Gimme a brake ...

The other night I finally managed to get the Sabre road ready. After buttoning up the last detail, I hit the starter button to hear rrr- rr- r Crap! So I had to recharge the battery. I couldn’t go yesterday, but had an opportunity to go out today (Friday), so at long last, I was able to go ride!

So I set out for a stroll, and, yes, I mean a *stroll*. After a 13 month absence of riding, a new rear tire, and new front suspension, I had no intention of pushing hard.

I left with no plan and no map. I had no idea where I would end up and didn’t care. I figured I would let the road dictate my route.   

It really felt great to be back in the saddle again. However, my nerves were racked. I was rusty. I was missing my lines. I was apprehensive. The bike seemed much stiffer, and I was nervous about tossing it into a corner a bit aggressively.

I happened upon an intersection where I could go left or right. I knew I could put together a route that would include some cool roads either way.

I chose left. I had taken this road once before and knew where it would take me, but when I got to my next turn, I took the turn in the opposite direction, as I hadn’t been that way before. In retrospect, I wish I had gone right at that first intersection.

I managed to get myself good and lost. Not that this was a bad thing. as I still had nearly a full tank of gas and over 5 hours of daylight left.

But each road was getting narrower and narrower. I saw a sign for Martha Sundquist Forest, and knew the general area that was located in, so I headed that way thinking I would find a road I was familiar with. The road soon went to gravel, then got a bit rougher, but it still wasn’t too bad, so I continued on. This would be a recurring theme.

I finally came upon a sign that was a map of the Forest area. It just so happened that I was in the center (according to the map) of the Forest. I could’ve turned around and gone back to being lost or forge on to see if I could get “found”, still holding on to the ideal that I would find a familiar road up ahead. I decided to forge on.

I even successfully handled my first water crossing. It wasn’t but a few inches deep, but it was my first. The next one was deep enough to get my feet wet as they were on the footpegs.

WooHoo! After the water crossings, I began climbing … and climbing … and climbing. I was ducking low branches and picking a line with the least rutted trough across it – and all at a fairly brisk (for a greenhorn off-roader) pace. By now, I am thinking how much I want a dual sport. This was kind of fun!

After I had been on this forest road for about an hour, the enthusiasm faded as I was wanting to get back to some asphalt. I spent another 45 minutes riding the ridge top and really beginning to wonder if it ever comes out … ANYWHERE!

I thought I had heard the Twilight Zone theme a couple times. ; )   Then I heard a high pitch “whirring” noise. It was like a bearing or brake drag. I found a place to pull over and started chasing it down.

It turned out the noise was coming from the radiator cap. For nearly two hours, I wasn’t going any faster than 20 mph, the radiator was rather hot as it wasn’t getting cooled by the air all that much.

As it turned out, it wasn’t getting cooled by the fan either as my fan must’ve quit working at some point (it was working before I left the house). I checked the fuses – they all looked good. I bypassed the thermostat switch at the base of the radiator – that didn’t help. I jiggled wires, again no luck.

About this time, a couple guys happened by in a truck that I had passed earlier. They asked if they could help and I told them I was fine. I asked if they knew if this road EVER turned back to pavement. They told me they were about to ask me as they were just riding around and happened across this road much like I did.

I added what little water I had left to the radiator, buttoned everything back up and headed on. About 10 minutes later, I spied a sign indicating Hot Springs was a left turn. Sweet! I was sooo ready to find some asphalt.

Remember me stating I was climbing … and climbing … and climbing? Well at some point you have to head back down. That left turn was a steep decline (and still gravel). I know to use the rear brake as much as possible when on a downhill grade gravel road, so that is what I did.

I soon lost all brake pressure on the rear pedal. Now, a smart man, would’ve likely stopped and let the pressure build back up, or put the bike in first gear, shut off the engine, and work the clutch for braking. Hell, maybe a smart man would’ve never even taken a big Sabre up there to start with, but then, I never claimed to be a smart man.

Actually, neither of these options occurred to me at the time. Additionally, I was feeling my oats a bit and figured I could handle using just the front brake, so long as I moderated my downhill speed. I really figured I would be okay as I have a pretty good comfort zone on gravel.

This was working fine. That is, until I then lost front brake pressure too. Well, SH*T!

I am still on a significant downhill grade and it still didn’t occur to me to shut the engine down. Then the front wheel slid to the left and … BAM! the bike and I were *slammed* into the ground.

I tried to get the bike righted, but it was resting on the side bags and my first effort only got it onto the tires. I could move it up a bit more but was worried that the bike would start rolling downhill and would fall again because I wouldn’t be able to hold the brake while getting it on its wheels.

Great! I’m in B.F.E. so likely no cell service, and even if there were I didn’t have a clue where I was nor whom I could call. My only hope was that SOMEone … ANYone … might come by that way.

Oddly enough, I heard a couple bikes coming about 10 minutes later. They were both riding old Beemers and stopped. The guy helped me get the bike standing again. When I told them I lost brake pressure, the girl put her fist in the air and claimed “Yaaay! drum brakes!”    -- it was funny!

I had another mile of downhill grade gravel riding, and finally wised up and just decided to shut down the bike and use the clutch until I hit pavement. I figured by the time I got to the bottom, the pressure surely would’ve built back up in the brakes.

I cannot express how glad I was to see asphalt! I damn near parked the bike and kissed the ground.   ; )    

A couple of turns put me on an old friend … NC-209. I didn’t feel mentally ready to run that road, but knew it would get me home without any more gravels. 

Despite not feeling confidence, and how rusty I had been all day (when I was on asphalt), I soon found a rhythm. I wasn’t scraping pegs, and I wasn’t as smooth or as crisp as I am capable but  it was the most comfortable I had been all day on the bike and managed to get the blood rushing and the face smiling. I was “thinking” less and “riding” more.

Like someone once said "it's always an adeventure".   ; )

Oh I forgot to chronicle the damage to the bike. The left side bag took some pretty hard scratches. It still opens and closes, its just ugly. The headlight glass was broke. The chrome piece on the bottom of the footpeg come off and got bent out of shape. The clutch lever, left highway peg, and the centerstand also got bent up. The rider was fine (Yaay for gear!). The headlight glass (the glass from a big Magna works in a big Sabre), footpeg trim piece, highway peg and centerstand have been fixed.

I have to straighten the clutch lever and figure out what is wrong with the fan. Yippee! electrical problems!  

Despite the wreck (and my stupidity/arrogance), it was a great day. A bad day on the bike is better than any time in the cage, right?   ; )