Thanks all for a good time. I haven't been to that area in ages so it was like the old days. I was amazed how well those guys were riding those "L"s. When I die I hope you guys can dig me a hole at the monument and plant my bald head with my throttle grip in hand!
I arrived Saturday about noon when I got to the camp I must say I was impressed, everything nice and neat a couple new 4x4 diesel trucks and two 5th wheels with the sides popped out, apparently all the men were out riding as several very attractive women were near the outdoor kitchen. As I slid my truck in the oldest woman approximately 35 years old ordered the younger ones back in their trailer and something about getting the dogs and a shotgun........she made it clear that I was in the wrong camp and that I should go down the road to the next camp I explained that I was very sorry and that I really liked to stay she said my our type wasn't welcome. As I left I looked back and could see the cute younger girls peeking thru the designer blinds like scared schoolgirls.
Upon arriving at the next camp with beer drinkers milling around a camp fire I knew I was in the right (or wrong) place. Everyone introduced themselves as "Rich" I figured they were screwing with the new guy and noted each jersey outfit just in case I had the opportunity to place my kenda
upwind of their paths...They said I was just in time to ride and waiting for the two problem guys to get their boots
on. Walking past all the dualsport bikes I chose to leave my 60 lb toolbox that I call a backpack in the truck.......a decision my back felt confident that I wouldn't regret. After I got done unloading my bike and setting up my camp (read pad in back of truck). The two problem knuckleheads were still fussing with their pink basket and pantyhose.......uh I mean boots and cell phone. I haven't been riding with so many for a while and re-acquaint myself with either blinding dust or finding side trails upwind. After a few poorly placed rocks I realized in my hurry I never checked my tires and slowed down to our next stop before I get a pinch flat. As usual when dealing with dualsports there's always several guys with a complete snap on rollaway strapped on his fender and this trip was no exception. One guy whips out an air gauge to confirm what any squid could sum up with a glance that i needed air.....another guy swilling beer all dressed in green had a little air bottle and his partner had the filler tool (I figured they were a couple and left it at that). It turns out the kawasaki
guy(I can only assume his name is
rich) was merely trying (quite nicely I must say) to accessorize and color coordinate heiniken cans with his green outfit (I think no one would argue that he stayed color coordinated thru the whole trip). The balance of the ride was uneventful there were a few whoops to loosen up on. However It turns out the one guy that lent me the air filler was riding with only his right hand. I was a little confused and just figured he was showing off how fast he was, I didn't know where we were going but I figured he teased me enough so I zipped past him........after a racing thru the whoops for a while and satisfied that he must be using both hands I pulled over and we went searching for everybody else. Figuring somebody in the back had decided to try to display and sell some of the extra crap in around their yard we parked waited. The balance of the ride was uneventful as Agent skillfully guided us back to the ice chests brimming with super cold icy beer. I could tell immediately that this was everybody's comfort zone with motorcycles parked between a fire and ice chest. Tony (splodge's son) took to the camera which after listening to the banter back and forth was destined to failure....however everybody humored them and we stood for pictures. I could understand why some parties just couldn't wait for this group to go riding as it was hard to get them to leave the comfort of the fire and ice chests. However after several prompts we got a late start for an evening ride. We went down the road and to some abandoned buildings where the
"R" guys watched the "L" guys do burnouts.......I secretly thought .........hmmm so this is what "L" guys do when they get together! I recall thinking are burnouts any more stupid than the things the "R" guys do like trying to climb unclimbable hills or 30 miles of deep whoops. And after all every guy secretly wants to do smoking burnouts just like we did as high school kids in our parents station wagon. After a while I decided I wanted to go back and do burnouts in the building so I broke my throttle cable as an excuse to return. At this point three guys with snap on rollaways pull up to give me a hand on dis-assembling my bike. At one point there were literally three different guys whipping out tools and dis assembling my bike I was more than a little scared when a forth guy pulls our a pair
of pliers and started twisting away on my bike........I was about ready to shout at him as I would one of my mechanics when their about ready to use the wrong tool to undoubtedly rip every bit of factory applied finish from the metals surface. I looked up at all of them with fear, they looked so intent on fixing my problem that I didn't have the heart to try and stop them. I just had to walk away. When I came back to see if any usable parts were left to be salvaged I was pleasantly surprised as Agent explained that all I had to do was to yank the vice grips and the bike would go. Cleanord (I can only remember his name cuz it wasn't rich), pulled me aside and advised me to use care when yanking on the vicegrips too aggressively while they are hooked up to a 650 cc minibike (what was now left of my used to be 650r). While riding back I thought what a great job these guys had done at fixing my bike. No doubt the tv show Macgyver was based on "Agents" true life story, agent wasn't like the rest the dualsporters, he had a shiny new "R" his bike only had a tiny fender bag that it contained only a pair
of flip flops and a tiny vicegrips. I learned later that with those simple items he could re-build any part of a honda
, hodaka, husky or probably any bike for that matter. When I first met Agent all bent over with grimaces on his face........I figured he's damn near crippled whats he doing out here riding. Boy was I glad I met this man as without him (or the three roll away tool boxes) I would have been walking 20 miles back to camp.
Things deteriorated after it got dark, nobody ate, they just drank and began exploding things. At one point several people had explosives and gas cans in hand filling beer bottles to explode in the fire. As things further deteriorated and one of the guys lit my dads down jacket on fire (that I just got repaired from my last ride). I kept vigilant and always tried to put my feet between my face and the beer bottle full of gasoline that these sickos were trying to explode just feet from my face. Eventually we had to hide the gasoline from some individuals they then resorted to trying to explode their MRE's not like it would matter as nobody cared to eat and only drank more beer. Some where around this time Tattooart with a really shiny bike decided that the guy in green and Cleanord were too dangerous to allow in camp any longer take them far out into the desert. I wanted to go with them and try out my new headlight but my bike was broken (in retrospect having broken and further dismantling my motorcycle possibly saved my life). Tattooart made the mistake of telling Tony that he could have his truck if he didn't come back that night (that would come back to haunt him as morning approached). I was dead tired but knew it was too dangerous to sleep so I forced myself to stay awake and drink more beer......... I was curious to find out what had happened to tattooart and the guys he had lured out into the desert night to likely never return, I figured his plan was to flashburn their eyeballs with his pod of suntan lamps, leaving them blind and helpless adrift in a lonely cold desert. It was about this time an immigrant stumbled into camp. To say the least we were insulted that he would show up with his flag waving drinking foreign beer with one of those stupid damn accents, I have no idea what ever happened to the foreigner however upwind of camp a ways there was a shovel with freshly piled dirt that just makes me fear the worst.
The next day I wasn't surprised when the morning ride started after noon. This was the first time I was actually able to meet these sickos, turns out most of them were pretty nice. Coolage was roughing it in the camp next to mine turned out to be a handy
neighbor he was the only sane one and had turned in early the previous night and barricaded himself in his rig. Agent I learned hurt his back explaining his hunched grimace. Martin and his dad (I believe they are both named Rich) were just the nicest guys and i felt really bad for not trying harder to stop Denn from throwing a lit m-80 in their tent. Thumper Is in the prime of his life and going for the gusto. Carl and the Kawasaki guy eventually stumbled into camp the next morning.........I caught tattooart leaving with parts off my bike (probably figured it was another abandoned mess in the desert) saying "don't worry I can get you all fixed up".
Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it!
I can't wait for the next tt ride on the 26th to San Felipe