sparklr
New member
I've not bothered with a RR for a long time, whether this year or several of the few prior. For this year for myself it's been a slow start, partly due to work, but mainly due to the long spring/snow condition around here. My maintenance is overdue and I use that conveniently as an excuse. Not my first ride, but the first substantial solo one. 2T and I did a rain-fest overnight camp-out ride a few weeks back and I will generously add a few embarrassing pics for your amusement
This is yesterdays' adventure. Started the morning downing a pot of Java, transferred temporary ownership of child to Grandma, mowed the lawn and prep'd for a quick jaunt up the Weedene FSR. 2T and I went a few weeks prior and hit snow. I departed with this in mind and off I went, basking in the glory of a beautiful day and full tank of Dino Juice.
Riding less each year it seems has formulated some cobwebs that haven't cleared with the several weeks of minute jaunts. With this in mind and the first solo run I promised myself to be throttle sad and followed that notion all day. The Weedene was it's usual run, full of bear scat without seeing any of the depositors. At the Big Weedene bridge, spotted the CO truck, glanced around if he/she was OK, saw nothing and carried on until I met the Grader that was clearing the scat mines. Gave him a wide berth, he waves and I reciprocate, thinking he wasn't all that worried about any encounter. Throttle on to minimal only, but the pothole free long stretch was tempting the sinner in me. I was in my glory, then all of a sudden at an unmentionable speed I get slammed by some venomous airborne pirate. L'il Bastard must have anticipated it's demise and got the stinger fully engaged before slamming into the small crevice between helmet cheekpad and googles. Full binder application, strip lid, no bastard, no stinger but venom burning like hell. Not allergic, but I normally carry Benadryl for others, just not today. Make mental note to monitor myself.
I carry on with mild concern about the burning feeling my face has and arrive at the trail leading to White Creek. Cancer tube is consumed, bladder waters the fauna. Indecision strikes hard, go to White Creek or head back. A glance at the timekeeper of fate says go for it, so be it. This is the rest stop.
The trail is really two-track, and requires head on gas tank riding to avoid getting your head ripped off. I always have issues with the branches and grass mounding hidden obstacles in the center. Solo as I go, I maintain the promised pace, pass a few of the water crossings in anticipation of the largest one. All of a sudden the trail ends and I spit out into a full bore FSR. I'm in WTF mode, I must have screwed up, but no in reality the wishes I made of having a bridge over White Creek have been answered.
I am stoked, no lunch so I'm thinking a quick nibble in Terrace. Hothouse and Pakoras is making my mouth water and I'll tell the Missus I went to MD's and had a CB Burger. In all the excitement throttle hand experiences Happious Occasionous, flying around a blind corner I meet Puddle Minimus and don't bother with the binders and ride through. Whoops, deeper than I thought and kickstand switch drowning comes to mind.
Phew, I carry on and then.
Hmm, I failed to check Flood Updates. This would be the result of the Skeena being at Max and Lakelse draining to it. Swing around and hastily retreat, seems the first crossing already rose in 5 minutes. In the traverse Piggy was groaning and the tidal wave was the test of my Scorpion gear. Piggy made it barely and the gear did well.
Time to call it a day and head back. Puttering along I notice the FSR is called Coldwater Main, same as where I did some fertilizing earlier. I head back with slight disappointment but still exhuberated. Head check reminds me I am solo and made some throttle promises. I saunter back with a feeling of great adoration of the day's escapade, on budget and on time and fulfilling my promise. Head ducking I go, being everso aware and careful. I engage upon a clearing and make the moronic mistake of letting my guard down for a moment and peruse, next thing I know I am bush bound on the left and fully engaged in eyes shut panic and kissing brush. Blind and out of control at slower than normal speed I opt to maintain and slowly veer right. I don't recall ever braking, then I went right and already made the presumption that this was going to hurt. Look out trees here I come, now veering to the right I park it and good. Bike is down but pics are up. After a quick scan it is apparent the bars aren't normal and the tank has suffered a reminder, body check confirms no immediate injury so I opt to upright the Behemoth with the adrenaline reserves, seemed like I was picking up a lightweight.
Untangle the bike from amongst the twigs, pull her back and proceed throught several water croosings with skewed bars and limp home via FSR to Onion Lake and the Ride Of Shame home. Pick up the Little Appendage, quaff a coolie and watch Nucks kick arse. Good to be home safe "n" sound. Lesson learned, PTF attention all the time!
This is yesterdays' adventure. Started the morning downing a pot of Java, transferred temporary ownership of child to Grandma, mowed the lawn and prep'd for a quick jaunt up the Weedene FSR. 2T and I went a few weeks prior and hit snow. I departed with this in mind and off I went, basking in the glory of a beautiful day and full tank of Dino Juice.
Riding less each year it seems has formulated some cobwebs that haven't cleared with the several weeks of minute jaunts. With this in mind and the first solo run I promised myself to be throttle sad and followed that notion all day. The Weedene was it's usual run, full of bear scat without seeing any of the depositors. At the Big Weedene bridge, spotted the CO truck, glanced around if he/she was OK, saw nothing and carried on until I met the Grader that was clearing the scat mines. Gave him a wide berth, he waves and I reciprocate, thinking he wasn't all that worried about any encounter. Throttle on to minimal only, but the pothole free long stretch was tempting the sinner in me. I was in my glory, then all of a sudden at an unmentionable speed I get slammed by some venomous airborne pirate. L'il Bastard must have anticipated it's demise and got the stinger fully engaged before slamming into the small crevice between helmet cheekpad and googles. Full binder application, strip lid, no bastard, no stinger but venom burning like hell. Not allergic, but I normally carry Benadryl for others, just not today. Make mental note to monitor myself.
I carry on with mild concern about the burning feeling my face has and arrive at the trail leading to White Creek. Cancer tube is consumed, bladder waters the fauna. Indecision strikes hard, go to White Creek or head back. A glance at the timekeeper of fate says go for it, so be it. This is the rest stop.
The trail is really two-track, and requires head on gas tank riding to avoid getting your head ripped off. I always have issues with the branches and grass mounding hidden obstacles in the center. Solo as I go, I maintain the promised pace, pass a few of the water crossings in anticipation of the largest one. All of a sudden the trail ends and I spit out into a full bore FSR. I'm in WTF mode, I must have screwed up, but no in reality the wishes I made of having a bridge over White Creek have been answered.
I am stoked, no lunch so I'm thinking a quick nibble in Terrace. Hothouse and Pakoras is making my mouth water and I'll tell the Missus I went to MD's and had a CB Burger. In all the excitement throttle hand experiences Happious Occasionous, flying around a blind corner I meet Puddle Minimus and don't bother with the binders and ride through. Whoops, deeper than I thought and kickstand switch drowning comes to mind.
Phew, I carry on and then.
Hmm, I failed to check Flood Updates. This would be the result of the Skeena being at Max and Lakelse draining to it. Swing around and hastily retreat, seems the first crossing already rose in 5 minutes. In the traverse Piggy was groaning and the tidal wave was the test of my Scorpion gear. Piggy made it barely and the gear did well.
Time to call it a day and head back. Puttering along I notice the FSR is called Coldwater Main, same as where I did some fertilizing earlier. I head back with slight disappointment but still exhuberated. Head check reminds me I am solo and made some throttle promises. I saunter back with a feeling of great adoration of the day's escapade, on budget and on time and fulfilling my promise. Head ducking I go, being everso aware and careful. I engage upon a clearing and make the moronic mistake of letting my guard down for a moment and peruse, next thing I know I am bush bound on the left and fully engaged in eyes shut panic and kissing brush. Blind and out of control at slower than normal speed I opt to maintain and slowly veer right. I don't recall ever braking, then I went right and already made the presumption that this was going to hurt. Look out trees here I come, now veering to the right I park it and good. Bike is down but pics are up. After a quick scan it is apparent the bars aren't normal and the tank has suffered a reminder, body check confirms no immediate injury so I opt to upright the Behemoth with the adrenaline reserves, seemed like I was picking up a lightweight.
Untangle the bike from amongst the twigs, pull her back and proceed throught several water croosings with skewed bars and limp home via FSR to Onion Lake and the Ride Of Shame home. Pick up the Little Appendage, quaff a coolie and watch Nucks kick arse. Good to be home safe "n" sound. Lesson learned, PTF attention all the time!
