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tugrikWere I able to draw better, inserted here you would find a picture of a very happy monoceros, mud in the fur, on the whiskers, you name it. I honestly tried; it came out terrible. Practice, practice, practice... The short of it is that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dustykat, a friend of his from work and I all thundered down to Hollister to make menaces out of ourselves. Dusty wanted to test his KTM fixes. I badly need practice before the rally. His buddy just wanted to ride -- and was pretty darn good at it, too.
For those not into offroading I should explain: Hollister is a motorcycle town. For the cruisers it means huge gatherings with acres of chrome. To offroaders it means the Hollister Hills SRVA - State Recreational Vehicle Area. It's a huge state park meant exclusively for offroad fun, be it 4x4, ATV or motorcycle. It's meant for little dirtbikes; not for my big-pig GS. Yes, I got quite a lot of stares. The hard part was telling if those stares were due to the 600lb bike (when sub-200 is the norm), the 500lb rider wearing dirt gear, or both.
The good news? I only laid the bike down twice. :)
"Funky" doesn't even begin to describe how it feels when somone jolts you awake by banging on your back bedroom sliding-glass door. Revar and I had been up goofing until 3-oh-Stupid AM the night before; this made getting up far from easy. Eventually I dragged my sorry hide out of bed, got my secondary at work to cover for me (I'm on primary this weekend, but it's a quiet weekend) and got on the bike. Being not-all-there, I utterly forgot just a few minor things:
So we finally get down there, 62 miles, one hasty stop at McDonalds and a twin-case of road-deafness and sunblindness later. It was about 85 degrees when we left San Jose, but it's nearing 100F when we're in the SRVA. Bike prep was easy, at least. Remove the mirrors and windshield. Swap Bates gear for chest protector and MX helmet. Done. Off down the trails we went.
Te first bit of single-track went pretty well. Sure, it bottomed out a lot but I've learned to accept that. Someday I'll get a new Eiboch spring for the rear and coping will be easier. Turning off the ABS is veeeeery important, as wide-shot downhill turn rapidly proved. The new Icon boots did great, though, going stiff and protecting those little fiddly bones in my foot, letting my abuse-accepting legs take the twist and strike instead. Other than a wounded bit of pride and tingly toes I was just fine. TURN ABS OFF should be sharpie-markered all over the roll chart holder. Being able to lock up in the dirt isn't a luxury; it's a necessity.
Hillclimbing wasn't to be, thanks to the Tourance 90/10 tires (%street/%offroad) still on the rims. Before the rally I will put Conti TKC80 knobblies on, which are more like 60/40. When Dusty and friend were done playing on the slopes we headed down to the wonderful playground known as the Flat Track. This is a simple racecource, only 4 turns long, that's on a nicely flat bit of loose dirt with no mud. Ever seen motorcycle racing where they wear a metal left shoe and run it along the ground while the bike slides to the outside like mad? That's flat-tracking.
I love flat-tracking.
Since the tires weren't meant to handle dirt they slid out easily which made it all the more fun even at a slower, safer pace. I was able to splay the GS sideways and still keep it on two wheels; it felt (though probably didn't look) completely bad-ass. I did get a number of thumbs-up and smiling from the handful of people watching, though, so I guess it at least looked somewhat cool. A few laps in and I was able to pick up the pace. I definately want to go do that more! When I put the Conti's on it should be a similar experience but at higher speed.
From there we took a quick stop at the general store for a Gatorade (thank goodness they had water and drink, since I sure didn't. D'oh!) and relaxed in the now over-100 heat. "On to the vintage track!" cried Dusty, leading the charge. Being the good "Show me!" type friend, I happily followed him out onto this oddly-named track.
Nobody told me that "Vintage" is a bastard-american word for "Huge Mudpit."
The third turn in my bike slid sideways. Like a moron I slowed down... *sklUNGch* Down I go. The bike simply fell over and I went skidding along my side and around the front. Wheee! Back on my feet before I even stopped the slide, I happily (ab)used the adrenaline hit to hoist my bike back up and hop on. Another rider stopped to check if I was OK, and as I thumbs-up'd him he dispensed his advice: "When in doubt, goose it out! Roll on the throttle, man, don't slow down. If you slow down the mud gets ya." I'd heard this before but I'd not been practicing it. It's a one-way track so I had to at least do one lap (about 10 turns) before I could get off the crazy thing.
Next turn, dry. No problem. The turn after that? Mud. Sliiiiide... *roll on* Spew mud everywhere, but I was able to keep it up. Next turn, another roll-on through mud, chunky glops flinging. One more dry turn. Then -- mud pit. Serious, gloppy, deep, rutty mud pit. As the bike went sideways under me I gave it juice, hoping to keep things upright. My poor non-grippy street tires just had nothing to give. If anything the extra rotation made things worse. The bike spun 270 below me and handily spit me out the other side like tossin' a bag of potatoes. *SPloNCh*
This time I couldn't get the bike up myself. It was too slippery to stand! I waited for Dusty to finish a lap and catch up to me and motioned him over. Together we hefted the big pig out of the muck and pulled it backwards to dry earth. The rest of the turns were done 'dog-paddling', both feet down, simply walking the bike off the track until I was done. Lesson learned -- this is NOT an MX bike. Even with the knobblies on it I'm not sure I want to try that again. Like a big blue idjiot, though, I probably will.
Harm done? Nothing but muddy clothes. The bike was A-OK; not even a new scratch. It's built for low-speed dirt getoffs like that! In fact I was quite excited to see the gear did its job -- both what I wore and what I rode. The bike was fine, I was fine. Even the pride made it through OK, because I did pretty good with the dogpaddling lap-finish. It's just not the right kind of place for my kind of bike.
From there we headed back to the parking area. I tried to call my secondary to see if I could stay a few more hours but was far out of Nextel service range. Add the sat-phone to the "forgot to bring" list. It was 105F+ now, I was parched and a little sunburnt: time to go back. I threw my dirt gear into Dusty's truck and sent him off to play while I reassembled the street gear. On my way out I dropped by the vintage track where he was still mud-running merrily away and managed to distract him just enough (waved to him with his keys) that he biffed an exit turn and inflicted a Class IIIa NutBuster on himself. Male lifeforms within a 300 meter radius all winced in unison at the sight. When Dusty's friend and I were able to breathe again from all the laughing (and Dusty was able to stand again without a funny posture) I gave him his keys and headed back home.
62 more miles and a road-heat baked brain later and I was home. Needing somewhere dark, food-and-water providing, chilled and quiet I draggedrevar and chipotle off to El Burro for a mexican-style late lunch. The service was much worse than usual but the food was excellent as always. My senses quite well appreciated the dim lighting and high-power air conditioning. A valiant effort ensued to drain them of all of their iced tea.
It's now the wee hours of the morning and I'm still finishing laundry so I have something to wear to work tomorrow. It took a good 6 hours before my body decided to let me know just how hard I worked it. Shoulders are sore from taking stunt-dives off the bike. Knees, thighs, arms and those funky muscles that go over your collarbone are all slapping me around and going JEEZ what did you make us DO? at me. I actually really like that feeling.
Enough time has been killed writing this entry; the laundry machine's done its busywork. Time to curl up in a ball and sleep. Here's to hoping I'm able to un-curl and get in to work in the morning; I'm sure my muscles will have a few choice vulgarities to say about that.
The better news? Offroading is just too dang fun. I had a blast. :)
dustykat, a friend of his from work and I all thundered down to Hollister to make menaces out of ourselves. Dusty wanted to test his KTM fixes. I badly need practice before the rally. His buddy just wanted to ride -- and was pretty darn good at it, too. For those not into offroading I should explain: Hollister is a motorcycle town. For the cruisers it means huge gatherings with acres of chrome. To offroaders it means the Hollister Hills SRVA - State Recreational Vehicle Area. It's a huge state park meant exclusively for offroad fun, be it 4x4, ATV or motorcycle. It's meant for little dirtbikes; not for my big-pig GS. Yes, I got quite a lot of stares. The hard part was telling if those stares were due to the 600lb bike (when sub-200 is the norm), the 500lb rider wearing dirt gear, or both.
The good news? I only laid the bike down twice. :)
"Funky" doesn't even begin to describe how it feels when somone jolts you awake by banging on your back bedroom sliding-glass door. Revar and I had been up goofing until 3-oh-Stupid AM the night before; this made getting up far from easy. Eventually I dragged my sorry hide out of bed, got my secondary at work to cover for me (I'm on primary this weekend, but it's a quiet weekend) and got on the bike. Being not-all-there, I utterly forgot just a few minor things:
- Earplugs.
- Sunscreen.
- Sunglasses.
- Water.
- Food.
- Good judgement.
So we finally get down there, 62 miles, one hasty stop at McDonalds and a twin-case of road-deafness and sunblindness later. It was about 85 degrees when we left San Jose, but it's nearing 100F when we're in the SRVA. Bike prep was easy, at least. Remove the mirrors and windshield. Swap Bates gear for chest protector and MX helmet. Done. Off down the trails we went.
Te first bit of single-track went pretty well. Sure, it bottomed out a lot but I've learned to accept that. Someday I'll get a new Eiboch spring for the rear and coping will be easier. Turning off the ABS is veeeeery important, as wide-shot downhill turn rapidly proved. The new Icon boots did great, though, going stiff and protecting those little fiddly bones in my foot, letting my abuse-accepting legs take the twist and strike instead. Other than a wounded bit of pride and tingly toes I was just fine. TURN ABS OFF should be sharpie-markered all over the roll chart holder. Being able to lock up in the dirt isn't a luxury; it's a necessity.
Hillclimbing wasn't to be, thanks to the Tourance 90/10 tires (%street/%offroad) still on the rims. Before the rally I will put Conti TKC80 knobblies on, which are more like 60/40. When Dusty and friend were done playing on the slopes we headed down to the wonderful playground known as the Flat Track. This is a simple racecource, only 4 turns long, that's on a nicely flat bit of loose dirt with no mud. Ever seen motorcycle racing where they wear a metal left shoe and run it along the ground while the bike slides to the outside like mad? That's flat-tracking.
I love flat-tracking.
Since the tires weren't meant to handle dirt they slid out easily which made it all the more fun even at a slower, safer pace. I was able to splay the GS sideways and still keep it on two wheels; it felt (though probably didn't look) completely bad-ass. I did get a number of thumbs-up and smiling from the handful of people watching, though, so I guess it at least looked somewhat cool. A few laps in and I was able to pick up the pace. I definately want to go do that more! When I put the Conti's on it should be a similar experience but at higher speed.
From there we took a quick stop at the general store for a Gatorade (thank goodness they had water and drink, since I sure didn't. D'oh!) and relaxed in the now over-100 heat. "On to the vintage track!" cried Dusty, leading the charge. Being the good "Show me!" type friend, I happily followed him out onto this oddly-named track.
Nobody told me that "Vintage" is a bastard-american word for "Huge Mudpit."
The third turn in my bike slid sideways. Like a moron I slowed down... *sklUNGch* Down I go. The bike simply fell over and I went skidding along my side and around the front. Wheee! Back on my feet before I even stopped the slide, I happily (ab)used the adrenaline hit to hoist my bike back up and hop on. Another rider stopped to check if I was OK, and as I thumbs-up'd him he dispensed his advice: "When in doubt, goose it out! Roll on the throttle, man, don't slow down. If you slow down the mud gets ya." I'd heard this before but I'd not been practicing it. It's a one-way track so I had to at least do one lap (about 10 turns) before I could get off the crazy thing.
Next turn, dry. No problem. The turn after that? Mud. Sliiiiide... *roll on* Spew mud everywhere, but I was able to keep it up. Next turn, another roll-on through mud, chunky glops flinging. One more dry turn. Then -- mud pit. Serious, gloppy, deep, rutty mud pit. As the bike went sideways under me I gave it juice, hoping to keep things upright. My poor non-grippy street tires just had nothing to give. If anything the extra rotation made things worse. The bike spun 270 below me and handily spit me out the other side like tossin' a bag of potatoes. *SPloNCh*
This time I couldn't get the bike up myself. It was too slippery to stand! I waited for Dusty to finish a lap and catch up to me and motioned him over. Together we hefted the big pig out of the muck and pulled it backwards to dry earth. The rest of the turns were done 'dog-paddling', both feet down, simply walking the bike off the track until I was done. Lesson learned -- this is NOT an MX bike. Even with the knobblies on it I'm not sure I want to try that again. Like a big blue idjiot, though, I probably will.
Harm done? Nothing but muddy clothes. The bike was A-OK; not even a new scratch. It's built for low-speed dirt getoffs like that! In fact I was quite excited to see the gear did its job -- both what I wore and what I rode. The bike was fine, I was fine. Even the pride made it through OK, because I did pretty good with the dogpaddling lap-finish. It's just not the right kind of place for my kind of bike.
From there we headed back to the parking area. I tried to call my secondary to see if I could stay a few more hours but was far out of Nextel service range. Add the sat-phone to the "forgot to bring" list. It was 105F+ now, I was parched and a little sunburnt: time to go back. I threw my dirt gear into Dusty's truck and sent him off to play while I reassembled the street gear. On my way out I dropped by the vintage track where he was still mud-running merrily away and managed to distract him just enough (waved to him with his keys) that he biffed an exit turn and inflicted a Class IIIa NutBuster on himself. Male lifeforms within a 300 meter radius all winced in unison at the sight. When Dusty's friend and I were able to breathe again from all the laughing (and Dusty was able to stand again without a funny posture) I gave him his keys and headed back home.
62 more miles and a road-heat baked brain later and I was home. Needing somewhere dark, food-and-water providing, chilled and quiet I dragged
revar and chipotle off to El Burro for a mexican-style late lunch. The service was much worse than usual but the food was excellent as always. My senses quite well appreciated the dim lighting and high-power air conditioning. A valiant effort ensued to drain them of all of their iced tea.It's now the wee hours of the morning and I'm still finishing laundry so I have something to wear to work tomorrow. It took a good 6 hours before my body decided to let me know just how hard I worked it. Shoulders are sore from taking stunt-dives off the bike. Knees, thighs, arms and those funky muscles that go over your collarbone are all slapping me around and going JEEZ what did you make us DO? at me. I actually really like that feeling.
Enough time has been killed writing this entry; the laundry machine's done its busywork. Time to curl up in a ball and sleep. Here's to hoping I'm able to un-curl and get in to work in the morning; I'm sure my muscles will have a few choice vulgarities to say about that.
The better news? Offroading is just too dang fun. I had a blast. :)
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 08:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-22 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-23 02:59 am (UTC)Mud! Mud! Glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow,
Down to the hollow,
And there we will wallow in
Glooorious mud!