When nature is administering an ass whooping, I usually deliberately slow down. If you’re soaking wet, or cold, or lost, or twisted an ankle, or it’s dark when you planned on being in camp by sunset… you’ve already made one or more “mistakes”. Slow down and exercise caution lest you compound your stupidity. It’s generally not the first mistake that’ll kill ya’, it’s the second or third cascading out of control.
So, did I stick with my experience? Nope! Having gotten absolutely pummeled by thunderstorm a wise man will carefully unpack his bags, get out dry clothes, and get warm and comfy. Do that right away. If you’re super wet you might need to start a fire. If nature has absolutely curb stomped you, you might wind up spending the night right there! I had all my gear with me. The only thing at town was maybe a warm place to sit while eating a hamburger. Alas, I decided to “soldier on” rather than risk letting my dry stuff get wet too. One must make choices. I did.
What I didn’t realize was that the cold was seeping into my joints. I was already sore but now I was slowly “seizing up”. I didn’t recognize the effect on myself.
Oh well.
Strike 0 was the storm. Got caught out in the open and drenched.
Strike 1: the trail turned to thick sticky mud. My front tire tread was completely gummed up. It was hard to steer.
Strike 2: It was going to be dark soon.
Steady. Don’t panic. Tortoise wins, hair loses.
I broke out onto a gravel road. I gained a little speed and flung the mud off the front tire. Nice! It was lightly raining.
The bike went on reserve. Is that strike 3? I’d burned all the fuel in my “main tank” and now was running on the limited portion left. Meh, it’s probably no big deal. I had a gallon of “spare” fuel. Deploying it would be a hassle. I elected to keep running on reserve while the sun was up. If I had to fiddle with straps and stuff, I would do it after the fleeting sun was gone.
I took a turn. Oddly the canyon I hoped for kept not showing up. Was that Strike 3?
I stopped to reconcile my paper map to a digital map on my cell (out of service but the GPS works off grid). I’d jumped off the trail. The BDR meandered into a canyon which surely looked gorgeous but would be a pain in the ass in the dark. The turn I took was shooting straight toward my planned destination of Ten Sleep. Nice. I stuck with my impromptu shortcut. I didn’t want to miss scenery but I’d had enough fun for one day.
The road was cut into a steep hillside; steep wall on one side, drop off on the other. Three mule deer crashed down from the wall… there must be a path up there somewhere. They charged across in front of my bike and leapt down from the road. There must be a trail there too… but for all I know they needed parachutes to land.
The deer were a good omen. I’d be in a warm tavern soon!
Nope. The road was blocked.
Damn!
There’s “tree across the road” and there’s “TREE ACROSS THE ROAD”. This was a beast of a tree, clearly toppled during the windstorm just an hour earlier. It blocked the road perfectly. I couldn’t go off the road to get around it on either the uphill or downhill side. It was way too big to move with one guy’s strength.
I usually carry a little folding saw. It’s something like 6″. It wouldn’t help with this mess and I didn’t have it with me anyway.
I don’t know how many strikes I had against me but was time to regroup and adapt. No more “fleeing to warmth”. I dug through my bags and put on the “base” I’d paid so much for at REI (can you believe it was just a day ago!). I added dry socks and a dry t-shirt. My sweatshirt might never be dry again, but I had a ratty old blaze orange fleece as backup. I swapped from my soaked motorcycle gloves to a backup set. I felt a lot better.
I consulted the map, if I backtracked and then maneuvered through the canyon it would kill maybe 2+ hours just to get a couple miles from where I was standing. After that I’d still have 20 miles of riding left (mostly on pavement). I was tired of riding and elected to not backtrack.
There was no point in hiking out on foot. It was a good 15+ miles from any services. Best to wait and see what happens next. The road could serve as a flat spot should I elect to setup a tent. There was ample firewood… though soaked and low quality.
Camping on the road because it’s blocked is almost a cliché. That was my official “backup plan”. I could whip out my JetBoil and make a warm meal… maybe some hot cocoa.
If nobody showed up by morning I’d build a debris ramp to get up and over the log. As for the evening, the day was officially shot and using a makeshift ramp solo is a “do it in the sunlight” sort of thing. My target of a campground in Ten Sleep and a hamburger served in a warm tavern faded into impossibility.
A few deer hunters showed up on the opposite side of the tree. They piled out of a fairly shiny and new truck. It had no winch. They were polite and very nice.
We chatted. I assured them I was OK. In fact I was considering making cocoa. They asked about mule deer. I’d seen three… very close to my side of the log. They pondered this. They had less than an hour of shooting light and people don’t like to abandon their vehicle. They weren’t willing to hike on my side of the log. They backed up, turned around, and left.
Once again I was alone.
Having seen a truck in only half an hour of waiting, I figured more would come. This was good and bad news. Good news is sooner or later someone would have a winch and a chainsaw. Bad news is that setting up a tent in the road could bite me in the ass. (There was nowhere to camp that was off the road.) After the hassle of setting up a tent I might fall asleep only to have someone show up, clear the log, and roust me out of bed. The minute the log was moved everyone would want the weirdo and his tent out of the way!
I waited a bit more. Another truck showed up. This was bear hunters. The fun kind that drink… lots. Real nice people.
I was offered a Coors Light. Then another Coors Light. I was just warming up and didn’t want ice cold piss water beer, but it couldn’t be avoided. Every time someone saw I had two empty hands they assumed a beer needed to be in one. I accepted a can just to be sociable.
“You’re traveling alone?”
“Yep.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Feels like it right now.”
“What were you going to do if we didn’t show up?”
“Start a small warming fire and setup my tent. I can whip up dinner on my JetBoil and maybe some hot cocoa. I’ve got a cigar so I might enjoy that too.”
They nodded like I was mad. Redneck bear hunters travel in packs and (I guess) never leave the truck. A goofball camping solo by his little bike just doesn’t compute.
They assessed the log and left. They returned ten minutes later with someone in a UTV and the same truck… and more beer. The guy in the UTV seemed a respected elder?
They had redneck labor, a truck, a UTV, beer, and a friendly dog. Did they have a winch? Nope. Did they have a chainsaw? Nope. Eventually someone produced the world’s most tattered rope. Finally! I knew the log would be cleared eventually.
The truck owner, maybe the only sober one in the group, didn’t like the idea of tearing up his truck pulling the giant log. I didn’t blame him. With this labor force I could stack debris to make a ramp up and over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I suggested that.
They decided ramps were lame. They’d just dead lift the whole bike over the log… which is a good way for a buzzed redneck to drop a Yamaha from waist high onto his foot. I said “lets see if the truck can move the log first”. That slowed their chaos before things got out of hand.
Meanwhile the dog and the UTV operator were thinking. The UTV guy picked a branch near a break in the half rotten log and said “pull this one”. He’d found a key point of weakness. Well done! The dog concurred by peeing on the branch. The truck operator shrugged and started stringing his frayed old rope.
Voila!
The log pivoted, broke, and a 3′ long hunk was dragged backwards to be kicked into the ditch by helpful observers. Go team redneck!
They were setting up for a second pull but I asked them to pause and let me scoot past. I crushed my empty can of swill and strapped it to the bike, thanked everyone profusely, pet the dog, and zipped away.
They’d been a fun bunch.
Half an hour later I popped out on pavement in the pitch dark. My off road lights worked well. I’d hoped to never need them. Here I was; dependent on them in one day!
Pavement was a twisty canyon; not the short hop I expected. I’m sure it was beautiful. In the dark all I saw was signs warning me of one hairpin turn after the other. It was steep enough that my TW200 rolled down at “traffic speed”. I wasn’t holding anyone up and in fact I never saw anyone. I couldn’t have managed those tight turns any faster in a Lamborghini anyway.
I pulled into Ten Sleep at 8:45 pm. The town, including dogs and cats, goes to bed by 9:00 pm. I had no idea where the brewery was but I’d been assured by the bear hunters it would be closed at this hour. The brewery was associated with the campground. So the campground would be unattended too; even if I could find it.
I saw a hotel. The owner greeted me like a man who holds all the cards. He was closing at 9:00 pm. Did I want a room or not? Hastily, I paid full rate (it wasn’t cheap).
The only place still open for food was a hippie burger place called “One Cow”. Theoretically, they were already closed but they were super nice and made me a burger. The food was excellent but seating was pavilions; outside in the misting rain. So much for a warm dry dinner.
At the hotel I spread my stuff out to dry, took Ibuprofen, called home so people knew I was alive, and collapsed in bed. I was super, extra, mega sore. I couldn’t fall asleep until midnight.
I’d had a stupidly huge portion of “adventure” in just the first day! I hoped the next would be far less dramatic.