The family is far away right now, all the way back in Maine. I've done my best to stay out of trouble by filling up my days and nights with work. All day at the office, all night at the rink. Most of the time, it seems to work. Yesterday, well, yesterday was an exception.
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| Departure... |
Yesterday was easily one of the toughest days I have spent on the moto.
I put more aggressive tires on and found a way to attach the tank bag to the frame with old hockey laces (everything in my house gets fixed with hockey laces and hockey tape, just ask the kids...as in, "Mommy, get some hockey tape so Daddy can fix it). I pulled the hard panniers off my bike to avoid catching my foot/ankle between the ground and the pannier itself when off road. I met up with one of my friends and a buddy of his and we headed southwest down 285 into
Grant. From there, we rode up Handcart Gulch toward Webster Pass.
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| Lower Handcart Gulch Trail |
The approach was challenging. At one point, we were
riding through about 150 meters of stream on top of loose and, of
course, wet rocks. Trying to keep the 425 pound (plus) BMW upright was a
challenge as it was all over the place. This really was my first test and I did my best to simply stay centered and hoped to stay upright. Did it without even dabbing my feet!
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| Climbing |
Once we got above tree line, the shelf road became
super loose with gravel and loose baby head rocks. Had a couple of
puckering moments as the bike would often steer itself and I would find
myself getting super close to the steep drop. I had to overcome my gut
reaction to simply grab the clutch as I wasn't about to try to wrestle
the bike from tipping off the edge of the shelf road. I kept it in first
gear and would blip the throttle in hopes that the bike would come back
around to the proper heading with a little body English. Sure enough,
it did every time.
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| Upper Handcart Gulch Trail |
We stopped one switchback below the pass as it was
covered with a 20 foot drift/cornice. You can see the shelf road as it
runs up to the drift in one of the pictures. The shelf road itself was
super narrow as in it would have been tight even in the land rover. I
took the time to eat a little food and recover my nerves. I was super
nervous about the upcoming descent/retreat.
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| Webster Pass |
I turned my ABS off and flipped the bike
around with a seven point turn. As I did, I wondered what I would have done if I had
been in the Rover as there was no place to turn around.
The descent, while loose, was actually not as bad as I had
anticipated. I found that when I stood up, the bike became less
skittish. I turned my toes in on the pegs which caused my knees and legs
to grab more at the faux-gas tank and suddenly, it all started coming
together. The ride down through the stream was cold but gravity was
pulling me down the hill so I had less holy shit moments than on the way
up as my rear tire wasn't constantly spinning off wet rocks.
As my confidence continued to build, I began to ride
a bit faster. As rocks flew up from my front tire, I began to hear a
metallic sound as they pinged off my flimsy skid plate. We rode out to
285, up and over Kenosha Pass and then turned in toward Georgia Pass as
we hit the next town.
The ascent up Georgia was tame in comparison. An
easy ride to the top on a super dusty but smooth trail. We sat for a
moment at the top and realized just how hungry we were. We had left Yeti and 9 in the morning and it was now
1:30. We headed up a trail that looked promising as it went in the
direction of Breckenridge. That was our first mistake.
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| Georgia Pass |
The trail suddenly began to climb. And it became super gnarly.
Rutted. Rooted. Boulders were exposed. I got a good ways up when the BMW
stalled on an obstacle. I wrestled to keep it upright. And promptly
strained whatever rib/muscle injury I have in my chest from a fall
several weeks back.
Several near frantic tries to get the bike moving
resulted in greater strain and pain. With the rear tire spinning and the
engine maxed, I finally pulled forward far enough to pull out of the
trail and into a grassy section. Steep grassy section. I was across the
fall line and wondering how the hell I could get turned around and
pointed down the hill. Kind of like committing to your first turn at the
top of Tuckerman's Ravine when you are looking straight down into the
bowl below. Only here I had rocks and trees to contend with. And that
425 pound motorcycle. I don't recall having a 425 pound pack at the top of Tuckerman's.
So I started rolling. And turned into the fall line.
And panicked. As the bike shifted from leaning up the hill to leaning
down, I decided, quickly, that there was no way I could keep it upright.
She tipped. I jumped off. A couple of quick steps later, I looked back
to see that she wasn't chasing me down the hill. Pretty much stopped
right where I had let go. Still running. I ran up the hill and shut it
down.
I was now trying to figure out how to get it
upright. She was pointed the wrong way down so I needed to lift it from
the lower side of the hill, making it all the more difficult. One deep breath, one full squat and now I
had the bike upright. And more pain on the left side of my chest. I will point out here not to panic. This story doesn't result in a heart attack, med-evac or anything of the like. This was pretty much the most trouble I would find myself in all day long and that trouble mostly revolved around my level of inexperience.
But the challenge remained. How to get the damn
thing across the fall line. I stayed on the downhill side of the bike.
Left the engine off. Grabbed the clutch and front brake and hossed the bike
around as it tried to roll past me. I was now pointed back toward the
trail but was coming in at too square of an angle. I wasn't going to be
able to turn in gradually and was nervous about another wreck. I hopped
on, rode across the trail and into the woods on the far side. I
bushwhacked through the trees until I was turned around again and met up
with the trail further down.
It wasn't easier yet. All the crap I had climbed up I
now needed to descend. First gear, a feathered rear brake, a whole lot
of pucker and hanging on and I was back down. Mind you, this trail would
have been an axle twister in the Rover. Doable, but holy crap.
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| Dirty |
We headed down the next trail in hopes that it would
bring us closer to food. This was steep and loose as well. One of our crew was in front of me on a KLR (similar to mine in many ways,
including weight and engine size). He had his rear wheel locked and was
sliding the entire way down these trails. I was feathering front and
rear and using the engine to slow me and in far more control than him.
Puckered. But feeling super confident considering the crap I had just
rolled down without incident. I gave him some more space and rolled down
this portion of the trail, bottoming my fork on a couple of occasions
at the bottom of a couple particularly steep inclines.
No more falls. Less puckering. Way fun. Like riding a
super heavy downhill bike and not needing to pedal. We reached the
bottom and came out where we had camped for the Breckenridge Tribe
Gathering. Memories of camping with Emiko rushed back. Staying up late
with her and staring at the stars. She fell asleep in my arms as Robbie
and Rabbit and I talked quietly. Such a good night.
We ended up at a pizza place in Breck. The same
place Emi and I had eaten lunch after camping. After super slow service,
we headed out on pavement, over Loveland Pass and down I-70 toward home.
We joined up with a group of Harley riders on the interstate and rode
in a pack about twelve strong down the hill.
I rolled into home at 5. Exhausted. The final
portion of the ride through Golden was spent reminding myself, out loud
in my helmet, not to get lackadaisical. To focus on the road, the cars,
everything else and not daydream about the couch I had not yet reached.
That kind of exhausted.
I'm still a rookie at this. A newbie. But I got a lot of firsts out of the way. And it was a good day. I got into all sorts of trouble and back out again. And I'm ready for more.
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| Handcart Gulch Trail...what a view |
