Adaptive Curmudgeon

The trail continued on its jolly way but now each rut seemed mildly menacing. Having sloshed, stumbled, and squished my way across a water hazard with all the grace of a drunk elephant, I wanted to get to the other side of this particular patch of trail without retreating. I was a little cold but not too bad. As soon as I found a real road, I’d hightail it for the truck, its heater, and the complete change of clothes that’s always stashed amid my truck’s clutter.

At the moment there wasn’t much I could do. My feet and legs were coated in filthy mud. I had dry socks in my luggage but what’s the point of dry socks in wet boots?

The trail was dry and passible and everything was looking great right up until it wasn’t. Just when I thought I was nearing the salvation of another road; I met the second water hazard. Just like the first, this one could not be circumvented.

At the first water hazard my choices were left, right, or retreat. Now my choices were left, right, or retreat into something that just kicked my ass. I considered my dwindling options for a few minutes. Things weren’t too serious yet. It wasn’t too late in the day, it wasn’t too cold, and more to the point I’d have to get myself out on my own anyway. Maybe the Dodge could traverse the last hazard but that’s an iffy proposition (I don’t own a winch). Certainly Mrs. Curmudgeon couldn’t pilot the behemoth though that mess. I needed to get the bike and myself back to civilization on my own. Even if I chose to walk out, that wouldn’t help. I’d not only leave myself with the problem of abandoned equipment in the forest but I’d have to waddle thorough one of two water hazards anyway.

Adventure is like that. It gets more interesting with each problem.

I sighed. There was nothing for it. I gave up all hope of keeping my feet on the foot pegs and resigned myself to a few minutes of messy chaos. There might be swearing and some spinning of the rear tire but it would be over soon. I plunged into the second water hazard.

Bad choice!

The first water hazard exceeded my abilities but a better rider could have done it pretty well. The second water hazard was just plain stupid for anybody. (Cut me some slack, I’m still learning what can and cannot be done with an off-road motorcycle.)

Things went pear shaped right away! In just the first few feet, the front tire fucking disappeared! I had no idea the water was that deep. I didn’t have time to register surprise because everything went to shit in a flash. When the front tire vanished, it sent up a wave in front of me and I gunned it to keep up with the wave; lest the water get too deep and kill my engine. This did exactly no good because the bike sputtered out immediately. Panicked, I put my foot down to hold things up. There was nothing there.

The bike and I went over.

It was a flat out, full-fledged, no holds barred, complete wipeout. I landed on my left side… underwater!

My God it was cold!

I popped up fast and with a minimum of drama. It’s not the first time I’ve received a surprise dunking in a pond and, sadly, it probably won’t be the last.

Apparently, I had the good sense or luck to leap off the bike because I was next to the prone beast and not straddling it and flopping around like a fish in a net. Happily, I didn’t get water in my full-face helmet but pretty much every square inch of the rest of me was doused. None of this bothered me. At the time I only had two thoughts. The first was to get my feet under me… which happened more or less automatically. The second was to rescue the submerged machine… which wasn’t going to happen automatically unless I had a magic wand.

Just a few seconds after going over I had my footing and shoved the bike upright. Which, in some ways was good news. In other ways, two seconds is an eternity.

I found myself standing balls deep in the coldest damn water this side of the Arctic; clutching the handlebars in a death grip and fuming. What had gotten over me? I was absolutely shocked at myself. How is it that I’d done something this unhinged? The bike was kaput, of course, but I clicked off the ignition and reached down to shut off the gas line. There wasn’t much else I could do at the moment.

Hoping for a quick escape, I pushed the bike forward. It didn’t move an inch.

I allowed myself a brief expression of my frustration. “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

After that very short break, I began struggling with the bike. I quickly realized the reason it wouldn’t roll was that it was still in gear. With some splashing and several awkward kicks at the shifter I got it in neutral. Then came several minutes of pushing and grunting. I didn’t expect the struggle. Dual sport bikes come in all sizes. A TW200 is about the smallest, lightest of the breed and yet it was still a lot of work to push it out of that quagmire. Perhaps, the mud was just too deep, or perhaps the water was an issue, or maybe my balance was a mess? All I know is I got some aerobic exercise out of the situation. If I’d purchased a bigger heavier bike like a BMW I’d probably have had to do something with ropes and pulleys.

It was surely no more than 5-10 minutes before the bike and I emerged. It felt like an hour.

Once on dry land, I set it on its kickstand and would’ve collapsed on the dirt next to it to rest…except ice water was still flowing off my back and down the crack of my ass and I didn’t think lying flat would help.

Yes, I said it. “Ice water flowing down the crack of my ass”. There are high points in life and this wasn’t one of them. What sucked is the predictability of it all. Aside from me, who had played his role in this little tragedy like a predestined automaton, who is surprised? I’d been like the character in every horror movie that wanders off alone to explore the creepy basement. What a doofus!

But it certainly had been a dramatic um… sinking. Is that not why I was there? Now I had an adventure on my hands! I’d stupidly created a true shitstorm out of a chilly spring afternoon. I was in a situation which held my complete attention. Is that not the true measure of life? In a world where everyone was fretting over masks and Governor’s proclamations and edicts about barbers and businesses, I had a clearer and more important situation to handle… I’d just ridden my bike to the bottom of a pond. Also, I was definitely an idiot. World. Class. Idiot!

I could stop now but there’s more…

Nothing lasts forever. Eventually I got to the end of my little road. I had crossed a small ridge and emerged several miles from my starting point. I was on a main road. Actually, when I say “main road” I mean a well-traveled and properly maintained dirt road.

Lucky for me, my track continued right across the main road and kept going. There was even another sign, “Minimum Maintenance Road”. I love those signs!

Unfortunately, things started getting rough now. The ruts were deeper and muddier and more imposing. Even the snowmobiles had avoided this area. But I didn’t mind, my little bike felt ready to handle anything. I glanced at the sky; it was getting late in the day. I had time for more exploration but within a couple hours I should be hustling back to the truck. It was sure to be very cold after sunset.

Soon enough I encountered my first real water hazard. Cue the ominous music!

It didn’t look too bad really. I’ve seen about a million YouTube videos of people blasting through stuff like this; easy peasy. My only question was whether I could get across with my feet on the foot pegs or not. My worst-case scenario was mostly just wet toes.

I got off the bike and paced about, weighing my options. It was impossible to go around. I could go on the left side. I could go on the right side. I could try to ride the ridge between the two ruts (which were submerged beneath the water where I could not see them). It didn’t seem that deep and the bottom was probably sandy. Of course, there’s the ever-present option of just plain chickening out. But I wasn’t too far from that maintained road and it wasn’t too late in the day so why not go for it?

I picked the right wheel rut, put it in first gear, planted my feet firmly on the pegs, and rolled confidently into the water. It took about three feet to realize every assumption I’d made was wrong. The bottom was not sandy! The front tire was not following an identifiable wheel rut! And there was no way in hell I was keeping my bike upright without deploying outriggers.

I got my feet down just in time for the bike to stall and lose momentum. The hot muffler sent up a plume of steam. My feet were instantly drenched.

Sitting on the seat of an immobile motorcycle in the middle of what now felt like a small pond, I pulled up first one foot and then the other. So much for that set of work boots! My feet were drenched and my boots encased in a three-quarter inch thick layer of muck. Captain Obvious decided he needs proper motorcycle boots and he should have purchased them a well before the ride.

Completely chastised, I thumbed the ignition and the little bike fired right up. The rear tire got modest grip but the front was just plowing along somewhat randomly. With steering more a suggestion than an order and the bottom obscured beneath the water, I couldn’t tell where the bike wanted to go. There was no chance I could just hop on and charge for shore. Defeated and embarrassed; I duckwalked my ride through another 30’ of water and slime.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I emerged on the other side. The thing about adventure that you don’t know what’s gonna’ happen. I chuckled a little bit to myself and thought that perhaps wet feet were the beginning of a learning experience. I sent out another text on my SpotX: “Stupidly rode into muddy mess. But all is well. Will buy boots soon.”

Wet and humbled, I rolled on…

The day dawned clear and cold. I had cabin fever the likes of which would scare Jack Nicholson. It was cold, but sunny; close enough to summer for me. Time to ride!

I grabbed my keys, strode towards my garage, and then used every bit of my self-control to veer away… I had work to do. I spent the next six hours working and going slowly mad. Being an adult sucks!

By late afternoon I’d finished my work and it was time to play. It was about 50°. Summer hadn’t yet arrived and I was pushing the season. Well aware of the risks (and knowing that I was both inexperienced with off-road motorcycles and new to this machine) I decided to carry some extra stuff. I packed some extra clothes, an MRE, water, matches, flashlight, etc.… The usual survival kit for playing in less than ideal conditions.

I’m trying to train myself to leave a trail of virtual breadcrumbs with my SpotX. Mrs. Curmudgeon and a select few got my departing message; “Going off-road to explore. All is well.”

With that, I was gone!

I wasted some time wondering about country roads looking to start the true ride. Eventually I found my target, an imposing sign that said “Minimum Maintenance Road”. I’ve seen signs like that in many states and many places and I always hate passing one without investigating. It was finally my time to sniff about and see what I could find.

I found this particular sign about a month ago. At the time, the road was locked by deep packed snowdrifts. It had spent the winter as the domain of snowmobiles, and judging from the frozen tracks, snowmobiles had passed there in herds. As the thaw progressed, the snowmobiles gave way but the drift was still there and even walking that road would have been nearly impossible. By now, the ground was muddy but snow free.

And what a glorious road it was! I leapt at the sight and was a half-mile down the track before I calmed down and forced myself to stop. I sent another SpotX breadcrumb: “Min Maint Road. W00t!” These messages include navigation information. The more I send them, the stronger my habit of building that information trail will grow. I had my cell phone stashed in my luggage. I checked it was receiving my breadcrumbs. Interesting to know that I was still within cell phone reception. (Using a cell phone to test the SpotX seems redundant, but it’s the best testing plan I can think of.)

I turned the cell phone off and stowed it my waterproof luggage. Now the fun would really begin! It was a bit cold but I had heavy gear and was warm enough.

As soon as that sign disappeared behind me, everything was perfect! The road, just parallel wheel tracks from some tractors and a few ATVs, was easy but not too easy. My plucky little steed and I sputtered along through ruts that would hinder my huge Dodge and eat a minivan, but there was nothing too “technical”.

I rode slow and happy. I found myself humming in my helmet. I had the world to myself. Several times I stopped to enjoy the scenery and breathe the air of a forest slowly waking from a long winter. I wasn’t summiting a mountain or carving canyons, I was just chugging along amid grazing lands and old logging roads; just what I wanted.

This is why I bought the bike. Not to blast like a rocket but to saunter. Stress flowed away. Peace descended upon me. I smile at the memory…

Of course, you know there’s more. Stay tuned…

This is the post you knew was coming. The moment I started pondering the purchase of an Argo or ATV was the first step on the direct linear path to this moment.

A moth to flame, I.

Since you already know where I’m headed, I’ll start with the ending.

I leaned against a tree and wiped a cold, soaking wet hand across my furrowed brow. “I guess…” I was speaking to myself, miles away from the nearest other human.

“I guess this was part of the plan.”

Nearby, perched crookedly between some wheel ruts, stood my stout uncomplaining steed; my brand spanking new Yamaha TW200. It was filthy. Water was dripping from every nook and cranny. It was not running.

“There’s no getting around it.” I thought. “I sunk that bitch like a cannonball hurled into the Mariana Trench.”

Stay tuned…