We all have limits

Water, cold blueberries and cream granola, and quiet. I'm a habitual early riser, and while my mind was wide awake, my body was too tired to dig out the Jet Boil for oatmeal and coffee. Even with the cold-medicine and nasal spray, my nose was still pretending to be a garden hose. Everyone was moving a bit more slowly, and bit more deliberately this morning. The enormity of the ride was starting to have an effect, and we were only a third of the way through it. The plan was to ride two sections. They were shorter sections, so this was well within reach.

No restaurant breakfast this morning, we were camped right at the beginning of the next stage. Cold gray clouds hung low in the sky as we road out of the rocky cattle bathroom we'd chosen for camp. I was glad to have a stuffed up nose that couldn't smell a thing. The first couple of miles out of camp were wonderfully twisted, smooth old pavement. New pavement can be sticky, but its also unpredictable. Old pavement has mellowed, found it's natural inclination for grip, and is very predictable to ride. There's also a special romance to an old road. My body wasn't quite synced to my mind as we started charging through the corners and I grabbed the front brake mid-corner. Just a little unsettling, nothing big. "Stupid!" I thought as smacked my helmet with the heal of my hand. I know better. At the top of the pavement there's a single track trail to "the rider's cabin." This is where the VerSys not being an "Adventure" bike is highlighted. The distance between the road surface and the trail is greater than my bike's ground clearance. I opted to wait at the trail while Trevor, Jon, and Kyle went exploring. They didn't get very far. Over the radio I heard discussion about downed trees and over-growth. It was time to hit the dirt.

Jon took the lead as we rode out through the recreation lands to a bluff which was still clouded in. All mostly easy riding. A few drainage ruts to hop in and out of, but nothing gnarly. Coming back down I was again reminded of the damage to my bike. A couple sections were steep enough I really felt the strain of being forced forward in the seat. Once you know what you're supposed to do, not doing it, no matter the reason, just feels odd. We were riding an open area with smooth gravel so our pace quickened briefly. Then it was decision time. Straight ahead, or right. I don't recall the name of the route we took. There was talk of a "beehive," but I was busy trying to sniffle enough to breath through my nose, or at least keep my upper lip from becoming the top terrace of a fountain.

We went right. It was spectacular. The rode winds along steep ravines, up and down and all around. As long as the corners weren't too tight, I kept up with Jon and Kyle. Then the road got twistier, and bumpier. I had to slow down and avoid being pummeled by the strapped down top-case. I'd re-worked the straps before leaving camp, so it was more stable, but still not confidence inspiring. The real disappointment came when found a section with innumerable drainage cuts. I know the other guys were enjoying some hang time. I had to take a different strategy. Instead of running up the cut and jumping it, I ran up to each one, grabbed a bunch of brake to just keep in contact with the ground, and as I crested, was hard back on the throttle, compressing the suspension through the dip and around the next corner. It's a different approach. It worked for the circumstances. Next time the bike will be in better shape and I'll get play more.

We passed a father-son pair of motorcyclists who'd stopped for a breathtaking view along the ridge. As I came out into the clearing, wide-spot, the others were already stopped and relaxing. The world spread out before us in shades of bluish-green, ruddy-brown, and gray. The views in the back country are incredible. The pair we'd just passed caught up with us and we had a brief but enjoyable conversation before they hit the trail again. We let them have a few minutes before following suit.

We rode around the bend and were immediately back to the twisty stuff. Then there was a buzzing near my ear. And then again. A bug had gotten in my helmet, and it wanted out, badly. I had to find someplace to stop. There was no way I could concentrate on this level of technical riding with a bug trying to fly around the space between my ear the helmet. If hadn't been wearing ear-plugs I'd have completely flipped out. I stopped at the first wide turn I came to, tore my helmet off, wiped my ears out, shook my helmet, inspected it, and slammed it back on. I was loosing ground.

With an insect free helmet I could push a little in pursuit of my companions. I was getting comfortable again and starting to push. I had more than one "interesting" moment, but never dropped the bike. A few times she tried to get away from me, but that was starting to become fun. I'd find a straight-ish stretch with little in the way of bumps or ruts and wind the bike out in 3rd gear. There's an advantage to a street machine, it'll go pretty quick where the road is compatible. Then there'd be more corners and I'd have to take it easy. The VerSys likes to wash out in front if I push too hard, and I don't have the experience to slide the back end around to keep up with the front. There were places I found it easier to just ride in the ruts, then take bounce up onto the level, then back in the ruts. My companions were no where to be seen, and had been out of radio range for a while.

As I came around the bend Jon was standing there with his arms out. He started to say something about the next section, I finished his sentence with "a bit interesting." I like to use the word "interesting" for anything that might otherwise be construed as difficult or unpleasant. It's a trick I use for staying optimistic and having fun when others might complain or freak out.

The road was washed out, about three feet deep, but there was a pretty clear single track through the wash with a smooth approach and exit. As Jon started to give advice I interrupted with "I've got this" as I grabbed a fist full of throttle.

It was uneventful. I rolled smoothly to the edge and as the front wheel dropped in, I grabbed some more throttle. The bike compressed a bit at the bottom, but I had the momentum I needed and all but cruised up the steep bit on the other side. Rolling off the throttle as the front wheel cleared back to graded surface, I rolled to a stop. I learned later that Trevor had been disappointed in the ease with which I handled it. He wanted more crash footage. It's good to know you have friends on the trail.

We continued to wind our way down the hill side, me bringing up the rear. I knew they'd stop if anything seemed to extreme.

I had to keep right to avoid the 4X4 coming up the hill. As I came around the bend Kyle was stopped beside the road. I slowed to see what was up. A sweatshirt had escaped from Trevor's pack. One of the mountain bikers on the trail had picked up and passed it on to Kyle. Nothing serious, and one of those many moments that show how, once you get away from the BS of civilization, most people are pretty darned awesome. It's a pain to stop and start a motorcycle on a hill, where millions of years of dead dinosaurs are doing all the hard work. It's a huge act of kindness for a bicyclist, who has to do his own hard work, to stop and pick up a dropped sweatshirt.

As we got onto more developed and maintained gravel, there was a bike parked in the drive-way to the lake. I figured it had something to do with the couple standing at the top of the drive and kept going. Kyle made the turn. I looked over my shoulder and realized it was Jon's bike. He and Trevor and pulled in. The father-son duo we'd met earlier were there too. Trevor was getting bolts from their spare bolt kit. He'd been rattling bolts off the bike the entire trip, and things were on the edge of become very "interesting." Okay, one more bolt and yes, interesting would apply. So would dangerous and probably tragic.

While Trevor secured the bash-plate on his bike, the rest of us continued down the road. This section was wide and smooth. We made it to town where the plan was to find lunch and let Trevor catch up. We stopped at grocery store. I'd picked out my lunch and was searching for more cold medicine (I had some somewhere, but couldn't find it) when I reached for my wallet. It wasn't in pocket. "Oh. Shit!" What the hell have I done. My ID, my debit cards, and my house key. I replaced the chicken strips in the deli cooler and hustled out to the bike, checking all of my numerous pockets on the way. There it was, dangling by the luggage key from the back of the top case. At the time I thought I'd ridden all the way from camp like that, which would definitely make for a better story. But in retrospect, I think I'd been searching for my cold medicine before we went into the store, and it was actually only hanging there in the parking lot. "Fheew."

As the three of us munched our lunches, Trevor showed up and made a B-line for the Starbucks. Kids these days.

Then we were back on the road, ready for the next section, but there was a bit of pavement to ride first.

Stopping for gas in Cashmere, my front tire felt a little squishy. I'm sure it was just the difference in altitude between where we'd reset and inflated the tire, and where we were stopped, but I aired it up any way. Then the exhaustion of riding hard with a cold caught up with me. It was in the city, leaving a gas station, that I made the mistake which would ultimately end the trip for me. Getting out into traffic was proving impossible, so we headed for another driveway. "Bang!" As I turned into the road, I clouted a concrete planter with the right foot-peg. I was fine. The bike felt fine, so I didn't think anything of it.

Nahahum Canyon road is a favorite for me, even on my super-sport. It's wonderfully twisty, with many different turn profiles and loads of grip. Diving into the first turn I went to trail the rear-brake and was surprised to find the bike maintaining speed. A little more lean and all was well. "Interesting." I stomped the rear brake in the next straight. Nothing. I pumped it several times. Nothing. "Hey, guys. When we get to the end of the pavement, I need to stop. I don't have any rear brake."

The impact had loosened the banjo bolt on the rear master cylinder and all  of my brake fluid was now on the road. Of all the things we'd all packed, brake fluid was not among them. Jon rode back to town while I stripped off my now stifling jacket and got to work. The peg was definitely twisted backward, the sub-frame stay was cracked, and a bolt that attaches the sub-frame to the stay was missing. As I considered the situation I said to Trevor, "I think it's time for me to bow out. This cold is kicking my ass and my next mistake is going to be expensive and or painful because it's going to brake something big on the bike, or me."

"I agree" he responded immediately. Thank you, Trevor, for being so upfront.

I couldn't get brake pressure. Kyle had a look. My rear pads were completely gone, too. I later found a stone wedged in the caliper that I think was rocking back and forth, allowing just enough movement wear the pads out extremely quickly (they were almost brand new). I'd also been riding the rear brake pretty hard on every descent. Whatever the cause, this sealed the decision. I lack the skill to try to ride street bike in the back country without a rear brake. The three remaining rider, Trevor, Kyle, and Jon, kicked up a cloud of dust as they hit the trail again. I buttoned the bike up, strapped the top-case back down, choked down my disappointment, and turned around. I can limp a bike home on the street. I've ridden worse.

My adventure was over, but I'll be back. Sections 4-6 are calling, and I'll find an opportunity to visit them before the summer is over.

I love traveling back roads, secondary highways, and now the back-country. There's so much to see and experience.  I'm so grateful for the opportunity to ride with new friends and push myself well beyond my limits. By myself I'd have been in way over my head. With friends I was still in over my head, but there I had help recovering, which granted me the extra confidence necessary to ride harder and avoid the mistakes that come with hesitating and worrying. I like to look for the lessons in life. The lesson here: put yourself out there and amazing opportunities unfold. Also, as much fun as I had on what is quite clearly the wrong bike, sometimes it really is best to use the right tool for the job. I'm sure I was working harder on this bike than I would have on more dirt oriented machine, and that contributed to the exhaustion and mental lapse which ultimate cut the adventure short for me. Jon, Kyle, and Trevor all continued on, having their own adventures and learning experiences.