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.

Babes In the Dirt 2: Gone With The Wind - Part I

If you haven't gathered by my previous posts, I tend to favor adventure.  I also suck pretty bad at riding in the dirt. So naturally, when I heard about the second coming of the annual Babes in the Dirt all-women's all-weekend extravaganza (that last part I threw in), I had to make arrangements to haul Tiny Dancer and myself 45 minutes up the mountain to Hungry Valley.  I mean, what could go wrong? However, as is typical for me, I kinda threw everything together at the last minute... in an epic wind-storm. It had been an otherwise beautiful Friday afternoon.  The sun was out, the breeze was cool and alluring, and the day seemed to mosey along at an excruciating crawl.  I sat at my cubicle, watching as every second lingered in the purgatory of time that only occurs when you've got shit planned... cool shit... debauchery kinda shit.  Somewhere around 3:30 I looked out a window and saw trees swaying and dust kicking up outside. Dafuq is this shit? I muttered inaudibly.  My phone buzzed, it was a text from my friend who was planning on joining in the fun: "Looks like some interesting weather is blowing in - it's all an adventure!"  I smiled. It usually goes this way, it's why they call me Murphy.

In the week leading up to the event, conversations had begun in a Facebook group where a few other gals had thrown around some ideas as far as what essential items would be needed, where we would be meeting up, and the other logistical nuggets that develop in any well planned adventure. Pretty much everyone had a french press, so coffee was covered.  Someone was bringing a stove, everyone was bringing beer and the food was covered.  I really had no idea what was in store, but I was jazzed about the opportunity to finally get my bike out into the dirt with a group of folks of like mind. I am really liking the XT250 and this would be our ultimate play date.

However, before I get too far ahead, lets set the scene a little.

The wind had blown up so much dirt that I could chew it, and I instantly started sneezing as we shoved the mighty XT into the back of the truck and strapped her in.  I had set aside everything I needed in a hurry, and in an even bigger hurry I threw it all into the truck without taking inventory.  I knew that some items would be forgotten but I didn't have a lot of time to double check and I hoped for the best.  Daylight was gonna be fading soon and I didn't want to be unloading and setting up camp in the dark.

By 6 we were on the road, my friend following closely behind in her car.  We made our way down the 99 corridor and I fought a cross wind practically the entire way up the mountain.

A quick stop in Frazier Park revealed that the wind had, indeed, carried some much cooler weather our way.  When I hopped out to grab some beer from the local liquor store, I was greeted with the brisk suckerpunch of Mother Nature saying "Happy Earth Day! I hope you brought your warm gear!" Indeed, she had won this round as I rummaged for the sweatshirt that I had tossed next to my pile before leaving the house only to realize that it was still right where I left it... on the couch.  Not at all where I needed it to be. I brushed it off, and made a mental note of piling on a few more layers when I got to the campground.  At least I was smart enough to pack 6 shirts, most of them long sleeved. As luck would have it, I would end up wearing most of them.  And a fleece sweatshirt that was on loan... and my summer jacket.

As we meandered our way to the campground thick clouds had crept in overhead. As we approached the campsite we were greeted by a chipper group of chicks that were already partaking in the free beer provided by Firestone.  We got to our camp site and got the bike unloaded, introduced ourselves to the two other friends who were there with my original planning buddy - Babe #2. As we sized up our section of the camp site, my friend offered up her tent as she inflated the air mattress in the back of her car. I brought a tent, but I wasn't entirely sure it was going to hold up against the wind, and I figured sleeping in the back of the truck would have been more comfortable than the uneven ground. I chuckled enviously as she fluffed her bedding and we popped the tent up in the back of the (boyfriend's) truck. It was a bit of a shit show in the wind, but we managed. We  settled in for what would become a long night of sleeping in a windstorm.

Still, there was something insanely awesome about it... at least that was my preliminary conclusion as I looked around at the hordes of babes who had gathered at the campground with their bikes and tents and riding buddies in tow.  At the very last minute, I caught a glimpse of the remnants of a beautiful sunset from between the clouds.  It was almost as though Mother Nature was imploring me to soak in the last of the sunlight, because she was about to unleash a cold vicious ass-beating-by-wind that would test the endurance of even the more seasoned of my camping companions. 

Tiny Dancer Goes Ice Skating: The Maiden Voyage of the Yamaha XT250: Conclusion

The view was quite spectacular, with the exception of the haze and smog layer.  The weather was perfect at around 65 degrees and I really didn't mind hanging out for a bit.  My buddy expressed a little concern with the single-lane and having had a SUVs and trucks coming down, I could see the concern.  I offered to go up front since I was narrower and since the roads were getting progressively crappier.  I held enough pace to catch the oncoming traffic and alert them that I had one more behind me.

These roads tend to remain closed until well into late spring early summer.  We had been lucky enough to get a substantial dusting of snow, and much of it was still on the ground as we made our way further up the mountain.  snow piles of various sizes sat along the side of the road and some corners were still wet with muddy water.  As we approached one particular corner, I looked ahead to see what looked like a pretty decent accumulation of snow along the shoulders of the corner on either side.  I slowed my pace a bit, but figured I'd ride through the tire track and deal with a little muddy water. I was still going about 25 mph when I realized my assessment was wrong, and this quickly turned into one of the best saves I've ever pulled off in my motorcycling career.

I coasted into the wheel track with some delicate feathering of the clutch and throttle to keep the bike settled.  I had tried to scrub off a little more speed with a light drag of the rear brake as delicately as possible before letting it go altogether at the last possible second. As my rubber touched the wet stuff, I noticed that the slushy muddy track was actually wet ice in some parts. I can't really articulate how it all unfolded, but all I can say is I felt like a badass.  I went right into "Awww HELL naw!" Mode as I felt the front tire start to slide almost instantly. I feathered the clutch to try and get more traction and steer with the rear which might have worked if I hadn't been in a lower gear.  As such, when I feathered the clutch out the rear tire slipped out too and we went right up onto a hearty block of snow that had started melting and then froze again into an ice block. I instantly pulled the clutch back in and re-engaged my delicate balance of feathering the clutch to try and get us out of the mess, all while muttering in my helmet "Nope. Nope! Nope. Nope... Not today precious... your ass isn't touchin' the ground today sister!"

The bike was already all over the place and I was damn certain that I saw my own ass at one point as she slid and bucked from side to side.  I dropped one foot to balance out the weight and try to settle the shimmy, and then another foot.  I was still going too fast to actually plant a foot, and as the sole of my boots grazed the surface of the ice, it was hopeless to even try and catch any traction so I kept my weight centered and hoped for the best.

The view of the corner, from the opposite direction.

Looking back on it, I didn't even so much as gasp.  Somehow it all felt completely natural and expected, and my brain went into action mode as I fought to keep her upright at all costs and with as much finesse as possible. I rode it out all the way through the corner, fully expecting to feel the entire bike collapse beneath me. Then my front wheel cleared the gauntlet and gave us the stability of traction. I coasted us onto the asphalt where the bike settled herself and I gave her some throttle while belting out a victorious howl and triumphant laughter.

A couple of miles up the road, we were officially denied access to the rest of our journey as the closed gate indicated that there was probably still a substantial amount of snow further up the mountain.  We parked the bikes and I was still laughing.

"Did you see that shit?!" I yelled through my helmet at my friend.

"Oh my god, how could I not?! Holy shit, I thought for sure you were goin' down. I am so proud of you... you stuck with it, I thought for sure you were gonna just give up and let it go."

If the circumstances had been different, I might have.  Granted, it wouldn't have done much damage if I had, but it wasn't necessary to dump it, there wasn't a point where I didn't at least have some sort of a say as to what inputs might rectify the situation and I figured if nothing else, we'd buy some time and hold on for the ride whilst having a clear evacuation plan in mind.

We stood around for a few minutes remarking on the experience from his perspective, including what a pain in the ass it was to get his hefty bike through there.  Then we did it all again on our way back down the mountain.

Needless to say, it went much smoother the second time around. :)

Hours later, as we sat on the couch drinkin' a post-ride beer we both started chuckling. My friend stared off into the distance and said: "Man, of all the times to not have a Go-Pro... I really want to watch that again a few times... I am actually really bummed that I'm the only other person in the world who was there to witness that."

I laughed.

Tiny Dancer Goes Ice Skating: The Maiden Voyage of the Yamaha XT250: Part II

The Bridgestone TrailWing tires that come stock on the XT are a decent tire for combination riding; which makes sense since they are rated as a 50/50 tire.  Still, they were every bit as decent on pavement as the Avon Destanzias (80/20) I used to run on my DRZ400S... and I've scraped toe on that bike. The TWs also did remarkably well during my earlier jaunt in the foothills, so I have confidence that I will get a lot out of them.

The XT ferociously gripped even the most precarious of corners, I let out a few giddy yelps of happiness as I remembered what it felt like to be on a light, nimble dual sporty bike.  I have said it before and I will say it again, every rider should own one at least once.  These bikes are like the go-karts of motorcycles and they are an outright blast to ride. I am sure the WR250 might be a better option for those seeking a little more punch at the throttle, but I didn't really have much to complain about on a bike that is quite capable over covering all of the riding I needed it to do, brand new, with a 5 thousand dollar price tag out the door. Spending at least 1500 extra for only a few extra HP on a 250cc dual sport just didn't jive with my spending rationale.

My buddy and I both made decent time, cutting through the smooth stuff, even given all of the dirt that iced the surfaces of almost every apex.  We wound our way up the road until the two lane pavement started to diminish into eaten up one lane asphalt.  Around a few corners there were minor rock slides, more than a few trees had surrendered at the force of the mighty mountain winds and laid themselves to rest in the roadway.  My companion pulled away in the straights only to fall behind in the corners as my little XT gobbled up the obstacles that his heavier cruiser had a harder time overcoming.  Still, we moved along at a pretty brisk pace.  The close-ratio gearing of the XT is perfect for quick upshifts and downshifts without compromising any power at all.  The fifth gear is better suited for getting a little more out of the top end when still chasing the speed fix... or when traversing treacherous highways on commutes. Then again, all of that is to be expected on these bikes.

We rode a few miles up and then pulled over for a break.  My riding buddy was in need of a rest.  Understandable given the fact that I had been watching him slide all over the place in corners.  I suppose wrestling around that heavy beast does turn into a bit of a workout after a while (Tee-Hee!).

Tiny Dancer Goes Ice Skating: The Maiden Voyage of the Yamaha XT250

I recently bought a brand-new 2015 Yamaha XT250 a couple of weekends ago. I know, I know. "Underpowered bike," "You'll grow out of it," bla bla bla.

Technically, this isn't the official maiden run since I took her out to our local foothills and ran her around in the dirt for a couple of hours the other evening. But I didn't take any pictures then.  Still, this was her first attempt at a run up our local mountain roads, which involved some highway riding. I was sure to choose a good one.  One that is notorious for being in shitty condition year-round, but especially in the early spring when the snow has just started to melt in the higher elevations and the debris, dirt, and mud are still piled up at various spots in the roadway. This road is pretty much patchwork.  There are sections where entire chunks of pavement are missing right at the apex of corners, and the asphalt has sunken into the hillside.

Since the boyfriend doesn't have a dual sport yet, my chosen companion for this mission was my best friend and riding mentor.  17 long years of friendship and 8 years of him mentoring me through the trial and error of developing my motorcycling prowess; add to it, his expert level skill on all things two-wheeled and in most terrains and I figured that it wouldn't be much of a challenge for him on his V-star.

We hit the road.  Our destination was Breckenridge road.  It's a mountain road, like most others, that begins as some smooth undivided pavement in the barren foothills, but then winds its way up to some single lane dirty road peaking at 7,000 feet. It's a popular destination for dual sports and touring bikes.

Some pics I took during a scouting mission last year:

Whilst riding the XT on the highway, I tried to keep the rpms in the midrange.  As a result, she puttered along at a whopping 65 mph with the help of my head and shoulders in a full tuck to reduce some of the wind drag on her tiny frame and motor. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable and I imagine that ditching the emissions shit and giving her a full exhaust system will at least let her breathe a little easier. As it was, she felt a little stifled (not that she has all that much power to begin with), but we made the most of the 10 mile jaunt to the connecting route. It was a smooth ride and I didn't feel anything of a shimmy from the front end.  The Bridgestone Trailwings felt pretty good whilst thrashing around in the dirty foothills, so I had no doubt they would do just fine in our trek up the mountain.

The first few corners of Breckenridge were dumped with dirt.  If I had been on my sportbike, I might have experienced a little anxiety, but the XT didn't even grimace and I have to admit that I felt a little pitter patter of excitement as I envisioned all of the obstacles that would soon be overcome by the mighty XT.

Ninja 250 - The Bike I Outgrew Before I Actually Grew Out Of It

Clippings from the Forum: Originally posted by me on March 1st 2016

My first bike was a Ninja 250. Honestly, I have owned and ridden so many bikes since then that I can't really accurately recall exactly what year it was... but I am pretty sure that it was somewhere around a 2001. Really, it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that bike could have taken the prize in a contest for the longest running model of vehicle with no updates.

I still fondly remember the day I bought it. It was some time in February and it was in LA. The gal who bought it put 26 miles on it brand new before she decided that riding wasn't for her. It was pristine and as I type this I even remember the way it smelled when the motor warmed up. It was a great bike. 

When we brought it home, my best friend rode us to an empty parking lot at the nearby college. It was there that I did the routine drills, re-igniting old muscle memories from the days of my youth when I blasted around in the dirt with my cousins well into the evening of hot summer days. Bikes were never foreign to me, but I had always sworn that I wouldn't take it to the street. Then one day I did, and I bought the 250.

There is no "braaaap!" involved in a Ninja 250. The song of this siren is a boisterous but feeble "VvvvvRRRROOOOOOMmm" as it's carbureted motor growls with endearing weakness like a sewing machine in an overworked sweatshop. I got comfortable on that bike, and not long after I bought it it became my sole mode of transportation. I rode it everywhere and no matter where I had to go, I always looked forward to going there because I was going there on my bike. 

On the weekends we rode the twisties. My friends on supersport bikes disappeared around corners with valiant howls of precisely tuned fuel injected systems and I puttered behind with inferiority as my little bike and my little skill level pushed the limits of our combined will to keep up with the big dogs. There were times when my frustration got the most of me as my mighty ninja fell behind but we kept at it and as miles passed I picked up the pace. Before long I had settled into the mentality that I had simply outgrown the little engine that could.

I was comfortable, confident, and I felt ready to bump up. So I did.

I found an 04 ZX6R that was in pretty pristine condition and I put the 250 up for sale to cover the cost of my upgrade. The mighty ninja went to a family of folks who taught 4 generations of people to ride. I ran into them several years later and they updated me, letting me know that the bike had become a part of their family and that it had withstood the tests of time and trial. I just imagined my little blue machine sitting in the garage like an old family dog who went to just the right home. It made me smile, but it always made me think about how much more I could have gotten out of the bike.

While I have come a long way in my journey as a rider since the days of the 250, there have been many realizations that have enlightened me. Within weeks of buying my 636 I did my first track day. I hadn't intended it to happen like that, but I just never got around to it when I owned the 250. I had the normal anxiety and as I settled into the first few laps everything felt foreign. The familiarity and the confidence I had gleaned from riding Highway 155 a hundred times had faded into beginner skill and on more than one occasion I found myself thinking, "This would be a lot less intimidating if I still had the 250." I made it through many track days on that ZX6R and I have no regrets, but I had definitely set a bit of a curve for myself and as my passion unfolded, the expenses added up. One day whilst doing a track day at Streets of Willow at Willow Springs International Raceway, I popped over to the Big Track where the 250 class was racing. "God... that would be such a cheap and easy way to branch into racing," I said to my friend as we listened to the pack of hornets slowly bumble down the front straight with ferocious tenacity. He responded with: "Yeah, gas, tires, everything would definitely be cheaper." His response was innocent and honest enough but he was right.

There's no telling how quickly I might have truly grown out of the 250 on the track, but the fact remains that most riders who have gone to the track know that there is an entirely different level of skill that is developed when you make the transition from street to track. We've all known those guys who are hot shit on Mulholland but they get on a track and they are far outpaced by riders on 250s. Body Position, throttle control, braking, all of these things can easily be developed on a 250 with minimal consequences by comparison to a supersport.

At this point in my life, a 250 probably wouldn't suit my needs on the track. I have often considered buying one just for a lazy day and for some calisthenics when I don't feel like putting forth the effort to throw around the 636 or the R6. I don't discount them at all. I look to people who offer insights to newbies saying "You're probably gonna grow out of that bike," and I am not as quick to agree. It all depends on what your goals are. Do you want to do track days? OR do you want to just buy a Harley V-Rod and call it a day. It all depends on how much you want to make the most out of spending the time to maximize your investment and learn the core skills of riding and racing on something forgiving and inexpensive.

You might outgrow it on the street, but you might just find yourself growing into it on the track.

When One Garage Door Closes: Moving On

There have been many days and experiences since the adventures at the Dragon, but the memories linger fresh in my mind.  In the days that followed my inaugural run up the highway, I experienced the privilege of exploring more of the area and much of that will never be conveyed into words in a way that does justice to the firsthand experience. One thing I've always loved about traveling is the experience, the way that a new environment really broadens the horizons of a person's perspective and the way it stays with you; the way the majestic and breathtaking views etch themselves into your memory in a unique fingerprint molded from your own viewpoint.  Some days when I look back on it, I can still feel the cool sticky night air on my skin.  It still brings a smile to my face and a small pang in my heart reminding me of what lives on in my soul of those incredible days. I knew this adventure would be one of a kind and on the following day when I rode up the Cherohala Skyway, I found myself oddly at home and immediately enamored with this stretch of scenic roadway.

One friend and I had decided earlier that morning that we would make a grand loop of an excursion.  We followed US route 29 all the way around until it reunited us with the Skyway.  We made a few unanticipated detours (we won't call it getting lost, though), but managed to find our way back in time for my pilot and I to depart on the next leg of our adventure... this time taking the airplane from the dragon to a little Island off the coast of South Carolina by the name of Hiltonhead Island. 

It was during this leg of the adventure that I would really be introduced to the thrills of flying.  And as we made our way across the rest of the globe in the Ladybird, we encountered more adventure than we expected... then again, that's par for the course for us folks.

Still, there was a humble pause in my heart as we made our way toward the airplane and I took in the last of the experience that would be my visit to North Carolina.  As the sun prepared the make it's final descent, I watched my friend approach the airplane with his green rucksack slung casually over his shoulder, like a gypsy toting his essentials as he moved along in his life journey.  For that week we were exactly that: gypsies making our way across new territory and charting an ongoing course for adventure and experience.