I have a friend, Mark, that, for the last ten years, takes a long weekend every August and rides near Taylor Reservoir (north of Gunnison, CO) every August. He envited me and some other friends to join him and his family for a few days of camping, fishing and riding in the high country not far from Taylor. Mark headed up and set up camp on a wednesday and I went up and met up with him on friday night. Saturday morning we all got up and all of us diehard dirtbiker types wanted to do a good 50-60 mile loop and be back to camp before lunch. We took off for one of marks favorites called the Star Trail. The Star Trail begins at about 9,000 feet and ascends to 11,500 feet in about 9 miles. It is 9 miles of singletrack nirvana; rocks, roots, log crossings, boulder fields, rocks and roots, and more rocks and roots, and to make things interesting it rained most of the night before. Just before the summit there was a section that looked like it was blocked by some deadfall and some new tracks heading around a large rock on the right side of the trail. I was second in line and I followed mark on the detour. Around the far side of the truck-sized rock the trail turned back to the left and intersected the original trail. Just before the trails converged there was another large flat rock that you had to ride accross before dropping off a small lip onto the original trail that was covered with wet moss. I lost traction on the flat rock going about 2 mph and rather than shoot past the original trail, down the hill and into the trees I jast laid the bike down on its right side and stepped off. I picked up the bike and slid it off the rock and onto the trail and restarted and was ready to continue when the dude behind me yelled "hey, you're leaking something!" I looked on the left side and saw coolant running off the skid plate and thought "wow, that's a lot of coolant comong out of the overflow line". Then I looked at the right side and my heart sank. A small protrusion on the flat rock that I laid the bike on managed to miss the skidplate completely, crush the exhaust and demolish the water pump cover and Y-pipe. I wasn't going anywhere and there was no way in hell that bike could be pushed or towed off the trail. I was at least 5 miles from the nearest 4x4 trail, at 11,500 feet, in the woods, and it was starting to rain again. No ammount of quick-fix wonder epoxy was going to fix the cover and any water poured into the radiator immediately ran on the ground. It was early enough in the day that there might be a chance that the Yamaha dealer in Gunnison might be able to help me, so I decided to wait with the bike and the others would go into town (40 miles away) and/or look for someone with a WR or YZ450 that would 'loan' some parts to get me off the mountain before dark. After about an hour communing with nature I started to get a little cold so I made a small fire ring and gathered up some wood that was reasonably dry and went digging for some matches in my back. None. I could've swore I had some damn matches. Off come the fuel tank. I pulled the spark plug, took a small twig with the end dipped in gas and set it next to the plug, and hit the starter button. The twig lit up and I kept it burning long enough to start a fire. After about two hours I heard a group of bikes coming up the trail (a bunch of guys on Husabergs) and when they saw me standing on the side of the trail they stopped and I explained what was going on. They were nice enough, offered to help, but none of them had any better plans. So I waited. About an hour after the Husaberg dudes left I heard another bike heading up the trail. It was Mark. He didn't have any parts to fix the bike but he didn't want to risk having me spent the night on the trail. He had one of the others in our group take his 4x4 pickup and head to the end of nearest 4x4 trail and Mark and myself would try to ride two-up on his DRZ. I scuttled my bike in the woods off the trail and recorded the location on my GPS. I jumped on the back of Marks bike and we made it about 300 yards before I had to get off and walk. I walked about 300 yards and was able to get back on the DRZ again. This 300 on/300 off routine repeated itself for about 3miles......mind you that's an overweight, out of shape, 44 year old wearing riding boots, full moto gear, and a Camelback full of useless stuff at 11,500ft in terrain that would make Sir Edmund Hillary have flashbacks of his conquest of Mt. Everest. When we found the pickup we loaded the bike and sat in the back seat sucking on an empty camelback hose the entire way back to camp. When we got back to camp I found out which friends I could count on in a pinch; Rich drove all the way to Gunnison only to find out that no one at the Yamaha dealer wanted to remove any parts from any of their bikes because the owner wasn't there, and then he called another friend that had a WR I might be able to borrow parts from but he was too busy working (as a volunteer) at an enduro, and the others I was camping with were riding to other camps looking for a bike like mine. It just so happened that I had a customers WR450 in my shop waiting for top end parts, but that was over 100 miles away. I drove home that night (about a three hour drive) and rounded up all of the parts I needed and headed back out at 6 the next morning. When I got back to the camp Mark had scouted a slightly shorter route back to my bike. We loaded his DRZ in the truck and headed back up. We unloaded Marks DRZ at a spot that was about one mile closer than the path we took out the day before. I did the ride/hike routine again 'till we got to my bike, but this time it was swith a pack full of tools, parts, and coolant. When I got the bike put back togther Mark had a dissapointed look on his face and asked me "so what do you wanna do now?" I think he was expecting me to say 'head back to camp'. I told him "I wanna finish the ride we started yesterday!" We rode about 65 miles in pouring rain before we went back to camp.....one of the best rides I've ever been on!