MAKING “TALUS DROP” OUTA DUALSPORT:
WEST ANGELES LOOP A
What . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dualsport Ride, full day
When . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Meet Sunday, 04 March, 7:00 AM
Where . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Meet @ BMW Ventura parking lot
Contact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Laine_MacTague@verizon.net
When . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Meet Sunday, 04 March, 7:00 AM
Where . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Meet @ BMW Ventura parking lot
Contact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Laine_MacTague@verizon.net
DS RIDE 07: RECAP
What gives? The harder I try to find trails nobody can ride, the better everybody rides. DSR 07 was my latest attempt to impose deceleration trauma and / or dirt poisoning on every rider possible, but all I managed to accomplish was to prove, once and for all, that Phil Wren’s bike has leprosy.
I did manage to bring one rider down pretty early in the ride, though: Angela Deubel tipped over attempting to ride down an incredibly steep eighteen foot drop – followed by a vertical two-foot drop – that I tossed into the slab ride from the gas station at Sand Canyon to Rowher Flats OHV area. Ya gotta pick on the girls pretty hard to keep them from coming on rides with us. We failed miserably – We even left her lying in the snow at one point, yet Angie was among the first to express interest in next month’s ride. I guess we’re just going to have to admit that she’s in the club.
After a couple of what I like to think of as signature “weird Laine-ish parenthetical un-paved detours” like the one described above, we began the un-paved ascent into Rowher Flats OHV Area. There is something satisfying about passing tortoise-slow trucks hauling dirt bikes and quads over rutted dirt roads – it almost makes up for the part where twenty minutes later, the same guys are flying those bikes and quads past us on the trail...
We made our air pressure stop at a saddle overlooking the OHVA. We would be off pavement for about 70 miles; everybody lowered tire pressures – and Dan Goldstien pumped up his bike. This is pretty entertaining, for some reason; so most of us stood around and watched.
After that bit of excitement wore thin, we dropped into the OHVA and onto Texas Trail, a short little mogul-infested descent followed by a winding canyon fire road. After stopping for a photograph, I raced ahead, rounding a corner to find Phil jumping up and down on the ground behind his bike. It looked a little lighter than it had earlier, but I didn’t find out why until our next stop. At that point I took a photo of the repair from last month’s ride; Phil’s tail light fell off on Qatal Canyon Road on DSR 06, and is still held on with a strip of Dan Goldstien’s rescue tape. Now I noticed something else was missing. Yes, this time it was the lisence plate mount. When I passed him, Phil had been folding it and jumping on it to make it fit in the small pack he brought.
Reminds me of that famous Beatles song:
Leprosy –
Pieces keep on falling off of me –
I’m not half the man I used to be,
Oh, I believe, in leprosy…
Next came a fun climb up Fall Canyon Road to Sierra Pelona Road. This is a fire road with bermed corners, moguls to wheelie out of, loose rocks to kick up at other riders, ruts to slide into, and pretty nice views of the entire OHVA. We regrouped at the ridgeline, and then
headed toward Bouquet Canyon. A short detour from the main drag brought us to a steep descent, where I managed to get Doug Ford to fall off of his Dakar and roll down the hill a bit. Sadly,
I missed the photo. But we are doing this ride backwards next month; I hope to have him do it again, when I have the camera ready.
This descent was challenging, but the next descent was more so. Bouquet Trail descends in steep winding curves, a single-track trail running from Sierra Pelona Road on the ridge to Bouquet Canyon Road below. It requires constant brake and throttle control at slow speeds, often while turning sharply and descending steeply. If you can do all that, and mumble Hail Marys to yourself without getting any of the words wrong, you’re golden.
This was definitely the most challenging riding we have done yet in the Series. All the practice must be paying off, though: We had a fall or two, but for the most part, at the bottom of the descent we formed a group of seriously fatigued – but certifiably capable – dual sport riders.
We recuperated fairly quickly, and launched up the dirt road that climbs the other side of Bouquet Canyon. This one was wide and well used, an opportunity for quicker riders to try for third gear. Leaders slid rear tires around corners and used roadside berms to aid turning, quickly reaching the ridgeline road and continuing along it to the southwest. The ridgeline provided several short optional detours of varying difficulty; there was something 
for everyone. We gathered on a
hilltop overlooking the road, and watched the rest of the riders coming up. There were a lot of dirt bike / enduro riders in the area: our kooky big bikes got some stares.
Next came the steep climbs with which I had hoped to obliterate and demoralize all and sundry. No such luck: I tried to call Terry Eannetta up, to tell him to lead to the top of the first climb, and watch from the top as the other riders attempt the climbs, while I watched from below. Terry thought I was telling him to lead, and took off like a collar-slipped greyhound. He road to and over the crux climbs, and continued on, followed rapidly by everybody else. Don Gordon eventually reeled him in and took point himself. Nobody had seemed to notice the climbs I had been so worried about. Where did all these great riders come from?
The group carried on like that for three or four more miles. Sadly, though, our turnoff was about 75 feet past the top of the last climb. I managed to stop Steve Atkin, who was running last at that point. We chatted by the turnoff, taking in the view and watching the enduros slide by, until eventually the rest of the group returned about 20 minutes later. Just to show how seriously forgotten were the radios I am always nagging riders to bring, it still didn’t occur to me that if I had brought them, I could easily have nipped this time-eating detour in the bud. Drrrrrrr… At least they got to explore a fun section of trail.
The climbs didn’t do the trick, but I knew that it was almost body bag time: We had reached the dreaded crux descents. The next short stretch of road included three incredibly and increasingly steep, rutted, rocky, shaley, curving descents. The first one was the easiest; I waited at the back as the others descended. Terry offered to descend and watch over other riders from the bottom. Angie went foraging on the first one (that’s Swahili for falling into plants), but managed to appear more to be resting than crashing. In general, the first descent was intimidating but doable.
I came down last, after taking a few photos of Dan Taylor making the descent. I was far enough behind that by the time I reached the second descent, everyone was past it. I reached the top of the third one, though, and knew we would be here a while.
Don “So Cool” Gordon and Steve Atkin had – dualsport deities that they are – already descended with casual grace, and were lounging at the base, keeping an eye on other riders as they went down. The section was not long – maybe 300 feet. Imagine 300 feet of snow moguls on a steep slope. Then turn it to shaley dirt, and then rain on it until ruts form, revealing sections of embedded rocks here and there. Then dry it all out so there is loose dusty soil all over it. Put a curve in it, and a mud puddle at the bottom, since we’re fresh out of Maraschino cherries. Now ride your motorcycle down it.
Angie rode down, looking calm and controlled.
Dan Taylor rode down, looking like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but without mishap nevertheless.
Phil rode down – although it looked like he would rather have traded the leprotic bike for a pair of downhill skis.
I rode down, still a little nervous my third time down. We made it! This was definitely the most intimidating portion of the ride, and the entire group managed quite well. It is really satisfying to experience the improvement in our abilities as the Series progresses.
Next came a long section of power line roads. They are generally tame, but we did manage to find a deep puddle here, and a steep climb there, to keep it interesting. 
We reached the bottom of the valley and zipped down a
short paved section leading to a singe-track called Buttonwood Trail, which took us to the crossing of San Francisquito Canyon.
Once across San Francisquito Canyon Road, another short optional single-track section disgorged us onto 7n21, a forest road that climbs to the ridgeline running parallel to and just south of the San Andreas Fault in this portion of the Angeles National Forest. Maybe it was a minor tremor that knocked Eric Wetherbee over. I came around a corner to find him standing like a conqueror
over his downed V-Strom. Falling with the tires even a little uphill makes it incredibly hard to right a bike; I gave Eric a hand and he was up and running in short order.
We gained the ridgeline, and followed fire road trails for several miles through mixed pine forest and chaparral, descending eventually into a two-foot wide hole in a ceanothus hedge through which the trail expels travelers onto a residential street in Lake Hughes. I like to think of that as a signature “weird Laine-ish parenthetical un-paved detour”…
A few rural twists and turns aside, we continued along the ridgeline, climbing out of Lake Hughes on a road of damp silty soil that had our front tires washing out at the drop of a hat.
We hit a few patches, incredibly slippery. Dan Goldstien had a hard time of it in one spot, but managed to escape with a little help from Dan Taylor:
We regrouped after a protracted battle in the worst snowy section. After a significant wait, Angie had still not shown up. After considerable debate it was decided that the likelihood that she was in serious trouble was slim enough that rather than turn back en masse, Steve would head back alone to look for her, and they would catch up with us if possible.
It still didn’t occur to me that if I had brought the radios, the problem would likely have been easily solved. Make a note; bring the radios next time.
The ridge climbed quite high. It got colder. The views through the trees were sometimes astounding. We experimented with different riding formations, looking for something that would help us keep track of each other, without making the ride tedious or hectic (depending on perspective). 
And we splashed in the puddles and power-slid through turns, and generally lived it up, until Phil’s leprotic bike dropped its beak.
Apparently, Phil caught a rut that pulled him down pretty hard. The beak snapped like a Ritz cracker in a turtle’s mouth, leaving Phil glowering and dirt-streaked. Hope that bike’s not contagious…
The ridgeline flattened out high up, green grass and stunted oaks scattered on either side. The view west became panoramic; row after row of rolling old mountains, and finally, a steep grassy descent from the ridge into a north-south running valley, home to the ancient Ridge Route Road, now defunct. I-5 lay beyond; far off, invisible, unheard even, hidden in the folds of the hills. Further west, there was snow on high peaks in the Los Padres; it looked like the mountains went on forever.
But the ride ain’t over ‘til its over. We wound down the steep descent to the Ridge Route, and after a short sojourn along this historic track, dropped further down into the valley beyond. We were just about to begin the climb-out on the far side of the valley when we met up with a rival gang of riders:
The leaders of the group stopped to check us out. At first it looked like they weren’t going to
let us go by, but pretty soon we figured out that they were just warning us not to run over their sisters, who were a little further up the road. Eventually the two groups warily circumnavigated each other, and off we went on
the cliff-edged but shallow climb.
The trail here is a power line road, which means lots of meaningless sidetracks leading nowhere. In an apparent effort to make what had been a sometimes goofy ride even goofier, some nut raced off from last place onto a side trail without telling anyone. That sidetrack was actually a short cut: The rider got back to the main trail ahead of the group, but mostly because they had noticed his disappearment and stopped to wait. Some went forward, some went back to look… It was another 10 minutes before that got sorted out and we were under way again. What an idiot.
I’ll never do that again…
It may have worked out for the best; the power line road spat us out, right about dusk, along the aqueduct adjacent to I-5 just south of Gorman – where we immediately went, for refueling of man and machine. Gorman is a bit better to look at, in darkness, which fell – considerately enough – just as we arrived. Good thing we didn’t get there earlier…
We fueled up at the first station we
came to. While we were there, Angie and Steve showed up – from McDonald’s across the street! We took on air and gasoline, and dragged the two of them into Sizzler with us to hear their story:
Steve had found Angie almost immediately. We had spent a lot of time in the snow, and stopped just after it. We all assumed – since we had not seen Angie the whole time we fought the snow – that she was well below the snowy section. Apparently, she arrived there just as the last of us got through, and got stuck there herself. Unable to hoist her bike up, she was in the process of slowly mounding up snow and dirt underneath it, until it was held up at enough of an angle that she could lift it the rest of the way. How cool is that?
Steve interrupted what would have been a bitchin (how does one spell that? Is it even still a word?) self-rescue by arriving in the nick of time. In short order the two of them were chasing down the main group. Where we descended to Ridge Route Road and turned left, got into that scrape with a rival gang of riders, and wound our way past power lines to the aqueduct, Angie and Steve turned right, riding pavement to Hwy 138, thence to Gorman, beating us by a fair margin. It was great that we all met up again; this is the first ride wherein the entire group rode the entire ride from start to finish, and even ended up having dinner together!
All in all, that was a lot of sometimes very challenging unpaved riding, and the entire group conducted itself with aplomb. Hats off to all who rode!
Maybe I can take a couple of ‘em out if I make ‘em ride it backwards…
I did manage to bring one rider down pretty early in the ride, though: Angela Deubel tipped over attempting to ride down an incredibly steep eighteen foot drop – followed by a vertical two-foot drop – that I tossed into the slab ride from the gas station at Sand Canyon to Rowher Flats OHV area. Ya gotta pick on the girls pretty hard to keep them from coming on rides with us. We failed miserably – We even left her lying in the snow at one point, yet Angie was among the first to express interest in next month’s ride. I guess we’re just going to have to admit that she’s in the club.
After a couple of what I like to think of as signature “weird Laine-ish parenthetical un-paved detours” like the one described above, we began the un-paved ascent into Rowher Flats OHV Area. There is something satisfying about passing tortoise-slow trucks hauling dirt bikes and quads over rutted dirt roads – it almost makes up for the part where twenty minutes later, the same guys are flying those bikes and quads past us on the trail...
We made our air pressure stop at a saddle overlooking the OHVA. We would be off pavement for about 70 miles; everybody lowered tire pressures – and Dan Goldstien pumped up his bike. This is pretty entertaining, for some reason; so most of us stood around and watched.
After that bit of excitement wore thin, we dropped into the OHVA and onto Texas Trail, a short little mogul-infested descent followed by a winding canyon fire road. After stopping for a photograph, I raced ahead, rounding a corner to find Phil jumping up and down on the ground behind his bike. It looked a little lighter than it had earlier, but I didn’t find out why until our next stop. At that point I took a photo of the repair from last month’s ride; Phil’s tail light fell off on Qatal Canyon Road on DSR 06, and is still held on with a strip of Dan Goldstien’s rescue tape. Now I noticed something else was missing. Yes, this time it was the lisence plate mount. When I passed him, Phil had been folding it and jumping on it to make it fit in the small pack he brought.
Reminds me of that famous Beatles song:
Leprosy –
Pieces keep on falling off of me –
I’m not half the man I used to be,
Oh, I believe, in leprosy…
Next came a fun climb up Fall Canyon Road to Sierra Pelona Road. This is a fire road with bermed corners, moguls to wheelie out of, loose rocks to kick up at other riders, ruts to slide into, and pretty nice views of the entire OHVA. We regrouped at the ridgeline, and then
headed toward Bouquet Canyon. A short detour from the main drag brought us to a steep descent, where I managed to get Doug Ford to fall off of his Dakar and roll down the hill a bit. Sadly,
I missed the photo. But we are doing this ride backwards next month; I hope to have him do it again, when I have the camera ready.
This descent was challenging, but the next descent was more so. Bouquet Trail descends in steep winding curves, a single-track trail running from Sierra Pelona Road on the ridge to Bouquet Canyon Road below. It requires constant brake and throttle control at slow speeds, often while turning sharply and descending steeply. If you can do all that, and mumble Hail Marys to yourself without getting any of the words wrong, you’re golden.
This was definitely the most challenging riding we have done yet in the Series. All the practice must be paying off, though: We had a fall or two, but for the most part, at the bottom of the descent we formed a group of seriously fatigued – but certifiably capable – dual sport riders.We recuperated fairly quickly, and launched up the dirt road that climbs the other side of Bouquet Canyon. This one was wide and well used, an opportunity for quicker riders to try for third gear. Leaders slid rear tires around corners and used roadside berms to aid turning, quickly reaching the ridgeline road and continuing along it to the southwest. The ridgeline provided several short optional detours of varying difficulty; there was something 
for everyone. We gathered on a
hilltop overlooking the road, and watched the rest of the riders coming up. There were a lot of dirt bike / enduro riders in the area: our kooky big bikes got some stares.Next came the steep climbs with which I had hoped to obliterate and demoralize all and sundry. No such luck: I tried to call Terry Eannetta up, to tell him to lead to the top of the first climb, and watch from the top as the other riders attempt the climbs, while I watched from below. Terry thought I was telling him to lead, and took off like a collar-slipped greyhound. He road to and over the crux climbs, and continued on, followed rapidly by everybody else. Don Gordon eventually reeled him in and took point himself. Nobody had seemed to notice the climbs I had been so worried about. Where did all these great riders come from?
The group carried on like that for three or four more miles. Sadly, though, our turnoff was about 75 feet past the top of the last climb. I managed to stop Steve Atkin, who was running last at that point. We chatted by the turnoff, taking in the view and watching the enduros slide by, until eventually the rest of the group returned about 20 minutes later. Just to show how seriously forgotten were the radios I am always nagging riders to bring, it still didn’t occur to me that if I had brought them, I could easily have nipped this time-eating detour in the bud. Drrrrrrr… At least they got to explore a fun section of trail.
The climbs didn’t do the trick, but I knew that it was almost body bag time: We had reached the dreaded crux descents. The next short stretch of road included three incredibly and increasingly steep, rutted, rocky, shaley, curving descents. The first one was the easiest; I waited at the back as the others descended. Terry offered to descend and watch over other riders from the bottom. Angie went foraging on the first one (that’s Swahili for falling into plants), but managed to appear more to be resting than crashing. In general, the first descent was intimidating but doable.
I came down last, after taking a few photos of Dan Taylor making the descent. I was far enough behind that by the time I reached the second descent, everyone was past it. I reached the top of the third one, though, and knew we would be here a while.
Don “So Cool” Gordon and Steve Atkin had – dualsport deities that they are – already descended with casual grace, and were lounging at the base, keeping an eye on other riders as they went down. The section was not long – maybe 300 feet. Imagine 300 feet of snow moguls on a steep slope. Then turn it to shaley dirt, and then rain on it until ruts form, revealing sections of embedded rocks here and there. Then dry it all out so there is loose dusty soil all over it. Put a curve in it, and a mud puddle at the bottom, since we’re fresh out of Maraschino cherries. Now ride your motorcycle down it.Angie rode down, looking calm and controlled.
Terry rode down, making it almost look easy.
Dan Goldstien rode down, which was, frankly, a little scary to watch. But this is the guy that mounts his ride like Roy Rogers mounts a running horse, so, no worries.
Dan Taylor rode down, looking like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but without mishap nevertheless.
Phil rode down – although it looked like he would rather have traded the leprotic bike for a pair of downhill skis.
I rode down, still a little nervous my third time down. We made it! This was definitely the most intimidating portion of the ride, and the entire group managed quite well. It is really satisfying to experience the improvement in our abilities as the Series progresses.
Next came a long section of power line roads. They are generally tame, but we did manage to find a deep puddle here, and a steep climb there, to keep it interesting. 
We reached the bottom of the valley and zipped down a
short paved section leading to a singe-track called Buttonwood Trail, which took us to the crossing of San Francisquito Canyon.Once across San Francisquito Canyon Road, another short optional single-track section disgorged us onto 7n21, a forest road that climbs to the ridgeline running parallel to and just south of the San Andreas Fault in this portion of the Angeles National Forest. Maybe it was a minor tremor that knocked Eric Wetherbee over. I came around a corner to find him standing like a conqueror
over his downed V-Strom. Falling with the tires even a little uphill makes it incredibly hard to right a bike; I gave Eric a hand and he was up and running in short order.
We gained the ridgeline, and followed fire road trails for several miles through mixed pine forest and chaparral, descending eventually into a two-foot wide hole in a ceanothus hedge through which the trail expels travelers onto a residential street in Lake Hughes. I like to think of that as a signature “weird Laine-ish parenthetical un-paved detour”…A few rural twists and turns aside, we continued along the ridgeline, climbing out of Lake Hughes on a road of damp silty soil that had our front tires washing out at the drop of a hat.
Which was a good warm-up for the snow.
We hit a few patches, incredibly slippery. Dan Goldstien had a hard time of it in one spot, but managed to escape with a little help from Dan Taylor:
We regrouped after a protracted battle in the worst snowy section. After a significant wait, Angie had still not shown up. After considerable debate it was decided that the likelihood that she was in serious trouble was slim enough that rather than turn back en masse, Steve would head back alone to look for her, and they would catch up with us if possible.
It still didn’t occur to me that if I had brought the radios, the problem would likely have been easily solved. Make a note; bring the radios next time.
The ridge climbed quite high. It got colder. The views through the trees were sometimes astounding. We experimented with different riding formations, looking for something that would help us keep track of each other, without making the ride tedious or hectic (depending on perspective). 
And we splashed in the puddles and power-slid through turns, and generally lived it up, until Phil’s leprotic bike dropped its beak.Apparently, Phil caught a rut that pulled him down pretty hard. The beak snapped like a Ritz cracker in a turtle’s mouth, leaving Phil glowering and dirt-streaked. Hope that bike’s not contagious…
The ridgeline flattened out high up, green grass and stunted oaks scattered on either side. The view west became panoramic; row after row of rolling old mountains, and finally, a steep grassy descent from the ridge into a north-south running valley, home to the ancient Ridge Route Road, now defunct. I-5 lay beyond; far off, invisible, unheard even, hidden in the folds of the hills. Further west, there was snow on high peaks in the Los Padres; it looked like the mountains went on forever.
Fine time for a group photo.
But the ride ain’t over ‘til its over. We wound down the steep descent to the Ridge Route, and after a short sojourn along this historic track, dropped further down into the valley beyond. We were just about to begin the climb-out on the far side of the valley when we met up with a rival gang of riders:The leaders of the group stopped to check us out. At first it looked like they weren’t going to
let us go by, but pretty soon we figured out that they were just warning us not to run over their sisters, who were a little further up the road. Eventually the two groups warily circumnavigated each other, and off we went on
the cliff-edged but shallow climb.The trail here is a power line road, which means lots of meaningless sidetracks leading nowhere. In an apparent effort to make what had been a sometimes goofy ride even goofier, some nut raced off from last place onto a side trail without telling anyone. That sidetrack was actually a short cut: The rider got back to the main trail ahead of the group, but mostly because they had noticed his disappearment and stopped to wait. Some went forward, some went back to look… It was another 10 minutes before that got sorted out and we were under way again. What an idiot.
I’ll never do that again…
It may have worked out for the best; the power line road spat us out, right about dusk, along the aqueduct adjacent to I-5 just south of Gorman – where we immediately went, for refueling of man and machine. Gorman is a bit better to look at, in darkness, which fell – considerately enough – just as we arrived. Good thing we didn’t get there earlier…We fueled up at the first station we
came to. While we were there, Angie and Steve showed up – from McDonald’s across the street! We took on air and gasoline, and dragged the two of them into Sizzler with us to hear their story:Steve had found Angie almost immediately. We had spent a lot of time in the snow, and stopped just after it. We all assumed – since we had not seen Angie the whole time we fought the snow – that she was well below the snowy section. Apparently, she arrived there just as the last of us got through, and got stuck there herself. Unable to hoist her bike up, she was in the process of slowly mounding up snow and dirt underneath it, until it was held up at enough of an angle that she could lift it the rest of the way. How cool is that?
Steve interrupted what would have been a bitchin (how does one spell that? Is it even still a word?) self-rescue by arriving in the nick of time. In short order the two of them were chasing down the main group. Where we descended to Ridge Route Road and turned left, got into that scrape with a rival gang of riders, and wound our way past power lines to the aqueduct, Angie and Steve turned right, riding pavement to Hwy 138, thence to Gorman, beating us by a fair margin. It was great that we all met up again; this is the first ride wherein the entire group rode the entire ride from start to finish, and even ended up having dinner together!
All in all, that was a lot of sometimes very challenging unpaved riding, and the entire group conducted itself with aplomb. Hats off to all who rode!
Maybe I can take a couple of ‘em out if I make ‘em ride it backwards…
