I rolled out going forward; heading toward wherever Beer Faeries come from. The trail was pretty rough but nothing a proper UTV or my little dirtbike couldn’t handle. Where the heck had they come from? Anywhere I supposed. They’d come 85 miles and that’s a very long way on backwoods trails.
I don’t have a fat UTV bench seat, two compatriots, and a nice squishy suspension. I was getting tired. By the time I emerged from the swamp trail I was at least 40 miles from my tent and probably more.
There’s a thing about distances. They’re relative. Forty miles is nothing if you’re flying down the interstate in a Subaru. It’s a middling piece on a cushy UTV. It’s a long way for a novice rider / old guy on a dirt bike. It’s two days walk in this temperature if the bike craps out on a solo rider. A guy like me can do a two day hike… I’ve done it before. But it sucks. I was already far enough out for an inexperienced suburbanite to get himself killed. (And yes, that does happen in this area from time to time. Not every year but every so often.)
It was late afternoon and I started evaluating my options. Should I go back the way I came or try a lop that might be easier (and therefore more fuel efficient) riding?
Going back the swamp trail was do-able but I prefer loops to backtracking. The sun was still high in the sky. I had food and water and two magic beers. How far does a little TW go on a tank? Also, how much energy did I have left? Enough to make me want to go forward instead of back.
I did some math. The TW has a 1.4 gallon tank. (I later researched and it’s really 1.8 gallons which I wished I’d known that day!) I’ve only gone on reserve once and that was at 68 miles. That day I was flogging the bike on a paved road at speeds the engine doesn’t like. I’d rolled about 5 miles on reserve to a gas station and the fill up had been a little over a gallon. So, being cautious, figure 68 MPG from my actual experience times 1.4 gallons in the tank. That’s about… carry the one, brush a bug out of my face, recalculating… 95 miles or so. That’s a conservative estimate, but then again walking is hard.
I was showing 50-ish miles on my odometer for this particular trip and that’s already more than half-ish of my conservative 95 miles. Glance at sun… I’m still going in the wrong direction. Shit!
So technically, I was potentially screwed. Though, probably not. This is a motorcycle and not a helicopter. I also guessed 98 mile range on a TW was a bit low. Did I do the math wrong or something? I’d been sputtering along slow and easy, surely I had more range than a hundred clicks?
Ace up the sleeve. I’ve got an MSR bottle stashed in my gear. It was either a pint or a quart but whatever it was would easily get me home. Nicely played Curmudgeon.
I rolled forward with confidence. I went through some nice forest, each mile putting me further from “home base” but embracing the chance to see more cool shit. I was hoping to catch a bear sighting… though any bear with half a brain wouldn’t be roaming in this sun. I wound up following some arrow straight ditches for a while and an hour later I was fully committed to “the loop”. There was no going back now.
Clever me to have stashed that MSR bottle! It has been sitting there, unused, since shortly after I bought the bike. Meant for just such a situation. I’m so… smart?
Wait a minute here! I’d stashed modern EPA witches brew gasoline last year? I knew I hadn’t added Sta-Bil. It was probably bad gas by now. Dang!
Still riding, I pondered the best course of action. The carbureted TW 200 would probably run on darned near anything that bears a resemblance to gas. It’s not a wimpy fuel injector system that would puke on the first sigh of trouble. Still, bad gas ‘aint good gas and walking sucks. Should I dump the crap from the MSR bottle into the tank now, hoping to dilute whatever crap I’d be adding? Or should I roll on with my perfectly running machine as long as I could. I really had no idea how far to camp. I might get there just fine. The distance might be shorter than I was guessing miles. I might have a better range than my conservative calculations. The “bad gas” might be good. Why test it before it’s needed? I kept rolling
I passed a lovely field. I just had to check it out. A bit behind the field I saw an RV, the only regular sized (non-ATV) vehicle I’d seen all day. Perhaps I could buy a pint of gas from some dude’s generator?
The guy I met was super nice. I didn’t bring up the gas situation and just talked about the topic du jour. “Hot enough for ya?” This guy and his RV had been there a million times. He was a fount of knowledge. He told me I was much closer to my campsite than I expected. This meant fuel was not an issue. Sweet!
I drank a half liter of water, listened to all the local lore I could absorb, and rolled out. True to his prediction, I wound up at camp just before sunset with plenty of fuel left. Nice!
It was a mellow happy (hot!) adventure. I hope y’all enjoyed coming along for the ride.