Moto Disaster - July 2005
Left Friday, 1 July at 5:15 AM. The heat by 7:30 AM
was already oppressive and didn't know if I could do a Grand by the
end of the day. At 1:30
PM, after just 450 miles. Twenty miles north of Alexandria, La on I-49,
trying to pass a vehicle, I had a rear flat at 90 MPH. That’s
according to the lying Beemer Speedo (you know those Nazis perfected
the Big Lie).
Anyway, rode it out and pulled over. There was so much holiday traffic
that I could not safely repair the flat. Called trusty AAA and was
told it would be a high priority tow because of the danger. They showed
up
at 4:30. During this long wait (2 cigars, a nip of brandy, to take
the afternoon heat away) a convoy of barreling semi's blew the bike
down.
I was up on a grassy knoll chewing some cud when I meandered down,
cussing the truckers. A biker and a cager pulled over and helped me
right it.
Ten minutes later Five-O shows up. Right behind him comes first rescue
truck, then a fire truck, 3 ambulances, 2 retired Five-O's that had
been monitoring the police band and various other county workers in
2 pick
up trucks. Seems a good Samaritan had called on their cell phone saying
that two bikes where down and their where bodies everywhere. It was
the most excitement they had all month. One county worker told me he
had
just come out to see the body parts. When the candy stripers asked
if I was OK I told them that Da Bone hurt and it needed a complete
physical
in the back of the ambulance. Anyway got a motel room, fixed the tire. The next day in Texas rode out a hellish lighting
storm, for insurance picked up another inner tube at a bike shop
in Dallas and made
Tucumcary, NM. |
Flat in Louisiana |
Sunday arrived in Moab, UT. Set up my campsite. Felt like absolute shit. Headache, nausea, muscle aches. So anemic could not put my bike up on the center stand. Next day felt fine. Realized I had been suffering from altitude sickness. Gawd, I love this shit.
Monday, July 4th. Happy birthday, America. I celebrated by riding Dead Horse Point and Islands in the Sky at Cayon Lands National Park. Then I took a devilish rock and gravel road down to the bottom. What they have out here is called slick rock and it's just what the name implies. Front tire fell into a crevice on a 10% grade switchback and the handle bars where wrenched so violently from my grasp that they snapped the mirrors off. It's easier picking up the bike on a downhill slope. If it wasn't for my new friends from Horizon's Unlimited that had giving me pointers on off road riding I don't think I would have attempted this ride alone. Spectacular vistas abound. Look closely at the pics and you’ll spot the roads at the bottom of the canyons. It took about what the rangers said, 2-3 hours to do 18 miles. One road follows the white rim, eponymously named, White Rim Road. A hundred ten mile, two day jaunt. I’d like to put a coterie of adventurous soul’s together to go back and ride this one. Gawd, I love this shit.
Dead Horse Point - UT |
Road to the bottom of Dead Horse Point |
White Rim Road - UT |
Slick rock |
5 July, went and rode Arches National Park. Spent most of the day hiking to the different arches. Then found a black dotted line on the map and took that one. The trail disappeared when I encountered a dry wash or river bed. Slick rock going down, thick, soft desert sand at the bottom, with shear slick rock on the other side. Without knobbies I didn't think the bike would make it and I was concerned with the steepness of the slick rock on the other side. Worse that could happen was that I would bash the bike bad and would have to hike out. Took a deep breath, gave it gas, and leaned forward on the pegs to keep that front tire from doing a wheely. Gawd, I love this shit. |
Wednesday, I arrived for the Horizon’s Unlimited
Travelers Meeting at the Buena Vista, Colorado KOA. So far these western
campgrounds have
been crap.. T.W.O. in Suches, Georgia which is built on a bog is a
five star accommodation by comparison. |
Rick, Me, and Clark 1st Pass - CO |
After finishing off a couple of passes and riding through Tin Cup, a village
still in a time warp. We climbed the Alpine Tunnel Road. An old railroad
bed that had been used by the gold miners at the turn of the century. The
gravel and switchbacks where fairly easy. 2nd and 3rd gear stuff, high on
the pegs. Only gnarly in a couple of spots. The bash plate taking some nasty
hits and the suspension bottoming out.
As I’ve written in the past, the most dangerous condition on these
western roads is the incredible natural beauty. Half mile from the top I
sat down and shifted into 1st so I could take in the incredible vista, breathe
in the spruce bouquet, and enjoy the crisp snow dusted mountain.
That’s when I became one with Zippy, the Pin Head. Upon looking back
at the gravel road, just in front of me was a small rock out cropping. Maybe
four inches high. Quickly, I stood up on the pegs and gave it some gas to
wheely over it. Not having enough forward momentum, when the back tire hit,
it was like putting on the brakes. The front tire came down hard, which caused
me to drop down and my throttle wrist with it. The surge of power flipped
me off the bike landing me on my back with such force that my camel back
burst. The bike flipped also and came down hard on me. I had been a good
3 to 4 feet away from the edge of the road but I guess our combined weight
slid us off the side of the mountain. Since we where above the tree line
we started an avalanche of rocks and dirt, as well as my own excrement. With
endorphins kicking in I launched that bike off my rib cage and down the mountain.
Everyone for themselves, you know. I caught it out the corner of my eye tumbling
end over end as I was trying to flip onto my stomach and claw into anything
to arrest my momentum. Grabbing a bush, I finally had time to exhale.
When I crawled up, Clark, one of the tent neighbors was finding a flat spot
to dismount his bike and come to my aid. He had seen the bike tumbling down
the mountain but could not spot me.
After ascertaining that I was all right other than scarring the living shit
out
of myself. We pulled out cameras to document this “Mountain of Shame”.
Long Walk Down |
|
Crushed pannier marks the spot |
Vista where I went over the side - CO |
We also climbed down to the bike and found it balanced on the edge of a crevice and took pictures. Front forks snapped and weeping oil, triple trees almost facing backwards, metal twisted like balloon poodles at a kids birthday party. I had wad it up. Not even salvage value.
Can you spot the moto? |
Bike on the edge of the ravine |
My Saviors, Peggy and Kathy |
Back on top, Peg and Kathy, ladies that had been traveling the country in their motor home, came upon us, said “Holy Mother of God” and took some pics. I asked them for the a ride down the mountain so I could rent a car. Since they where going to Alpine tunnel and that was the only turn around I told them to enjoy their wanderings and just pick me up on the way down. They were concerned for me but I had supplies-cigars, beef jerky, and water. Just lacking a little nip of adult beverages in case of snakebite. Nobody had any, so in the future that will be in my first aid kit. |
Since I had been camping I had not heard of the London bombing nor Hurricane Dennis barreling into the Gulf of Mexico. While renting a car, called the wife and she said it was a Cat 4. Broke camp and was gone by six o’clock. Spent the night in Pueblo, Co and left the next day at 6 AM. Back was killing me, ribs and left knee sore, left hand fingers hyper extended trying to grip anything. Drove 22 hours straight (1,600+ miles), surviving on Red Bull beverages. Banged on the hacienda door, yelling “Unbolt the door, Delay no more, I’m home from the Road to fill you will Lore” Slept for three hours, buttoned up the house and evacuated 6 hours away. Wife said it took 2 days for me to come off the Red Bull high. Gawd, I love this shit.
Remember to wear all the gear all the time so as not to become unattractive
to the opposite sex- as my helmet will attest.
Life is tough but its tougher if your stupid.
Drink, smoke and consort with women of questionable virtue.
Ride Hard, Smile Big.
Paco
PS: Within the week have already picked up a Suzuki Wee-Strom DL 650
and am kiting it for Copper Canyon and Batopilas, Mexico come October.
Gawd, I love this shit ;-)))
Try this link for another look at the aftermath.