Father’s Day, a Day of Bonding

June 15, 2003

Not so early on a pleasant Sunday. A trio of bikes pulled by a Volkswagon van slithered through the winding path to the west side of the Tillamook forest. The trio of riders, myself, Thor and his father Pete, are on a mission of national significance. To celebrate the relationship between a father and son by way of a pleasant rip through the woods. I fit in as an observing assistant (urr, yeah).

We unloaded our bikes directly east of Barney Reservor. Their two KTM’s had been sandwiching my Yamaha on the drive like some freakish colored Oreo, orange and blue do don’t go well together (sorry Gators).

The trails closest to the van were chewed stretches of dirt that wrapped around shallow hills and young evergreens. I felt like a one bean morracca falling down an uneven stairway, bouncing off anything organic to try to maintain some kind of rhythm. Like a good little trail it smoothed itself out to where we could pick up the pace and the two corners of our mouths. Unfortunately, like all good things, some logging company decided to wipe out the top of our trail. Rather than make our way back, we chose to trip our way through the piles of downed trees. Ever wonder why bike riding over a burn pile isn’t an Olympic sport? Answer: Because it sucks! It was most like log rolling, only with no water and uphill.

After we caught our breath and extracted all of the sticks from our spokes we pressed on to more great trails. The southeastern side of the Tillamook forest is more rolling than jagged. The trails are easier to ride but the soil is clayish. It had rained a fair amount Wensday and so their were some wet patches, but for the most part things were dry. There was a particularly rutted section that lay in high valley. I was trying to pick different lines than Pete who was closest in front of me. He went right into a deep rut. I went left into a shallow canyon. At the bottom was six inches of mud. It was too narrow deep and narrow to allow my bikes frame to slip through. I was stuck. I stood back took off my helmet to evaluate my situation. My rear seat is level with the ground, my tires are buried to the axle in a pasty mess of mud and even if I wanted to ride it out I can’t get to my kick starter. I had no choice but to pull it out. I attempted a number of holds and strategies, but finally I discovered the correct technique for extracting approximately 300 pounds of mud and bike. Squatting low and facing the rear fender I first pulled the rear end up and out to the flattest side, One hundred times easier than any other method. Second, I slipped in front of the bike in the rut and pulled like hell on the front rim. The second half of this technique requires less skill and more time at the gym.

I flung mud for miles after the canyon incident over an impressive mix of tight and speedy trails. We were blessed with a clear warm day and great views of the northern Willamette Valley. Our tires bit and slipped over the varying terrain keeping us focused on the everchanging conditions that were presented.

Like any good trip, we got a little lost. Oh, I meant we went exploring. We didn’t have any trouble finding our way back and we found some more trails. Of these virgins was a good sized hill that you needed a good run on a dry day to get apex.

The day ended for us at 4:00. Fifty some miles of good riding meant plenty of talk about what had happened while no one was looking, and explaining what was really going on if someone else had seen. Then somehow, as it frequently does, we digressed into memories of school-time skirmishes and the lessons learned from them. Dirt bike riding and story telling, the best Fathers Day yet. Ooh, I need to call my dad.