Babes in the Dirt: Gone With the Wind - Part II

Within an hour or so of our arrival, the sun had completely set, leaving us in the dark to fend for ourselves.  I didn't know many of the folks there but I feel like we hit it off pretty quickly.  As a chick who has always mostly had guy friends, I can definitely appreciate some down to earth chicks who share in the passion for riding.  As unfortunate as it is, we are still a minority and I hope that as time goes on, events like this take hold and draw more women to motorcycling.  Still, we made the most of the darkness; feasting on jerk chicken burritos whilst swigging beers (and wine) and sharing crash stories. I mean, I guess I could have thought to bust out with my camping lantern, but I had spent a solid 30 minutes trying to finagle the cheap piece of plastic craftsmanship into even illuminating.  Even then it only worked because I had lost my patience with it and handed it off to Babe #1 - my travelling companion to tinker with.  Off in the distance a fire blazed and a small group of babes huddled around it with drinks and bottles of booze while the majority of others had gathered under the Fox Racing canopy. The song of their chatter carried across camp and echoes of laughter resonated against in the winds that battered my eardrums. As the chill of night set in, we made our way toward the inferno in hopes that we might regain some feeling in our digits and limbs. We inevitably made friends, huddled around the fire, and joined in the festivities.

The night felt like an eternity as I huddled in my sleeping bag with my 4 shirts on.  The cold was nothing by comparison to the wind and it lasted throughout the night, violently slamming the walls of the tent inward and upward in as many directions as it could.  While I watched my lantern swing violently from the hook above my head I wondered if perhaps a set of earplugs wouldn't have been wise, or perhaps I should have drank enough beer to completely pass out. Regardless, the allure of motorcycle camping was rapidly losing spark in the combustion chamber of my mind.  At one point, in the darkest hours of the night I could have sworn I heard a section of the tent finally give way so I gave in and wrestled myself out of my cocoon of warmth to check the security of my fittings.  I won't lie, it took a lot of internal negotiation.  Up to this point, I wasn't even willing to answer the faint tickle of my bladder informing me that in the near future I'd have to venture out into the darkness. As I unzipped the door to the tent, the door flapped violently smacking into my face. "This is some bullshit," I muttered as I shoved it out of the way and looked out into camp.  The brilliant light of an almost-full moon had illuminated the camp that had otherwise fallen into the chaotic slumber of the Hungry Valley. Bikes were lined up outside of tents that were inhaling to the seams and exhaling with every gust of wind.  Chairs had been thrown into parked bikes and yet it was stunning to see such a beautiful sight under such crisp moonlight against the backdrop of hills lined with ribbons of dirt trails that sprawled out as far as my eyes could see.  For a brief moment I had become captivated by the view, but it wasn't long before the flapping door whipped around and landed a solid smack across my face. I wanted to dry and put up a fight long enough to take a picture but then I remembered that I left the camera in the cab of the truck.  I wiggled back into the tent and rearranged my cocoon before attempting to make a last ditch effort for some shut eye.  It came, but not for long, and when the sun rose I was surprisingly spry for not getting much sleep.

Even more amusing was the fact that out of all of us ladies who proudly and helpfully declared that we had a french press, none of us had actually remembered to bring one.  It was all really quite comical given the fact that none of us had all that fulfilling of a night of sleep. We all huddled around looking dazed.  Apparently, whilst I was enduring my own inner struggle with nature's fury, Babe #2 had been dealing with the same situation in her tent, and another of Babe #3 had over-indulged on some wine and woke up to a sleeping bag full of weeds and debris after a mid-night hike through some brush, sans-shoes, in a gesture of courtesy to toss her stomach contents as far away from camp as possible. Indeed, we must certainly have looked like the epitome of glamour as we fumbled around the campsite.

So there we were.  Sleep deprived and without access to caffeine. Riders meeting was at 9 and the gas grill wasn't getting hot enough to even grill the bacon in a timely fashion. The other babes had gone out for coffee, and they eventually returned with Sausage McMuffins and coffee. I alternated my time between pictures and warming in the truck. The trails were calling, but I was still asleep.