Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
Well it wasn’t what I expected – not at all. A dirt bike doesn’t behave like a street bike, which is probably a very good thing.
Andy and I responded to a generous invitation from friends Krys and Bryan, to spend a day with them and their dirt bikes. Our part was easy – just show up at their house, be driven to the desert and then ride the bikes. Our hosts had already put in a lot of work by the time we met them at six in the morning. The three bikes were loaded and secured on a trailer. Gear for four people was stowed in the car and we were ready to roll.
The best route for a vehicle with a trailer promised a distance of 188 miles and a time of just over three hours. With a couple of short stops, and driving at a safe speed for towing, it took four hours to get to Ocotillo Wells OHV park, near the Salton Sea. To say that we were in the middle of nowhere was an understatement. Previous experience helped our driver to find a gathering place with shade shelters and restrooms. Primitive is a good word for the facilities, but they were adequate.
The bikes were unloaded and then the riders needed to be geared up. With the sun shining, the April temperature was pleasant for those wearing t-shirt and shorts. Once all the protective gear was applied, the temperature sky rocketed. We noticed some riders, just as they do on the road, opting for minimal protection. Our choice was to be a little uncomfortable but well protected.
Andy and Krys mounted the Honda 250s and I opted for the Yamaha 125. My short legs allowed the very tips of my toes to touch the ground, on this child-sized bike. Kick starting it was a precarious event with so little to hold me upright, but I was able to do it. Already, I was feeling uneasy, without an ignition switch or neutral light. This was not familiar. That feeling of unease was magnified as I let out the clutch. Even though the ground felt reasonably firm to walk on, the traction wasn’t 100% and the bike shimmied underneath me. Oh dear! After riding for about six feet, I’d reached the conclusion that I didn’t like this very much. However, I’d gotten out of bed at 5am on my day off work for this, and traveled for four hours to ride. With four more hours to get home, I felt that I’d better stick to this for longer than a couple of seconds.
I made a u-turn, worth of one of the monster RVs parked near us and managed to keep the bike upright. That was an accomplishment. Then I followed Krys and Andy along the ‘road’ that we came in on. I put road into inverted commas because it didn’t really qualify as what I’ve ever seen as earning the name of ‘road’. The sand was packed a bit harder than elsewhere. The bumps were smaller and there were no big rocks or bushes. As the speed increased, my anxiety level went with it. There was no speedometer to measure my terror but we were flying. It was far scarier doing perhaps 15-20mph on the little dirt bike than triple digit speeds on my FJR.
Tour guide Krys found us a large, relatively flat area to play on. This was more my style and my comfort level increased a little. But it wasn’t flat, it just LOOKED that way. The terrain undulated gently with 2-3 feet tall rises and dips. There were obstacles too. Rocks and bushes begged to be fixated upon and collided with. Still, I got up on the pegs and started to enjoy the ride.
In the distance was a steep bank with tire tracks going up and down. It looked for a moment as though Krys was going to ride her bike up there but I know she has more sense than that. Knowing that she wouldn’t attempt anything so foolhardy, I trollied off alongside the hill to see what was on the other side. I saw more of the same. There was another wash, then another hill. Then I saw Krys coming over the top of the hill. She’d done it – ridden her bike over a mountain, and survived.
Now I had a dilemma. I’m a total rookie out there, with no dirt riding skills at all. Very few street skills seem to cross over. The sensible thing would be to stay on the flatter, easier, safer level. But….. the hill looked like fun. What an adrenaline rush it was to get to the top then down what appeared to be a near vertical drop.
It took me a while to come back down to earth, literally and figuratively, after that. I rode around the flatter area, slowly building my confidence, then took a run towards a six foot berm. As I got to the top, the bike felt peculiarly light. In just fractions of a second, I realized that 1) I was airborne 2) What goes up must come down and 3) I was going to break something when I landed. It was a source of amazement that I landed upright on two wheels. Never have I done any kind of workout that raised my heart rate to this level. Who knew that cardiovascular exercise could be so much fun?
One can only take so much stimulation at a time. I was ready to take it easy after my marathon first ride. It was only perhaps 20-30 minutes but I was exhausted. Relaxing at base camp, with the protective gear off and a bottle of warm water to drink was wonderful.
Andy and Bryan went out next, on the big bikes. That left the little bike all alone so I took a modest outing within shouting distance of the car. My sense of direction was well equipped for getting me terribly lost in an area such as this, so I stayed close to home. Even at gentle speeds I managed to scare myself quite substantially. I was previously oblivious to how fast the terrain changes and the speed with which decisions need to be made. Precise concentration is needed just as it is on the road, but for different reasons.
The pace of the day was worthy of a great Saturday with friends. Andy commented that he didn’t know what time it was, nor did he care. We chatted over lunch and enjoyed the down time to relax. All four of us lead very busy lives so this quiet time together was particularly valued.
My last ride of the day was with Krys. Since watching behind while riding is very difficult, it made sense to put the rookie in front. That’s an unfamiliar role for me but I did OK following the same general direction as we’d previously ridden. This time, the wiggling, squirming and bucking of the bike didn’t bother me nearly as much. I had learned that dirt bikes are amazingly forgiving. More times than I could count, I was braced ready for the ground coming up to bite me, and the bike pulled out of the problem. It was amazing how many times that happened.
We rode for a good ways – ten minutes? Two hours? I have no idea. The level of concentration was so extreme that I lost all perception of time. As we turned to head back, I tried to turn the bike in deep sand. An experienced rider would have no problem but I hadn’t a clue what to do. The back wheel dug in. As I gassed the bike and let out the clutch, the back wheel wanted to go sideways instead of forwards. Eventually, I stalled the bike and the problems started. The 125 has no electric starter. I just didn’t have the reach to kick start it on a non-solid surface. Think! There must be a way to do this. Without the aid of the side stand (no good on super soft sand) I got myself over to the starter side of the bike and tried to kick start it with left foot. My knee had to come up higher than it’s ever come up since goodness knows when. The bike eventually fired up and by good luck rather than any skill on my part, I got rolling again.
By this time my brain was on overload, and my body was beginning to complain. To say that I’m out of shape is a gross understatement. This was proven to me on Saturday, more on Sunday and for sure on Monday. Thanks to Krys’ excellent sense of direction, we got straight back to the car. I think I’d have taken us via San Diego or some such detour. Perhaps we’d still be out there.
After resting for a while. Bryan and I applied common sense to the fact that we were tired and that’s when riders make careless mistakes. We opted to be done for the day, especially since Bryan had driven us all down there, and had to drive home. Andy and Krys were up for one more ride, which they enjoyed very much and returned safely.
During the long ride home, I mused over what I learned. The most significant thing was the difference in skills needed for this different type of riding. I had naively assumed that an experienced road rider would take to dirt riding easily. Wrong!
My frustration at being the rookie again was obvious. On the road, I have the skills, experience and tools to be an OK rider. When things happen, I know more or less what to do. I’m familiar with the bike and how it will respond under various circumstances. That was all gone. In this environment, I hadn’t a clue what to do or how my actions would affect the bike. To remedy this, I’m enrolled for the MSF dirt school, when we go to Femmoto in October.
All in all, we had a great day out. The riders and bikes all came home safely, which was the main thing. We had fun, and are very grateful to Krys and Bryan for inviting us along. On Sunday, as we were nursing our sore muscles, we spent time in a bike shop looking at bikes and gear. We’re going to need a trailer too!
Here are a few photos. I was the one with the camera, so you won’t see me.
https://new.photos.yahoo.com/[email protected]
Jill
Andy and I responded to a generous invitation from friends Krys and Bryan, to spend a day with them and their dirt bikes. Our part was easy – just show up at their house, be driven to the desert and then ride the bikes. Our hosts had already put in a lot of work by the time we met them at six in the morning. The three bikes were loaded and secured on a trailer. Gear for four people was stowed in the car and we were ready to roll.
The best route for a vehicle with a trailer promised a distance of 188 miles and a time of just over three hours. With a couple of short stops, and driving at a safe speed for towing, it took four hours to get to Ocotillo Wells OHV park, near the Salton Sea. To say that we were in the middle of nowhere was an understatement. Previous experience helped our driver to find a gathering place with shade shelters and restrooms. Primitive is a good word for the facilities, but they were adequate.
The bikes were unloaded and then the riders needed to be geared up. With the sun shining, the April temperature was pleasant for those wearing t-shirt and shorts. Once all the protective gear was applied, the temperature sky rocketed. We noticed some riders, just as they do on the road, opting for minimal protection. Our choice was to be a little uncomfortable but well protected.
Andy and Krys mounted the Honda 250s and I opted for the Yamaha 125. My short legs allowed the very tips of my toes to touch the ground, on this child-sized bike. Kick starting it was a precarious event with so little to hold me upright, but I was able to do it. Already, I was feeling uneasy, without an ignition switch or neutral light. This was not familiar. That feeling of unease was magnified as I let out the clutch. Even though the ground felt reasonably firm to walk on, the traction wasn’t 100% and the bike shimmied underneath me. Oh dear! After riding for about six feet, I’d reached the conclusion that I didn’t like this very much. However, I’d gotten out of bed at 5am on my day off work for this, and traveled for four hours to ride. With four more hours to get home, I felt that I’d better stick to this for longer than a couple of seconds.
I made a u-turn, worth of one of the monster RVs parked near us and managed to keep the bike upright. That was an accomplishment. Then I followed Krys and Andy along the ‘road’ that we came in on. I put road into inverted commas because it didn’t really qualify as what I’ve ever seen as earning the name of ‘road’. The sand was packed a bit harder than elsewhere. The bumps were smaller and there were no big rocks or bushes. As the speed increased, my anxiety level went with it. There was no speedometer to measure my terror but we were flying. It was far scarier doing perhaps 15-20mph on the little dirt bike than triple digit speeds on my FJR.
Tour guide Krys found us a large, relatively flat area to play on. This was more my style and my comfort level increased a little. But it wasn’t flat, it just LOOKED that way. The terrain undulated gently with 2-3 feet tall rises and dips. There were obstacles too. Rocks and bushes begged to be fixated upon and collided with. Still, I got up on the pegs and started to enjoy the ride.
In the distance was a steep bank with tire tracks going up and down. It looked for a moment as though Krys was going to ride her bike up there but I know she has more sense than that. Knowing that she wouldn’t attempt anything so foolhardy, I trollied off alongside the hill to see what was on the other side. I saw more of the same. There was another wash, then another hill. Then I saw Krys coming over the top of the hill. She’d done it – ridden her bike over a mountain, and survived.
Now I had a dilemma. I’m a total rookie out there, with no dirt riding skills at all. Very few street skills seem to cross over. The sensible thing would be to stay on the flatter, easier, safer level. But….. the hill looked like fun. What an adrenaline rush it was to get to the top then down what appeared to be a near vertical drop.
It took me a while to come back down to earth, literally and figuratively, after that. I rode around the flatter area, slowly building my confidence, then took a run towards a six foot berm. As I got to the top, the bike felt peculiarly light. In just fractions of a second, I realized that 1) I was airborne 2) What goes up must come down and 3) I was going to break something when I landed. It was a source of amazement that I landed upright on two wheels. Never have I done any kind of workout that raised my heart rate to this level. Who knew that cardiovascular exercise could be so much fun?
One can only take so much stimulation at a time. I was ready to take it easy after my marathon first ride. It was only perhaps 20-30 minutes but I was exhausted. Relaxing at base camp, with the protective gear off and a bottle of warm water to drink was wonderful.
Andy and Bryan went out next, on the big bikes. That left the little bike all alone so I took a modest outing within shouting distance of the car. My sense of direction was well equipped for getting me terribly lost in an area such as this, so I stayed close to home. Even at gentle speeds I managed to scare myself quite substantially. I was previously oblivious to how fast the terrain changes and the speed with which decisions need to be made. Precise concentration is needed just as it is on the road, but for different reasons.
The pace of the day was worthy of a great Saturday with friends. Andy commented that he didn’t know what time it was, nor did he care. We chatted over lunch and enjoyed the down time to relax. All four of us lead very busy lives so this quiet time together was particularly valued.
My last ride of the day was with Krys. Since watching behind while riding is very difficult, it made sense to put the rookie in front. That’s an unfamiliar role for me but I did OK following the same general direction as we’d previously ridden. This time, the wiggling, squirming and bucking of the bike didn’t bother me nearly as much. I had learned that dirt bikes are amazingly forgiving. More times than I could count, I was braced ready for the ground coming up to bite me, and the bike pulled out of the problem. It was amazing how many times that happened.
We rode for a good ways – ten minutes? Two hours? I have no idea. The level of concentration was so extreme that I lost all perception of time. As we turned to head back, I tried to turn the bike in deep sand. An experienced rider would have no problem but I hadn’t a clue what to do. The back wheel dug in. As I gassed the bike and let out the clutch, the back wheel wanted to go sideways instead of forwards. Eventually, I stalled the bike and the problems started. The 125 has no electric starter. I just didn’t have the reach to kick start it on a non-solid surface. Think! There must be a way to do this. Without the aid of the side stand (no good on super soft sand) I got myself over to the starter side of the bike and tried to kick start it with left foot. My knee had to come up higher than it’s ever come up since goodness knows when. The bike eventually fired up and by good luck rather than any skill on my part, I got rolling again.
By this time my brain was on overload, and my body was beginning to complain. To say that I’m out of shape is a gross understatement. This was proven to me on Saturday, more on Sunday and for sure on Monday. Thanks to Krys’ excellent sense of direction, we got straight back to the car. I think I’d have taken us via San Diego or some such detour. Perhaps we’d still be out there.
After resting for a while. Bryan and I applied common sense to the fact that we were tired and that’s when riders make careless mistakes. We opted to be done for the day, especially since Bryan had driven us all down there, and had to drive home. Andy and Krys were up for one more ride, which they enjoyed very much and returned safely.
During the long ride home, I mused over what I learned. The most significant thing was the difference in skills needed for this different type of riding. I had naively assumed that an experienced road rider would take to dirt riding easily. Wrong!
My frustration at being the rookie again was obvious. On the road, I have the skills, experience and tools to be an OK rider. When things happen, I know more or less what to do. I’m familiar with the bike and how it will respond under various circumstances. That was all gone. In this environment, I hadn’t a clue what to do or how my actions would affect the bike. To remedy this, I’m enrolled for the MSF dirt school, when we go to Femmoto in October.
All in all, we had a great day out. The riders and bikes all came home safely, which was the main thing. We had fun, and are very grateful to Krys and Bryan for inviting us along. On Sunday, as we were nursing our sore muscles, we spent time in a bike shop looking at bikes and gear. We’re going to need a trailer too!
Here are a few photos. I was the one with the camera, so you won’t see me.
https://new.photos.yahoo.com/[email protected]
Jill
