what kept him on the seat.
After much laughing at Larry's expense (Claude was forced to piss on a nearby tree lest he soil himself and I nearly dropped the SwampThing into the dirt I was so weak from hysteria), we began extricating him from the patch. Try untangling a spider web while laughing yourself silly. Sadly, we failed to express any sympathy for poor Larry. Luckily, he was laughing, too. Through the pain. That was the best wreck of the day.
I know this is off topic but....... Damn!
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