Schwim's AZ '06 ride report

Well, here we are. For reasons known only to yourselves, some of you write me asking when you'll get to hear about the group ride. For reasons I can understand completely, others of you steer clear of it as if it were the plague. If you fit into the latter group, hit the back button on your browser quickly! What follows is a recollection of eight days of mindlessly mediocre riding, interesting to only a masochistic few. If you fall into the first group, at the end of my posts, I will share the number of my therapist. You seem to be in need of it.

Disclaimer: Understand that this is simply representative of my ride. There were all types of skill levels represented, and many rides. With enough trails to keep any rider occupied for the rest of their lives, Arizona could be the setting for some of the most amazing accounts of riding ever imagined. Unfortunately for you, I will be sharing the death defying moments I had on the bunny slopes. It truly sucks to be you, but you deserve what you get if you continue reading. You've been forwarned.

Pre-Ride

Arriving the evening before, and making it to Berger's house, Berger and I awake and load up the 650 and 300 to meet with Splat for a pre-ride at P&D, an area that could provide anything from parking lot smooth rides to challenging A level single track. I'm hoping for the parking lot, but expecting worse. We meet up with Splat and head out on some of the trails. The first thing I notice is that Arizona has a lot of dirt. Like, more than any state should lay claim to. I'm in the middle of the pack, due to the fact that I fear that if I'm at the end of the ride, I'll get nabbed by some desert gnomes, and nobody will notice until it's too late. Go ahead and laugh, but those gnomes can be pretty tough when you're fighting in full riding gear, and your eyes are clouded by girlie-tears. So Ken gets to take up the end of the pack, pushing me along when I attempt to ride in first. We take off on some wide road and I keep slowing down to stay out of the dust. After falling about a quarter mile behind splat, I realize that the dust never really completely settles, so I decide after much consternation that I'll only stay as far back that the dust is greatly minimised. It's easy to follow Splat's lead, because of said dust, so I meander along. Splat stops at all the intersections so I don't get lost and end up eating body parts to stay alive(He's ridden with me before, so he's well aware of not only my limitations, but also my phobias. He fraternises with me in spite of this, which although I don't understand, I am truly grateful for). We end up on trail 23 which seems to have been designed by a person immune to motion sickness who also has great knees. It's a trail that runs a mile or two with constant whoops, not always being rythmic. At the end of this trail, I can actually feel my lower leg bones fighting it out to share space with the upper bones, and am thrilled when Splat stops us for what he ever so kindly calls a "photo-op break". For those of you who ride with pansies, you can make them feel a lot better about their lot in life if you call all the times that they have to stop in order to stuff a lung back down into it's proper place a "photo-op". It's like calling the first loser a "runner-up". It's the kindler, gentler way, and all of us losers are very grateful to you for it.

After the photos, we travelled some more narrow track until we got to a couple granite steps and rises which unbeknownst to me, we were expected to traverse. After looking back at Ken, I decided that; 1) If I fall, I'm only going to hurt the bike, & 2) It's his bike, so I putted up the rock slope. It was painful to accomplish, bouncing around and trying to hold on. I can only imagine how painful it was to watch unfold. I'd like to take this moment to apologize to Ken for having to watch that. At the top, we continued on, going between two rocks in the shape of a "V" that was pretty cool, and eventually getting back to some wider wash type trails. Allow me this moment to say that I don't like going fast. I'm missing that gene that's in the rest of us to try to get to point B quicker than the other guy. For all I care, that guy can not only get there before me, but wash up, eat some beanie-weanies and have time to mock me at the finish line when I cross. Of premium importance to me is the fact that I make it across that line with a total of zero injuries, and if at all possible, no get-offs. I will do almost anything to make sure this happens. So in my mind, slow == safe. Well in a sand wash, slow doesn't equal safe. It equates to an incredibly painful and at times heart stopping slidefest. So, at these times, I compromise. If I can see well ahead of me, I'll lug it in 6th. No crazier than that. If I come to a hill or a corner, I slow down, front wheel diving be damned. It's just the way I'm programmed, which I'm totally ok with. The guy behind me however(Berger, if you'll remember) is probably not as OK with this as I am. I check behind me every once in a while to make sure that he's not drawing a bead on my helmet in the smooth sections. Having the patience of a saint, he settles for what I take to be the visual display of "You're number 1!!!".

We make it back to the truck, load up and bid Brian adieu until day after next, when most of the other guys will be there. We head back to Berger's house, stopping only for some pizza before doing some required maintenance on the bikes. Oil changes, new air filters, plug and valve adjustment along with some rewiring on the Berg, and we're ready to go. I end up in bed at the early hour of 1am(which is still 3am to my body) where I lie wondering what kind of killer cacti I will land on in the coming days.

I fall asleep with the thought that it will probably be more than one kind.

Day 1

Day 1: Ned finds out what it's like to reside in the 3rd ring of Hell.


The day dawns to find me missing Berger & Co.s' pillows in the guest room. What may be the best night of sleep for me might be the high point of not only my trip, but of my life. Yes folks, my life is like that. Well, last night we moved to the motel to be near the rest of the group to ease maneuvering between riding spots, so I'm back in sleeping accomodations that I'm more familar with, that being pillows like those issued in boot camp.

The night before, we got the bikes ready, and we also got to meet the crew at the camp site. After the meet & greet, we went to the airport to pick up Parsko. I argued against this, but Berger won out since he's driving. He won by telling me we were going to Dairy Queen. For the record, there is no Dairy Queen at the airport, but there is a Starbucks, so I figured 24 ounces of caffeine was a fair trade for having to ride back with Parsko.

Skip and Parsko are in the motel a couple doors down from Berger and I, and we all meet up at the Amish country kitchen. Here's a mental representation of what I remember of my mornings at breakfast:

memory 1
memory 2
memory 3

That's about it until we get to the ride point. It is fair to say that this is how I remember most of my mornings.

We make it to the ride area(Mile Marker), and everyone begins unloading bikes. I walk around aimlessly hoping everyone will forget about me and leave. Some people have premonitions about bad days. I have premonitions about every day, and while rarely correct, I take that to mean that I heed my premonitions very well. Padded rooms get a bad rep in my opinion. I wait until both Splat and Berger tell me to get my gear on, and eventually wiggle into my gear. After donning enough safety gear to protect me from a 30 foot drop, I start up the 300, and meet the crew at the trail head and we're off.

Berger usually rides sweep, but since he's the gracious host, he's leading. This means we need another unfortunate soul to ride sweep. Sweep on the rides I attend is also known as "Dante's third ring of Hell". It entails coddling, nudging, poking and cajoling to get me to ride at least fast enough to make it to the stop points before the others remount and take off again. The means the sweep and I never get a break, since we're arriving when everyone else is getting back on their bikes and taking off. Ned37, not knowing me, takes sweep, and we begin what is to be a three day love-hate relationship. I love him for not hitting me like the other sweep riders do at stop points, and he simply hates me after the first half mile.

We get to ride a couple of hours of single track, washes and four wheeler trails, pretty much giving the guys an idea of the riding area, and a chance to warm up for the afternoon ride. We make it back to the trucks for drink and snacks, where we trade skip who has to leave for Dez who has just arrived. Skip splits and Dez opts not to ride the afternoon, since he just got there and hasn't had a chance to unload gear and get ready. We head back out for another couple of trails.

I check up on Ned every once in a while, and he's sticking with me. People who don't know me often think I check behind me to see if the sweep rider made it through a tough spot. In reality, I'm checking behind me to make sure A) he's still awake & B) he's not getting ready to club me for idling through a sand wash. Ned's still new to this whole ring of Hell thing, so he's going so far as to say that he's enjoying the relaxed pace when we get our 12 second break any time we catch up to the other riders as they finish up their 10 minute break. I'm slightly perplexed at his refusal to admit his distress. I usually break the new guys much quicker than this. He's salty though, and I can see in his eyes that he's decided that he will insist on his being pleased at being stuck behind me, even if it means him and I sitting in neutral in a sand wash until one of us passes away from malnurishment. I've got quite a few pounds on him, so I figure when he dies, I'm going to have to put it in gear and idle back to the truck. Luckily, I've made waypoints on my gps for the parking area, so I can push the bike back in case of rapture, nuclear holocaust or some other impending doom that may befall us.

We ride the trails for a couple more hours, and everyone has a good time. The trails are easy for the most part, kind of like the first day in school, when you get to thinking that this is going to be a piece of cake. The only problem that I encounter is some really tight single track that crosses some hills. The trails aren't the problem, but the 300 has an autoclutch, and over the past couple of days, Berger has been training me to stop using the clutch lever. In most cases, this is the way to go, but I have a problem with inopportune twitches and tics and I find myself at the worst of times giving it gas and careening off of the trail, making my own down the hill. After three of these new trails, I feel as if I've pushed my luck, and beging retraining myself to use the clutch lever when in the tight stuff.

We head back to the trucks, and about an hour later, the A-B guys(or as Parsko states, the "Good Riders") return to the trucks and we load up our gear and shoot the breeze for a while. Cheeseberger takes this time to give his new ride an oil change and going over. The rest of us stand around and bad mouth all of the forum members who didn't make it(yes, all 1,800+ of you). Finally, somebody gets really hungry and can't take it anymore, so we head back to drop the stuff off, get cleaned up, and head over to the steak restaurant.

We arrive at the restaurant to find that it's "Trivia Wednesday". $5 a team, and the winners get the pot. We all order, and get ready to spank some locals at answering questions you never wanted to know the answers to. I order the exploding chili burger, seven cups of coffee and a diet coke. I commence draining the exploding chili burger over my shirt and pants. Everyone else opts for a cleaner meal, and the trivia commences. Other than Parsko and DaleEO being unable to agree on the age of Kennedy when he was capped, we manage to make it through unanimously, and take the pot, which someone suggests we give to Berger for all his cost and time involved. We feel good because we gave him $30, and he feels good cause now he's only $2,045.00 in the hole now from the ride. We are all truly an altruistic bunch.

We head back to the camping spot, dropping off a couple, and hang around long enough for Dale to tell us about his history with neighbor's pets. I won't get into detail, but I will tell you that if you own a dog, you should put a couple of houses between you and Dale.

Berger and I head back to the motel, and Parsko and Dez are arlready in and settled, so we wash up and hit the hay.

My final thought as I fall asleep is about how I might try putting bad gas in my bike tomorrow. By the end of this trip, I will have caused Ned to snap like a twig.

Day 2

Day 2: Frankly Jethro, I'm too tired to squeal like a pig...

Ride day two, and my butt cheeks already feel like they went 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. Although I don't remember much pre-coffee, I do remember that I fell out of bed when my legs revolted. It's ok though, because I caught my fall with my face.

We all do our morning ritual with the Amish people(coffee!), and we head out for another day at Mile Marker. The "Good Riders" as Parsko would say got out pretty early, and Ken thought we would run a loop that was slated for the national as the C loop. During discussion, he brought up Crown King, talking about the elevation changes, start in the desert, end in the pines, beautiful views, yadda yadda. I saw his lips moving, but all I heard was "wah wahwahwah wahhh, long ride, wahwah wah wwah, painful wahh". Everyone else must have heard something different though, because we changed our plans to do it instead of the loop.

Let me just break away from the story to share some knowledge with those not as enlightened as I. If you ever ride with someone like me, keep in mind that loops are good. Rides with destinations other than your starting point are bad. Why? Simply because you don't want to be getting constantly farther away from the trucks when you're with me. There has to be a point where you start to get closer to the trucks without an official destination in between. If there is a destination in between, you can bet money on the fact that I'll be left there for some reason. Even the term "loop" instills confidence. Have a bad wreck? Well heck, just walk the rest of the loop back to the trucks. Irritable Bowel Syndrome? No problem! just finish that little loop there and use the head. Being chased by a rabid pack of desert gnomes? Just wrap the loop up and have your buddies open a can of Whoop-Butt on them upon your arrival.

So, in closing, things not to do:

logic said:

Don't:

1) Tug on Superman's cape
2) Spit into the wind
3) Pull the mask off of the Lone Ranger
4) Ride with Jim if he won't do a loop

Click to expand...

Now, onto the story:

So, we didn't do the loop.

We took off on a paved road, for a few miles, found a sand wash(yay ), which led to a small uphill jumping over to a very wide vehicle access road. We travel that making turns for about 15 miles or so before it begins to turn into river beds and such. It was pretty cool because you'd be riding for a long while, and come upon a ranch house that was in great shape, just sitting empty. We passed a few occupied houses, a completely gutted 70 or 71 Volkswagen type 2, and eventually ended up overlooking a huge lake. We banged a left before we made it to the lake, and ended up overlooking a small convenience store. Berger stated that this was officially the point of no return. If we continued on, and someone so much as missed a shift, we would all end up living out our remaining days eating the weak ones of the group until the last of us perished. As you can imagine, I was worried, since I knew I would be the first course. I worked my mental magic, willing everyone to turn their bikes around and ride back with their tails between their legs. Parsko totally screwed up my plans however by yelling "We didn't come up here to turn around!", at which time everyone made manly noises, grunts and high fives while I soiled myself in quiet solitude at the end of the line. So we continued on...

A mile or two, we made a right onto a "Jeep trail". This is a total misnomer, since the only Jeep that could make it up the "Jeep trail" no longer actually resembles a Jeep, but would look more like a monster truck on steroids. Ned hung tight behind me as I quickly lost site of the pack in front of me. Steep climbs with washouts and rocks were the order of the rest of the day. Now, I'm a master at picking lines. I'm good because I'm doing 7 miles an hour. However, even this meager skill fails me at times, and when it did I ended up riding Satan's own washboard trying to hold onto the bars so as not to fall of the side of the mountain. We continue on in this fashion for literally hours with some breaks in between where we continued climbing but the road wasn't washed out or rocky. It was at this time that I would pry my fingers from the handlebars long enough punch myself in the chest to get my heart out of my throat in time for the next assault of rocks. In signature schwim fashion, I would pull up to the group as they started their bikes and took off leaving me again. There were times when I considered jumping off of my bike and laying down in front of Ned's bike, but he kept backing off. I think he was afraid he'd be blamed if he ran over me, thereby causing the fate I spoke earlier of.. you know, that whole eating the survivors thing. The road narrowed again, and became even less of a "Jeep trail" than before, and the rocks quit screwing around, and became a thing to be feared. We stopped where the road actually had a gorge running down the center of it. Berger gathered us around to tell us that Dez had gotten a flat. I was relieved and began hopping off the bike to offer myself to be the first to be cooked and served, but Berger contined on to tell us that we wouldn't be stopping. When the tears cleared from my eyes, Everyone had already taken off again, leaving only Ned and I. Even Dez was gone, so I begrudgingly got back on my bike and resumed riding. A couple of curves later, and I came upon about half of the group, and a rock step about 1- 1 1/2 feet tall. Parsko was at the top of it and Dez was waiting for me to go so I went up it and continued until I could find a stopping point to wait for the line to form back up. Parsko blew by me sitting on his handlebars, sipping a mai-tai and singing or babbling or some crap like that, and then Dez passed me riding the rocks with absolutely no problem(I can't keep up with Dez even when he has a flat). then Ned pulled up behind me. I started to look at Ned at that point in a whole new light. The guy's back there, has yet to break a sweat, and isn't even dirty. I'm caked in sweat dampened dirt, my knees feel like someone went all mafia on me, and my liver and kidneys have quit filtering in protest. We smile at each other, and in that moment, I know that I will never break Ned. No sir, he is unbreakable. I cry again, then give him the thumbs up and hit the gas.

We finally come to the top of the rocks, and begin cruising through under a canopy of pines, or so they told me. By that time, I can no longer focus my eyes, and can see only rough shapes in black and white. My knees hurt so bad that I am now shifting with my left hand, and my butt cheeks are clamped to the seat. I continue on in this fashion until we make it to Crown King. I pull into the hamlet as everyone is taking off their gear. I pull up, lean the bike over on a rock step and slide my butt over to the same rock step. I plan to move from that point when someone carries me to a car. Dez and Berger are talking amongst themselves about the flat, while everyone else dances like pixies and do calisthenics in the roadway. Berger asks everyone who wants to stay at the top with Dez while everyone else rides back down. Now, what I meant to do is kind of nod my head and mumble something like "What the hell, I got nothing better to do.", but what came out was a lot of sobbing as I held on to Berger's boots thanking the Lord God in heaven that I didn't have to get back on the bike. He got my subtle hint, and everyone else gassed up and put their gear back on. Dez sat down beside me and we began our wait. Time on deck was 1600 hours. Berger was expected back at 2030 hours. So we had some time on our hands.

The first thing I noticed after the numbness left my body, was that it was very cold. 45 degrees cold, in fact. Dez and I talked until the chattering of our teeth made our speech unintelligible, then we decided to go into the general store to see what kind of cold weather gear they had. We found some hoodie sweat shirts for 40 smackers a pop and some beanies. $90 later, Dez and I walk out of the store looking like twins, aside from the fact that I'm ugly and he, not so much.

We sit back down and talk for another hour or so until we feel like we can feasibly milk a dinner until Berger shows back up. We head over to the bar and throw our gear in a corner while heading back to the grill. We order burgers, fries and diet cokes all around, and begin sharing everything that has ever happened in our lives. We have a lot of time, and my life only takes about 20 minutes to recount, so Dez takes over from there on out. When the waitress begins to look at us, we eat slower. When she brings the bill, we add brownies with ice cream to it. I think to myself that I will either eat until I explode or Berger will show up. We eventually head back into the bar, so as not to anger the waitress, and have a seat. Around 8:10, I see headlights pull up the hill. My throat tightens, as I see that it's a Chevy pickup. When I see Berger hop out in all his splendor and glory, I think that I can even see a beautific glow around him.... is that a halo over his head? Well, I do believe it is! He walks in and I promptly hug him. A manly one you know.... As a keepsake, I have Berger snap a picture of Dez and I before we leave the bar. Will you please note that the guy over my left shoulder is leering at my butt. I feel we got out just in time. we head outside and proceed to load up the bikes into the back of Berger's truck. Berger's in shorts and a t-shirt, so he hurries us up anytime Dez or I burst into tears and begin thanking him for not leaving us up there. We load up our gear and head down the hill for the 27 mile trip to the blacktop.

We make it back to the hotel, Berger having had a can of mixed nuts for dinner enroute, and we retire to our respective rooms. I take a shower and lie down.

My closing thought on this day is of how much I truly love loops. I love them a lot.

More than you'll ever know.

Day 3

Day 3: Froggy uses his head.... as an emergency brake

I commit to take on the day, and eventually slide out of bed. It's getting harder each day to do this, as my body is learning quickly that when it awakes in the state of Arizona, punishment is to follow. I have begun tricking it by leaving a trail of Girl Scout mint cookies heading out to the truck. Once my body arrives at the truck, Berger is to push me in and we have the Amish restaurant on call waiting with a coffee I.V. when we arrive. Everyone around me is talking about the great riding that we've had. I on the other hand am trying to snort my coffee since I can't get my lips to work. We all get the appropriate amount of food and drink, and head out to Pima & Dynamite for the day's ride.

We get there to find that Skip has returned for the day's ride, and Bergdude has arrived from Texas and brought b-b-q with him for after the day's ride. We all suit up and split up between the good and bad riders. Hey, don't blame me, Parsko picked the nametags. We agree to meet up with the other group at gate F at 1pm, and head out.

As I'm sure I don't have to tell you, I am second to last, with Ned behind me. We cruise the whooped out single track for a few miles, warming up and screwing around. We come to a branch in the track, and there's skip waiting for us, so I keep moving putting skip between Ned and I. I start getting a little uncomfortable at the fact that skip is taking my spot away from me... at this rate, in 27 more rides, I'll end up at the front of the pack. I need to do something really drastic to restore order to the pack, so we're cruising through the sand, and I see the group ahead of me, stopped, since they missed a turn. I give it the gas, and run smack into a sloped rock going around a slight turn. Legs flailing, riding gear flapping and the rear end of the bike trying to switch places with the front, I come to a halt at the rear of the pack. As I had planned, when the group gets going again, skip guns it to get in front of me before I can get going. I take solace in the fact that although I can not break Ned, skip was a piece of cake. Pansy.

We get going again, and cruise for a few more miles and a couple more stops when the group takes off, and Dez can't get his Berg started. We all take turns kicking it, and while it's my turn, I cough up a lung. While Dez is picking it up for me, he sees that the plug wire had come loose. He puts it back on the plug, and the bike immediately starts on the happy button. I hop off and remount my bike, as Dez takes off. I follow, and we come over the crest of a tall hill, and I see the dust where Dez went down the other side, but I don't see Dez. I slow down a little bit(I can't slow down much, because I'm already idling in 1st). I turn a slight corner, and see a rear tire sticking out of a bush. Figuring that the rest of the bike and it's rider are in there somewhere, I stop and begin tugging on the rear of the bike. Dez and the remainder of the bike emerge and he says something about the tree moving. I've had it happen to myself a few times, so I nod and he's off again. We cruise a bit more, and eventually end up at gate F. We get to rest for about 30 minutes before the A-B crew show up. We agree to head over to Splat's RV to take a break, so we all get going as a complete group for the first time. Surprisingly smooth, we all file through the single track and washes getting some great riding in. Up at the top of a hill, I turn to find that Rent-a-dad has taken a spill on a steep rocky downhill, and Dez had to drop his bike as well, since he couldn't stop in time. I arrived just in time to see Dez sliding down his bike on his back with a thumbs up. I pick up his bike, and everyone hops back on. Rent-a-dad makes it down with no problem, dez following in the same fashion. I pick my bike back up, and Berger & Ned will me not to fall down the hill. I don't, and we all make it to the bottom where the rest of the crew is waiting. We continue on and eventually arrive at Splat's RV where we water & gas up. We talk for a little bit, relax and make any necessary adjustments on the bikes before setting off again as a group. We get to do some cool elevation changes, and for the size of the group, it's awfully smooth, with only one wrong turn which is quickly corrected. We eventually end up at the Sand Wash To End All Sand Washes. 11 miles of sloppy happiness for some, and for others, the punishment that will settle all debts to God for Adam having eaten that apple.

We get to the start of it, and Brian tells everyone that as long as you don't turn around, you can take any path you want in the trail, and will end up at the river. For some of us, it's the first we've heard of water in Arizona, but the locals insist that it is there. He drops the flag, and everyone takes off like they've got bottle rockets strapped to their butt cheeks. Well everyone except for me and Berger. Yes sir, that's right...

[marq=right]I have broken Ned![/marq]

In my heart, I feel a blossom of what I can only imagine is what pride must feel like. For the last few days, I had begun to think that I had lost my obsessive compulsive edge, but at seeing my friend Berger behind me, and seeing Ned's fender dwindling in the distance, I knew that I still had it.

Brian takes off, and I begin a safe speed through the sand wash, after looking both ways for traffic. I ride for a few miles this way, before I hear what sounds like Armaggedon arriving behind me. As it gets louder, I prepare for a collision that will relieve me of a few teeth. Instead, skip shoots by me on the left throwing sand so hard, that I am still picking it out of places that you should never have sand. He disappears in seconds, and I'm left to fend for my own. A little bit later we happen upon Froggy who has dropped his bike in the sand. We hang out a bit waiting for him to get it started. These are my "secret breaks". It looks like I'm assisting the needy, but in reality, I'm trying to get the feeling back in my fingers. If froggy had lost an arm and was begging me for help while swinging it over his head, he'd have to wait a while until my digits began functioning again.

He's off, and we start up our two man caravan again. After a bit, I notice that there is no dust, no sign of other people, nada, zip, zilch. How long did they say this wash was? 11 miles? Heck, it feels like we've done that by now. While we're sitting here talking to ourselves in my helmet, it feels like we've done 20. I start to think that I somehow got turned around, and immediately imagine myself being eaten by coyotes later that night. That gets the adrenaline going enough to go into 6th gear, lugging it along. We ride for quite a bit more, and now I'm sure that I've gotten us lost. I begin riding even faster, and I really can't feel my arms or legs now. It feels like I've been put on tumble cycle in one of those commercial washers. For what seems like hours, I've had the seat of my bike thrown at me at a high velocity by one of the thousands of whoops, ruts or rocks that I've run over. I begin to babble, citing Psalms 23. You know the one... Yay, though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of death.... yep, that one. I pick up the pace once more, and now I can feel the wind trying to rip my helmet off of my head, chin strap be darned. I feel like any faster, and I'll actually begin poking holes in the time-space continuum. I risk a look behind me to see if Berger has kept up with me at this fantastic and truly incredible pace. He's there. It's hard to see him though what with him reading a pulp magazine while checking his nails and solving a Rubik's cube. I decide that my speed has caused the blood to rush to my butt cheeks, starving my brain, and that I'm not really seeing this. I turn back around to reality. I keep this rediculous pace for the remaining 42 miles of the 11 mile wash, and eventually end up at the river. I hear the theme song from the Chariots of Fire and I see angels dancing in the river. Scratch that. Those aren't angels. Just cheeseberger and Lubbz going swimming.

Lets not think about the following:

They've had time to take off all of their gear and are swimming. They look like they've been there a while.

Agreed?

So we pull up, and I take off my gear, all the time apologising to my arms, legs and butt cheeks for what I just put them through, promising never to put them through that again. That's almost exactly the time that Brian tells the crew that we get to do it again on the way out. I cry, and to add insult to injuries, I can't operate my hands to wipe the tears away. I stand in one spot just being numb while everyone walks around talking about what a blast that was. I don't nod in agreement for fear that my head will not return from either the raised or lowered position. Instead, I just stand there.

Eventually, I can move my index finger enough to operate a camera, so everyone gathers around for a group photo, and begin putting their gear back on. I really don't want to, but am more afraid of being left alone, so I do the same. Everyone takes off, Lefrog & son, then Berger and I. I'm quickly left to my own devices again, and settle in for another physical and mental beating. Less than a mile into the ride, I round a corner to see Froggy's head buried in the wash, his son rolling the bike to the side, and DaleEO and Logjump crouched beside him. Berger and I pull to a stop to see what's going on. They dig froggy's head out of the sand, and try to pick him up, but he groans a lot. For the record, french guys sound french even when they groan. I can't pinpoint what makes it sound french, but the fact remains that it does. While I contemplate this, they move him over to the side and begin checking him out. It's unanimous that he's probably broken his arm, and Dale and Log decide to continue on in the groups' direction, while Ned and Berger head back to find an alternate route to get a truck in to recover the riders and bikes. You see where this is going, don't you? I don't have to ride the sand wash again! Externally, I console froggy, telling him how sorry I am that this has happened, while inside, my inner self is doing the happy dance. I make sure not to let the smile show, though, and we all settle down for a little relaxation time. All of us but froggy, who keeps on making noises and messing up my moment of zen.

After about an hour, Splat and cheeseberger ride up, to find out what's going on. Upon seeing Froggy with his arm secured to his chest by an inner tube, Splat lets us know that everyone laid bets on who got hurt, and Splat won. It's kind of like fantasy football, only the person you pick ends up in a lot of pain. After finding out that none of us were in immediate risk of death, they head back to the main group. About a half hour after that, a Ford Explorer pulls up from the Sherriff's office, with Berger right behind. Froggy gets in with the sherriff and EMT, and we start riding the bikes back to the river where Ned is waiting with the trailer. I take the KTM out, and Berger drives me back to get Froggy's Berg. This, after 4 days of riding, is the first time during this ride that I've been on a Husaberg. Grand total: 1/2 mile. We load up the bikes, and froggy returns with the Sherriff after deciding to take himself to the ER. We hop in the vehicles, and head out to the P&D parking area, where everyone is loading up. We get froggy in his ride, and give him a jump start due to a dead battery. Ned also takes a moment to button Froggy's pants. We have a pic of this floating around somewhere. I will be sharing it for a small fee.

We all head back to get cleaned up and meet at the community bbq that bergdude brought. We get a late start due to all the festivities at the sand wash, and dig in with zest. Bergdaddy shows up from New Mexico, and we make our introductions. Everyone finishes eating, and those who are so inclined begin sipping on some drinks. It's about this time that a little German lady walks in to tell us that we need to leave because she has to lock up. Here's a snippet of this conversation:

German lady: Exgeuze meh, bot I haff to loke the doors, and you mahst leef.
Parsko: What are you saying?
German lady: I am sahry, bot joo mahst leef.
Parsko: So, what exactly are you trying to tell us?
German lady: I am sahry, bot I must lock the doors, and joo need to leef now. I will wait ten meenutes.
Parsko: Do you want some ice cream?
German lady: I am sahry.

Click to expand...

It went downhill from there. Needless to say, we ended up packing up our gear and heading out the door. A few of the guys were leaving the next morning, so we said goodbye to Lubbz, DaleEO and logjump, talking any we could into having coffee with us in the morning before heading out.

After that, we headed back to our respective bunks, and I was never so happy to see a bed.

I laid down, and as sleep began to steal over me, I thought about how that sand wash wouldn't be half as bad if it were paved.

Day 4/Da end

Day 4: If you've read this far, you're really going to be angry with me...

Well guys, Here we are, the last official ride day of the meet, and a lot of the guys have split for home. I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's no funny material to be had for this day, so I'm just going to give you the jist of the ride, and my closing thoughts on this whole matter. Lucky you.

The only guys going on the "schwim ride", as it's been labeled, is Berger, Parsko, Ned and myself. What is a schwim ride, you ask? Well I'll tell you. The true definition of a schwim ride is where the road is straight, paved and well lit with people stationed every 20 feet, who are ready to throw a mattress under you if you should fall and offer you a refreshing drink and snack before you remount. Although we rarely attain the true schwim ride, we call any ride that strives for it by the monicker. Parsko was for it, because his departure date had arrived and he felt he was pushing his luck to much if he went out with the "good" riders.

Today's ride was to the top of 4 peaks, via a wide and well traveled road. Pretty slippery, but unless you get run over by a hummer full of people from out of state, not much danger is involved. We went up, looked around and headed back down. Ned broke an exhaust mount on the way up, and had to head back early.

We loaded the bikes up after the ride, and headed back to the camp site. We stopped at the amish kitchen for a light snack(chicken strips, coffee and diet coke for me), saving our appetites for a last hurrah at the steak joint.

We all got cleaned up, packed some gear and met at the steak restaurant, we all ate way too much, and I drank about 6 more cups of coffee, and we had some good desserts.

We took Parsko to the airport after dinner, dropping him off a couple of hours before his flight. I always feel the same as when I was a kid when someone leaves the ride. Remember being a kid, when it was time for someone to leave, and you feel like you could have done more with the person, and are completely bummed although you had a great time? Well that's what I go through every time someone splits. I think I harbor some co-dependancy issues inside. That or it's just heartburn. That was a big burger.

We went back to the room and crashed, woke up the next morning, packed up, said bye to the few remaining people at the camp site, and headed back to berger's house in time for the Superbowl. I don't watch sports, so I washed the bikes and did all my laundry. We had some burgers for dinner, and we hit the hay at a respectable time. The next day, I'm at the airport by 10am, and on the plane by noon, in Atlanta by 6 and driving home in the snow by 7. I get home just before 10 pm.

and that, my friends is what I did on my winter vacation.

If you're interested in my thoughts on the ride, then read on. If you only came for the ride report, then keep it moving, there's nothing left to see.

You can't imagine what it's like for me to get to meet the guys at rides like this. I'm not exaggerating or being kind when I say that I come to meet the people, and ride because that's what everyone else is doing. My favorite parts of the rides are the breaks...

I've met some of the best people by being a part of this site, and everyone has always been better to me than I deserve. This last ride would have never happened without the generous support of many people. Berger sent me a ticket to go, and anytime I tried to pay for something, he threw money at whoever was accepting funds. People during the ride gave money for the site. Someone paid for my last night's dinner at the steak house. Whoever you are, thank you very much. Ned helped me eat my brownie sundaes(I couldn't have done it without him).

My point to all this is that I would have never been able to attend this ride without everyone's help, most notably Berger and his wife. I can't thank you all enough for allowing me to be a part of it, and for making it possible. I had the best time hanging out with everyone. I loved seeing the guys I've met before again, and I was thrilled to meet the others for the first time. It's things like this that make it totally worth it to me, and this one will go down as a high point in my memories.

If you ever find yourself having an opportunity to attend one of the group rides, I can honestly say that you're missing more fun than you can imagine if you opt out. We have some of the greatest members of any enthusiast site, and if you get to meet them in person, it's even better. You'd be silly not to go.



And that officer, is what really happened.
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two in one day... oh you lucky devils.... quick, stab your eyes with pencils, before it's too late...

Day 3 is posted.

Anyone still reading this should have their head checked by a professional.