From: aweaver@epcot.spdc.ti.com (Andy Weaver)
Subject: another moto-tale (long)
Organization: TI Semiconductor Process and Design Center
Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1992 04:31:03 GMT


I'm just trying to get some of this stuff written before I forget it.
This one is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it.

Andy
______________________________________________________________________


Sometime during the summer of 89 was when Bruce and I went for a 
memorable ride on the Red River up by Muenster TX.

I was riding an 86 CR500 and Bruce was riding his 86 CR125.  We had been
playing around on the trails for a little while, then we got down on
the river bed.  I was having a blast on the river until I lost the fluid
in my front brake.  That 500 was way too fast to be playing hard on
without a front brake, so we went back to the pit areas.  The fitting
had come loose on the brake line and leaked out the brake fluid, so I
started riding around the area to try to find someone that had some
brake fluid that they could spare.

One group of people that I asked was a cross country riding group from
Oklahoma.  They seemed like a nice bunch, but they kept giving me a
hard time about riding the 500.  While one guy was looking for the fluid,
the others made comments about how much better four stroke bikes were
than two strokes.  They were an older group, 30's-40's probably, and all
rode big four strokes.  One of the comments was that you don't even need
a front brake on anything less than a 600, etc.  This went on until they
found out that they didn't have any brake fluid in the trailer afterall.

After a long search that netted no brake fluid, I went back to where we
were parked.  Just about the time I got there, a couple guys that were
parked there also, returned from a ride.  They had a bottle of brake fluid
that they gave to me.  I offered to pay for it, but they insisted for me
to take it (which I've found is fairly common around serious riders,
everyone helping each other out).  So I thanked them again then bled my
front brake.  I was soon blasting on the river again.

The first part of the day we had just played mostly on trails, trying to
stay reasonably dry, but once I got on the river, that was where the 500
was fun.  The Red River at this spot is about a 1/4 mile wide sandy river
bed with a 15-20 ft. wide and at most 1 ft deep stream winding through it.
It was reasonably flat all over the river bed, you just had to watch out
for washed out ledges.  

We played at the enterance spot for a while before starting down the river
some.  I had been doing wheelies across the water, then started doing that
down the river.  Bruce was following me.  I just kept doing it faster and
faster, back and forth across the stream blasting down the river, then I'd
stop and wait for Bruce before I took off again.  Bruce kept up while I
was still playing in third, but it got to where I was doing it in fourth
and fifth gear.  I was feeling real confident when he caught up to me for
the last time.  I took off blazing and was soon enjoying my fifth gear
flight down the river bed.  I enjoyed it so much that I didn't really
think about the scenery changes because I was coming into some beautiful
scenery.  It went from sandy/grassy fields, to rock cliff ledges, etc.
This was when the trouble began.

As the scenery started changing, the 500 started slowing for some reason.
I was on the pipe in fifth, and it started losing revs.  The 500 had
never bogged before, but I obliged it and shifted into fourth.  Now it
was screaming, but shortly thereafter the motor was getting pulled down
again.  By the time I stepped it down into third, I realized that I was
in a major mud bog and losing speed.  I put my weight to the back of the
bike (and I was about 200lbs then) and hammered third to try to get through
the bog.  I realized that I had started sinking when the surrounding terrain
had started changing.  I knew that I didn't want to stop, so I continued
to plow through until I saw around the bend and the terrain didn't change.

The riverbed had gone from a sandy color to a much darker color.  Apparently,
A lot of sediment had settled in this area of the rocky cliffs.  It looked
worse on down the river.  I could see the mud channeling out around the 
front wheel as I moved.  It was at least axel deep and looked just like 
chocolate pudding, but I continued to make forward progress.  

The mud started to bog third gear, I went to second gear and screamed it
again, then I saw a way out.  It looked like a trail going up between a
couple of the ~12 ft. ledges, so I headed for it.  I was just barely moving
now, and when I hit the deepest part of the mud I stopped for just a second
then started creeping along again.  

I finally got to the trail between the ledges.  When I got on it, I found out
that it was just a wash and there was another ledge about half way up it.
I was on solid ground at the edge of the ledges, but I was extremely stuck.
The "chocolate pudding" had already covered up my tracks.

I leaned the bike over against the ledge to let it cool and to assess the
situation.  I had gone through about 150 yards of this mud and I had had
a fifth gear run at it to get to where I was now.  I thought about trying
to get a run down by the edge of the ledges before entering the pudding,
but there was a tree that had fallen about 30 feet down that direction
that would force me well out into the mud.

I had created quite a commotion getting that stuck, and guess who showed up.
Yep, the old four stroke guys.  They were talking to Bruce standing by the
edge of the last stream I had crossed before bog land.

Bruce had stopped just before where the terrain changed when he saw what 
happened to me.  He said that all he could see was about a 20ft high black
mud cloud and he heard the damnation of a 500 being wrung out all the time
I was getting stuck.  It must have taken me over a minute to get all the
way in there.

I had my helment off and could hear parts of their conversation.  Things
like:  How'd he get way up in there?  Don't he know that's just a big
sediment pit?  No one goes up in there.  He'll never get out of that.

All this was really building my confidence of getting out, but I figured
I just give it a try.  If I got stuck, hopefully with everyone there we
could get it pulled out somehow.

There's no time like the present.  I fired up the 500 and got as much speed
as possible before entering the mud.   I kept the r's up in second and
slowly plowed through the mud out around the tree.  I had make it across
the deepest part of the mud and I pointed it on the shortest line out of
there, right at the group of people.  

It was slow going at first but then I started to gradually pick up speed.
Then I got into third gear, and got more speed, then forth.  By the time
I was getting close to the group, I was in fifth gear.  When I got to them,
I snatched the front wheel into the air and ripped a wheelie across the 
water.  They scattered and I was quite pleased with the amazed looks on
their faces as I flew by after going through such a bog.  They couldn't
really tell how fast I was going since I was going right at them.  "Four 
stroke this" I thought.

I didn't bother to stop and talk with them.  I thought I'd proven my point
that my 500 was a lot more bike than any four stroke.  

The 500 was pretty much clean by the time I got back to the truck after
a bunch more water crossings.  But the chain had been stretched well out of
adjustment.

Another memorable ride.