Uhhg

Denial and wishful thinking only go so far. I woke up at 3:42 AM, the stuffiness in my sinuses was not, as I'd convinced myself, from the campfire smoke. This was definitely a cold. My soft palate was itchy and sore, and my nose was starting to imitate a garden hose. I rummaged around in my gear for the facial tissues I keep nearby. After addressing the immediate issue, I tried to get some more sleep.

Dawn came. The light started to filter through the trees and illuminated my tent. I love waking up early, even more so in the wild (or anywhere that pretends to be wild). I found my sweater and started my morning. Oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. Then a nice morning campfire for warming up.

One by one our troop rustled to life, broke camp, and clambered aboard our steeds. A mighty racket of twins and thumpers echoed through the campground. We were ready to set off. Then we weren't. It seems KTM makes the rims of the 1190 out of Playdough. Trevor had a flat from a bent rim. Kyle and I had taken time to air down to 20 PSI the previous day, but our KTM riding compatriots were already trying to protect their rims. To no avail. The front wheel came off and someone found a sledge hammer.

Several good whacks and the rim was straight-ish. It held air, anyway. Back astride our various bikes, we rolled out. Then we waited. And we waited some more. It seems my troubles of the first night were new visiting Tyler. His bike didn't want to stay upright. To be fair, KTM also makes the kickstand on the 1190 out Playdough, so he was dealing with difficult situation to begin with.

Finally on the move, I slotted in to my accustomed position of 3rd on the road and enjoyed a couple miles of morning dew dampened dustless riding. It didn't last though, and I was back to choosing my line as much to avoid dust as to find a smooth path.

I'm a novice dirt rider (I doubled my loose surface mileage on Trail Day 1), and the VerSys is a little pushy in the loose stuff. The front end tends to slide, even with that TKC-80, more than the rear shod with a less aggressive TKC-70. Still, I kept pace with Kyle. Trevor, despite the just straightened front wheel, was out of sight in a blink. I thought Kyle and were doing okay when Jon whizzed by, kicking up his own apocalyptic cloud of pot-hole obscuring dust. Luckily, he too was well out of sight and the dust mostly settled by the time we rode through. Jon is not a novice. Down we rode, on mostly smooth gravel to the paved highway and into Packwood where we sought out another restaurant breakfast. 

The coffee shop was crowded, but has no hot food. The pizza join serves pretty good breakfast. We lost a comrade while dining. Tyler received a troubling voicemail from family, and was unable to reach anyone for clarification. So after we'd all dined, filled up our water bottles and hydration packs, he headed for home. We started out 4, grew to 6, and were back to 5. The pavement ride didn't last long, and were soon climbing switchbacks on loose gravel over washboard. The biggest lesson I learned in my Off-Road 101 class was that "If you're riding, you're standing. Sitting is for resting." So stand I do, even when the road is smooth. Surprisingly, the VerSys doesn't translate much of the washboard through to the rider. A little throttle to keep the front end light, a little clutch and rear-brake going into a bend, and it was a very pleasant climb up to Bethel Ridge. Things got "interesting" a couple of times as my confidence out stripped my experience, but I kept the bike upright and pointed, more or less, in the right direction.

The view at the top of the first climb is spectacular.

As soon as we were done reveling the astounding natural beauty of this rock we all call home, the road got fun. It's a deeply rutted, slow, technical, tightly twisted serpent armed with fangs of rock and wood. It's fantastic. The bike was still injured, so the tightly rolling nature of the road meant a lot of slow rolling, followed by third gear runs when the terrain allowed. But the bike did it. In fact, it was probably best I had to be mindful of that top-case that kept flexing forward and knocking me in the back. If not for that, I would have pushed the bike a lot harder, and knocked the hell out of her too short for the job suspension. Winding along the cliffs edge and through the trees required concentration not just on the riding, but on remaining calm.

Sure, motorcycling can be instant Zen. It can also be stressful. I like to place myself in situation where the natural inclination is to freak out, but staying calm is the safest option. It helps me gain greater self-awareness and control. This is how I meditate. This is how I ground myself fully in the moment.

As the terrain opened up I turned up the wick. Trevor and Kyle had been out of sight and out of radio range for a while. I hadn't seen Kumi or Jon in a while either. The GPS and map agreed that I was still on course, but in the middle of nowhere, doubt started to whisper. There was a mildly rolling section. I added a little more pace. The next bump was a bit less mild, but the bike and I landed smoothly. The top-case didn't even flex. Cool. Then the ruts came back. I didn't see the log jutting out into the trail until it was too late. Whack. I felt that. Square on the ankle I'd broken a few months earlier. Thank goodness I'd upgraded my boots. The Sidi Adventure boots are wonderfully protective with their hinged design and hard protection all over the place. That would have ended my ride had I been wearing my older "off-road" boots. A few hundred yards later a rock attacked my right boot, knocking my foot clear off the peg. I rode it out, and didn't even feel the impact on my foot, just the violent jolt of my leg swinging free. These boots were doing their job splendidly.

Another tight and rutted section followed. As I rounded the bend there were two options, a low route and high route. I scanned for an indication of which way to go, and caught site of two bikes up on the ridge. The high route it was. It was a 30-35 degree slope surfaced with rocks ranging from baseball to softball size, with a gentle sweep to the right. I grabbed second, gassed it, and held on, suggesting to the bike that we follow the road. She bounced around a bit, but up we went. Another first, and another thank you to PSSOR for the the hill climb training at the end of the 101 class. Momentum is king.

We waited for Kumi and Jon, who I would have expected to be right behind me. Both are far more accomplished and experienced dirt rider than I. After a while concern started to set in. With the right carrier, it's tough to be out of cell phone range, though, and Trevor had a text from Kumi. A saddle bag had gone AWOL. She and Jon were backtracking to find it.

Kumi chose the low route. Then she chose the lower route. Then we were picking up her bike. Well off the road, John rode her F800 GS through the rock field and up to wide spot we'd chosen as a rest-stop. He made it look easy.

Everyone had time to take a breather before we rode on. It mostly sweeping open dirt, with mild ruts and milder bumps for the next several miles. Then we started our decent. That damned top-case. I couldn't get comfortably back on the seat. There was a top-case riding pillion. Oh well, more rear brake, more bravery, more bottoming out the front suspension. Getting back the highway involved a series of 200 to 300 foot descents followed by 50-100 foot ascents, with random rocks, gravel, and potholes hiding around the ceaseless turns. Incredible riding. This was exactly why I bought the VerSys. I wanted to explore, but I had no intention of going completely off road, just off the paved roads.

I failed to avoid one rock or pothole too many, and suddenly the bike was fighting back. Luckily I was still in radio range. I slowed to a crawl and called ahead. The front had tonnes of grip, but was a royal bear to turn. We found a relatively wide and sort of level spot in the shade. I'd only bent the front wheel in three place, and cracked in another. I can't blame Kawasaki for this, though. It's not really an "adventure bike." The 17 inch front rim really had no protection from the TKC-80 shoe-horned onto it. It seemed the lack of a center stand was going to make the repair interesting, so we left the wheel on the bike and I dug out my camp hatchet, with it's heel for driving tent stakes. We took turns pounding the lip of the rim back into a semblance of straight which pulled the bead surface back to round. Then we had to re-set bead. Starter fluid. Thankfully Trevor had some. Mine was sitting on the garage floor, next to the other stuff I hadn't figured out how to pack. It took a few tries, but eventually, pop! The bead was seated and the compressor was adding pressure. Back to street pressures. The rim needed protection.

Great. Another thing to worry about. Take it easy. Protect the rim. Take it easy, don't get whacked by the top-case. Here's a tip. Take it easy.

We made the final descent to the highway a few hundred feet below. This trip was turning to be more fun than being house-mates with Caligula (okay, probably not).

Up the highway we rode to the next rough section. More winding switchbacks on washboard. More over confidence, more narrowly avoiding disaster. Shortly after we got back in the shade of the woods we rolled to another stop. Trevor had to repack some gear that had escaped. He's a lunatic, he'd catch up. So off we went.

As I came around the bend, we were still on a hill with golf-ball to baseball sized rocks for a road surface. Jon and Kyle were stopped beside the road. "To hell with stopping on a hill" I thought. "I'm not trying to start again on this shit." So I gassed it and made for the top. "Oh shit, this is gonna be interesting." The incline increased. I estimate 40+ degrees. The surface changed to softball sized and larger rocks. I was in it. The right wheel track looked clear enough, so I added more throttle and went for it. The first few rock hits were fine. The bike bounced around, but I kept her pointed up the road. Then, WHAM! I hit a big one just right and the bike spun hard right and pointed straight up the hill. I tried to correct, but it was too late. I was laying down hill from the bike, not quite out of the road.

Kyle made it by without trouble. Kumi tried to avoid me and wound up pinned under her bike in the left wheel track. Trevor and Jon stopped short of the grade. Scrambling free of my own carnage got Kumi's bike up enough for to get free. No one was hurt, not badly, any how. We got Kumi's bike upright and she managed, with a couple more tries, to get to the top. Then it was my turn. We dragged the bike back onto the road, and back upright. God she's heavy when you're picking her up from laying top down-hill, fully loaded. Nothing broken or bent, though. The crash-bars, skid-plate, and hand-guards were doing their job.

My first attempt at restarting was less than graceful. The bike and I wound up on our sides again, pointing up hill, again. Trevor and I wrestled her upright and I gave it another go. I dismounted gracefully when she kicked around on me. Another power-lifting session and one more go. Nope. No joy. Then came the shout from Jon, who'd ridden up to help Kumi at the top of the climb. "It only get's tougher the next couple of grades. You guys might want to take the bypass." I gave 2 thumbs up. I know when I'm beat. Sometimes I fight on any how, but I'm not fond of breaking myself, or my bike. So I got the bike turned around and took a deep breath.

As I exhaled I was loose, let out the clutch and go for it. Damnit, Trevor was parked in the wheel track I was riding. Go right. Go right, you bitch. Go right! Wham, she pivoted, but she leaned hard too. Correcting brought me back in line with Trevors bike. Shit! Try moving left to get a run at going right. Wham! I was heading up hill, back to the road. Wham! I was pointed hard right with a heavy lean, correct left. Getting close. "Fuck it", maybe I can ride the hill, get over the bush, and around Trevor's bike.

Thud. I hit hard. Short of the bush, short of Trevor's bike, but I damn, that was intense. "You okay?" Trevor shouted down at me. I held up my right hand, thumbs up. I dropped my arm and let my head fall back. It was time to take brake. I'd crawl out from the heap I'd made in a minute.

We got the bike upright and off to he shoulder, such as it was. A Toyota had caught up with us. We chatted briefly while they waited for Kumi and Jon to clear the top of the grade. Trevor didn't even get a chance to try it. The photos Kyle, Kumi, and Jon have shared indicate the experience atop the ridge was spectacular, but that's not my story to tell. Trevor and I rode back to the highway. We stopped for fuel, not know how much dirt we had to ride to meet back up with the rest of our troop. We grabbed a quick snack and my debit card went AWOL. We spent 15 minutes looking for the damned thing. We checked under cars, in the trash, and down the side of the building thinking it had been blown away in the wind. There must have been an eddy behind the newspaper stands. Somehow my card had traveled upwind. Deep breath. Okay. We're okay. Blow my nose. This damned cold was getting worse. Back on the highway we flew. We arrived at the rendezvous point at precisely the same instant as our compatriots. We had a brief conversation and decided to follow the smooth easy gravel road into Ellensburg.

It was fun. Smooth and easy, freshly graded and graveled. We flew. Trevor and Jon disappeared ahead of us, Kumi took her time behind us, and Kyle and I had fun winding along. Then Kyle railed around a corner and disappeared into the distance. I rode at a pace that, to be honest, qualifies as unwise. Where's the fun in being wise. It was the coyote that reminded me to be careful. I saw him a long way off, but we was running full tilt toward the road. We were going to become acquainted if one of us didn't adjust. He was on the hunt, chasing dinner. I slowed a bit, and enjoyed watching him go, muscles rippling with every bound. Nature is awesome.

I caught up with the guys just after the pavement returned. We stopped under a shade tree, waiting. Kumi missed us and rode right by. Trevor chased her down. We enjoyed the smooth pavement ride into town where we gassed up and had Subway sandwiches for lunch. Kumi had had enough, and called it quits. After finishing my sandwich, I raided the attached convenience store for cold medicine. I was starting to feel miserable and knew I needed a good nights sleep. As we readied our selves for the last bit of riding for the day, Kumi's other half showed up with the trailer to take her and her bike home.

The only other dirt we rode for the day was the wide spot next to the road where we made camp. I was thankful for the stuffy nose, the grazing cattle obviously frequented the location, judging by the condition of the ground. A bit of clearing was required, and luckily, among the many things I'd over-packed, was a camp shovel. We scrounged firewood and made camp. Thoroughly used up, I turned in early. We still had 3 or 4 more days of this ahead of us.

She's not an adventure bike. You're absolutely right. But damn she's a fun ride for an adventure.