May 15th, 2006

May 15th, 2006

Monday, and the warmest forecasted day of the year. Temps were expected to
be in the mid 90’s. I cut out of work at noon and met Rick at my house for
a trip to the coast range. After loading up we headed to Jones Creek, a
place we had been to before, but never put in a decent loop. We arrived at
the staging area about an hour after departure Special thanks to the
termites and rust holding Rick’s trailer together. Our bikes wouldn’t have
made it without your help.

Rick was concerned about his lack in conditioning, being that he had only
ridden a few times since August. I was shocked by his comment because I
knew he had been fishing and golfing a lot during the winter (the secret
training regimen of many of the world’s top athletes). I broke a sweat
putting on my gear, which lead to my concern. Had I brought enough water?
I had ridden all winter, including the week before, where it was 65 and
raining, hydration was never an issue.

I don’t recall the name of the first trail we took, but I gave it my own
title, “Rock Vomit” a quad wide strip that mirrored a tributary of the
Wilson River. I consider the trail to be fast, but you have to pass over
what looks like a fresh battleground full of loose rock and stick
casualties. Near the top I took a right instead of a left, turned around
then followed Rick. It had been dry all week and a cloudy substance I hadn’t
seen for months had developed in place of mud. The name escapes me it has
been so long. Oh, yes. I remember now. Dust.

Once through Rock Vomit we headed down another trail I don’t know the name
of either (I guess you can tell who carries the map). I’ll call it “Brake
Check.” It was narrow, sometimes steep, sometimes rutted and had some of
the same rock and stick devastation as the first path we took. It was also
relatively long and all down hill. The most notable feature was an old
fence that ran over the top of a hog’s back on the left of the trail. The
rusted barbed wire leaned over the only bike worthy line at neck level and
made for an attention getting manmade obstacle. At the bottom we rested and
sucked down water by a creek. Rick messed with his trip computer and I was
coping with the sweat burning my eyes.

The next few trails didn’t have much elevation change and allowed for
greater speed/cooling. They allowed multiple line choices through a
sprinkling of shallow ruts and sweepers. I was caught off guard by a deeply
implanted rock that couldn’t be avoided. I saw, planned for and hit it, but
didn’t expect to do a Superman/Donkey Kick.

The trail after that was all about elevation change. It was a narrow
stretch that ran over a ridgeline that branched and regrouped several times.
Fun! I kept taking the worst line possible and Rick followed. I told him
later that I wasn’t doing it on purpose. My ears must have popped a dozen
times ascending and descending the varied terrain. We popped out near the
river, crossed the highway and into the Jordan Creek area.

We blazed up the first Jeep wide trail savoring all that tacky traction. At
the top we rested and talked about how bad the heat felt. I had finished
the contents of my hydration system and pulled out my supplemental water
container that I had so wisely packed. After a couple rationed sips I set
it on a level surface and was probably telling an exaggerated version of how
fast I was really going, when my flailing hand tipped the bottle and its
essential contents to the ground. Crap! If this incident wasn’t a factor
in determining the distance of our loop the next significant trail tipped
the scale.

Pumpkin Patch. Ahhh, Pumpkin Patch. Oregon’s version of Idaho’s Sawtooth
Mountains. No pumpkins, just rocks, side hill and tight spots. I knew it
was going to get physical so I tried to remain smooth. Things went well
until about half way when I didn’t duck low enough for an overhanging tree
(I swear it dropped 4 inches when I was a foot away). Smack! I stopped,
made a grunt and looked to see if I made the tree shake. Nothing, but I got
an instant headache and a sore neck. Rick was all over me shortly after
that and I am pretty sure I held him up in some spots. After a while I
heard nothing. Before we hit the next trail I examined my head for
fractures, again nothing. It turns out that Rick had hit his head on the
same tree, we compared bark marks left on our helmets and shot down Stick in
the Nose.

Back across the river we treaded through a long section of seat high ferns.
It was a posted trail, but not visible to the human eye. We ran the reverse
order of the “Elevation Changer” and swapped bikes for a while. When that
was through Rick bitched about my RM’s rear shock being too soft. I praised
the handling of his KX, and bitched about his grips being too big for my
feminine hands. Then we both bitched about how no one makes easy to install
hand guards.

Riders in the truck and bikes in the decomposing plywood box on wheels. The
sun set at our backs as we cruised home for dinner. A great ride complete.

Ben Baucum