the dirt gets it's revenge
Posted 02-27-2011 at 04:31 PM by beefsalad
So I guess someone here informed the dirt of my intent to punish it. Well, it tried to get back at me today and nearly did it really well. I showed up at the ranch that my club leases and was lucky enough that there was another rider there. I won't ride alone out there as I am new to riding dirt, and do not know my way around the property very well. The guy is an older gentleman and really nice. I explained my situation and he said he would be happy to lead me through some of the unmarked trails to help me get acquinted. Well, I still don't know my way around for shit ($9.95 of my $10 worth of concentration was spent trying to keep from hurting myself.) Probably 20 minutes into it and this guy chooses a hill that I wouldn't have attempted had he not gone first. I managed to make it nearly to the top and stalled the bike out. He was waiting and watched me fight to push the bike up the last bit. I gave him the 'cutoff' sign and he rode around the hill and came up behind me. He was questioning why I stopped and I explained that I am horribly out of shape and the ride was kicking my ass. He popped his goggles off and put his kickstand down. As I'm sitting on my bike I sigh in defeat. I was at cyclegear yesterday and didn't pick up a side stand. Ugh! I lean into the bike and settle in the best I can, remove the goggles and try to get cooled off. It's not even Spring yet and we're hitting upper 80s down here. A bit later, I'm ready to go back at it. More somewhat technical, unmarked trail riding. I go for a while longer and I'm starting to feel tired. I catch back up and once again give him the cutoff sign and we head back towards the trucks. As we hit a section of fireroad that leads back to the truck, I give in to the feeling of exhaustion. I shift up a few gears and putt down the road until I get to the truck. I lean the bike up against the truck and start peeling off gear. I'm sweating in places a man should never sweat at this point and the breeze feels great. We plop down at the benches and I start rehydrating. We shoot the breeze for a while and he says he's going to do one more hot lap around one of the marked trails that I have been on before (granted it all changed 2 weeks ago when we reversed the trails and cut some new.) I made it 95% of the way around and the dirt once again seeks it's revenge. I'm not exactly sure what happened, other than I was unable to get off of the gas. There was a step-up involved that I think threw me off balance (e.g. my body position was all wrong). Anyway, after I hit the step-up, all of my weight goes back and I'm on the throttle...HARD. The bike winds up about as tight as it can, and I'm in 3rd gear. By the time the rear hits the ground, a recipe for disaster has already been completed. The bike grunts, grabs, and takes off like a bat out of hell, straight towards a nice thick patch of low hanging mesquites. Doing about the only thing I could think to do (dodge right with the big chance that I'll over correct into bigger trees, or prepare to eat shit.) I prepared to eat shit. As i departed the path, I let loose of the bars and hoped for the best but expected the worse. I ended up probably 20' into the patch of mesquites, sitting on the bike, on my side. Bike was still running so I killed it and pulled myself out from underneath. I try to stand and am quickly reminded where I am. I can't stand up, let alone get the bike up. Ugh! I'm tired and have to pull a 300lb bike out on it's side? I thought that sucked until after I had gotten it out and needed to restart. I then start to question if I had possibly hurt myself and not noticed (yay adrenaline!) but was very fortunate not to have. The worst I may have suffered is pulling a muscle in my arm. Every kick felt like it was just draining what little energy I had left. After about 5, I'm considering pushing the damn thing back to the truck but I have little idea what kind of terrain is between where I am and the trucks. Fuggit, one more kick and then I'm ready to strip off gear, lay the bike over, take a break, then start walking back. 6th kick gets it going. I catch back up to Dave, who heard me stall the bike, and was on his way back to see what happened. I give him the cutoff sign, explain that if I shut the bike back off I won't be able to start it again. We head back to the trucks and again once I hit the fire road, I gave in to the exhaustion and just putted the rest of the distance. I pull straight up to the truck and shut the gas off. Done for the day, hot, sweaty, and sore with a gigantic shit eating grin on my face. Since my truck doesn't have AC. I stripped everything off except for the riding pants (which breath a hell of a lot better than the denim pants I brought along.) I probably looked like a goober walking into my house only wearing riding pants, walking like I lost an asskicking competition, with a goofy grin. Oh well. I rode away to ride another day. Life is good.
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