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DS RIDE 10: LOCKWOOD LOOP B – TAKE TWO
RECAP
What . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Dualsport Ride, full day
When . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Meet Sunday, 02 December, 6:30 AM
Where . . . . . . . Meet @ BMW Motorcycles of Ventura County
Contact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Laine MacTague
Dear So-Cool;
Boy, did you miss out. I can’t believe it – you lived through researching it, only to miss the actual ride. It was – imagine a baker’s dozen wombats all tied together by gold nose-ring chains, coated in medicated Vaseline and tossed into an industrial polisher with about 200 pounds of 10 grit and left on high until you can see tiny scarred reflections of yourself in the claws…
… Luckily, it was nothing like that.
Some of us met in Santa Paula, which was fun. The coffee house where we’d planned to meet was closed, so I parked my bike there with a note for people to go down the street to Vince’s. We gathered up and Eric chauffeured me back to my bike.
We left for Santa Clarita, where we met the majority of the riders. I did a little chit-chat orientation,
and immediately split the group up; the crazies were going to try some of the “alternate routes” from DSR 09, and the rest of us headed up Ridge Route Road, right out of Castaic, for a change.
It all worked out; Terry went down in the mud early,
so we got that out of the way, and the gate was open, so the crazies caught up all right. Plus, the old highway Templin T's into was no longer blocked off, so we made like we were going to see Jim at RawHyde, then turned at the last minute on that stealth underpass near the brake check area, and ended up back on the 5 for a few miles.
We managed to get past the gate guards at Hungry Valley again, and gathered up under the oak tree in the sand at the start of Pipeline Trail.
We had a quick snack break (I think Rachel might give Lunchtime a run for his money in that regard),
and then took off down Pipeline Trail.
The new guys – and gals – did really well, but Bob managed to stack right where Tomer went down last time. One of these days we’ll all get up that hill without a fight…
We got pretty spread out on Pipeline, so we regrouped where it turns north,
and struck out toward Gold Hill Road. Oh – I forgot to mention – the Israelis surprise-attacked us – I knew Vadim was coming;
turns out some new guys were with him; Zeev, Yoram, and Naor:
They’d all been off on some trip near Cali City with their enduros, and joined us on those. I thought Calvin would bring his Husky, but he was on his KTM.
So were Terry and Tony. About five Beemer riders cancelled last minute (Paul was too busy shopping for a new R1200 GS to actually come out and ride…), so with Rachel on her Super Sherpa, Neal and Bob on KLRs, and Eric and Dan on Suzies, it was up to Ron, Laura, and me, on various F incarnations, and Keith on his 1200 Adv, to hold up the BMW end of things.
Anyway. We headed up Gold Hill,
and gathered at the dreaded Gold Hill Trail Gate.
We spent a lot of time getting the intermediate group’s bikes through the gate,
and the beginners who were leaving the ride for a time spent a while figuring out where and how to go around and where to meet us.
I had some maps for them, and gave them some ideas, but at that point, figuring out the timing seemed the biggest challenge. At some point we all came to some sort of decision; the go-around group took off, and we headed up the trail.
It’s, uh, still really narrow and steep, in places. It was really hard to stop on the worst of it to get photos, but here are some of the photos that we did get:
Meeting a group of four coming down was exciting. Their leader and I met at a tough, narrow spot, and neither of us could let go a hand to give a count, so as we passed, inches away, we both leaned toward each other and simultaneously yelled a number out. Kind of funny: Don’t wave, or say hi in passing; you lean over and yell “FIVE!” at this guy’s helmet and hope he heard you.
We made the ridgeline 3-way intersection all right. We were pretty spread out, which was cool because those of us in front (notably Naor and Neal and Tony) got to watch the rest come in. We had a quick snack break,
and then headed down the other side toward that little water crossing.
After that, we clowned around for a while at that spot where the trail hits the fire road,
then ran down to the Lockwood side exit gate.
Now that the hardest part was over, it got interesting: We were early for the meeting with the other group, which was supposed to be at the gate. But our next section of trail was down the road a ways in the direction they would be coming from, so we high-tailed it down there – they weren’t there yet either. Now, the other group could easily have got where we were by then, but on the other hand, we didn’t expect them for another 15 minutes or so. Vadim looked restless so I sent him further down into Lockwood Valley to look for the other group while the rest of us ate up all the snacks. He came back up the road a couple minutes later and said there was no way the other group was coming from that direction. He said there was a huge hole in the road. I went to have a look:
Right then. The entire road was gone.
There really isn’t a decent go-around for that; the only way to get where we were from Lockwood Valley was on the trail we were waiting for the other group to join us on. So we hit it.
Adventurers at heart, the other group had more or less tossed the maps I gave them, and got themselves high up into the middle of nowhere on this mountain which is only vaguely between where we were and the Lockwood Ranger Station, which is where I suggested they meet us if they had trouble finding us at the Gold Hill exit gate, which they never attempted to find (and so never saw the washed out road section that so worried us). They ended up coming down some decidedly not novice mountain trail, and bumping into us by sheer luck at a three-way intersection on the trail we were taking to reach the ranger station. Well, some of them did. One of their group told me the that Laura and Ron, the F650 riders, had turned back – which sounded great to me; one look at Terry coming down what was apparently an easier section of the trail,
and I was glad the others were headed back to the station.
The rest of us celebrated the serendipitous regroup,
and then took off station-ward ourselves. I had previewed the trail, but that was before the last rains. What used to be bumpy but firm was now a field of loose gravel and rocks. It was totally different.
We all muddled through somehow, except for Vadim and Yoram. Some one had asked them to go check on Laura and Ron, and they had disappeared up the way the novice group had come down to meet us. In a short while, the main group arrived at the ranger station.
I sent everyone off to our lunch stop – a quick paved jaunt – while I went to check up on the progress of our two wayward riders and their rescuers. I expected to start heading up the road the novice group had chosen, and meet them coming down with Vadim and Yoram: Oh, no. I went all the way to the top of the mountain they had ridden up, followed the same trail, which twisted through some high pine forest and descended some very steep, loose slopes. Sliding down some twisty, rutted track edged by frighteningly hard looking trees and strewn with loose soil and pine needles, it occurred to me that the novice group had probably descended the worst of the trail before Laura and Ron turned back – and that when Vadim and Yoram realized that, they would probably take them down the rest of the way, to where we had met the others from the novice group.
Sure enough, I ended up riding the entire loop the novice group took, dropped down that steep rutted track I’d seen Terry on, and ended up going straight back down, over the rocks and boulders again, to the ranger station. Nobody there. About two miles of pavement later, on my way to our lunch stop, I caught up with them. They had stopped on the side of the road. Laura and Ron had had enough and decided to head home, and the Israeli’s were low on fuel, so they turned back for their RV in Hungry Valley. With more or less nothing to show, I rocketed down to the Screaming Squirrel to see if there was still time for me to eat anything.
Eric had led the group to the restaurant.
When I got there they had just got their food. Everything is good there; I pointed at a plate at random and said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Within about five minutes I was completely caught up. I dig that place. Good food, great mountains. We hassled the waitress into taking our picture.
Keith had a big commute and a big bike, and decided to head home after lunch (he a puncture on the way back, and ended up stopping to pump his tire with his bike pump every 20 miles – quelle drague).
Naor and Zeev needed to turn round; their RV was back at Hungry Valley where Yoram and Vadim were. Neal lives in Lancaster, Dan in Pasadena, and we were headed west. They therefore carried on with us anyway,
since the next section sounded fun. That would be the nearly non-existent trail you and I previewed on the research ride.
I pulled up where it meets the fire road and pointed. “That’s it.”
“Where?” Nobody believed me at first. It had rained since you and I were there; I couldn’t see our tracks at the start. Cal and Rachel decided to stick to Quatal Canyon and photograph us as we passed; the rest of us took the new trail.
I pulled up to The Tree, and waited for the next rider to show up behind. It was Neal. I shrugged, like I didn’t know what to do, and he started looking around on the side of the wash, for a route. I started laughing, and pointed to the tree. He shook his head and shrugged. I did the point-at-your eyes, “watch this” sign, turned and rode straight into the tree and disappeared. That was fun.
From there on it eased up a bit; there was still no obvious line, for quite a ways, but when it was really unclear, I would try to leave a skid mark in the loose soil, to direct the riders behind.
It seemed to work out. Once we passed the fallen pine, it eased up considerably, and soon we were on an obvious dirt track.
We met up with Rachel and Calvin. Eric waxed so poetic about how fun that section of “trail” was, I think his helmet caught fire. He really loved it. Neal and Dan said goodbye, and turned back for their respective homelands. The rest of us rode the main riverbed trail,
which was not too loose because of all the recent rain on the sand. It was at least as fun as the upstream portion, but faster, so we didn’t stop too much for photos.
We gathered where the trail leaves the river bed.
We were all so giddy from the awesome riding that we had a hard time getting it together for a group photo.
Then we readjusted tire pressures,
and after clowning around in the riverbed a little more,
scooted down to 33. Dark fell before we even got into the mountains.
It was plenty cold up there, but nothing compared to the same road during DSR 05. We ambled into Ojai around 6pm,
and had a quick meal in town. I gave Ron a call: He had fallen on those loose rocks, back in Lockwood Valley, and it looked like he might have a mild ankle sprain. He said it looked pretty good. I asked him to send us a photo if it started turning colours so we could compare it to Roman’s from DSR 04. I reckon it didn’t get too bad (at least, I hope not); we never got a photo!
Laura lives in Ojai and I was hoping she’d join us for dinner, but – and I was really envious of her when she told me – she was already cleaned up and headed for bed by the time we got to the restaurant. Actually, we got home ourselves around 8:30 – only about 2.5 hours behind my original guesstimate.
By the way: You’re not allowed to miss another ride, SC: I hate writing letters.
… Luckily, it was nothing like that.
Some of us met in Santa Paula, which was fun. The coffee house where we’d planned to meet was closed, so I parked my bike there with a note for people to go down the street to Vince’s. We gathered up and Eric chauffeured me back to my bike.
We left for Santa Clarita, where we met the majority of the riders. I did a little chit-chat orientation,
and immediately split the group up; the crazies were going to try some of the “alternate routes” from DSR 09, and the rest of us headed up Ridge Route Road, right out of Castaic, for a change.
It all worked out; Terry went down in the mud early,
so we got that out of the way, and the gate was open, so the crazies caught up all right. Plus, the old highway Templin T's into was no longer blocked off, so we made like we were going to see Jim at RawHyde, then turned at the last minute on that stealth underpass near the brake check area, and ended up back on the 5 for a few miles.
We managed to get past the gate guards at Hungry Valley again, and gathered up under the oak tree in the sand at the start of Pipeline Trail.
We had a quick snack break (I think Rachel might give Lunchtime a run for his money in that regard),
and then took off down Pipeline Trail.
The new guys – and gals – did really well, but Bob managed to stack right where Tomer went down last time. One of these days we’ll all get up that hill without a fight…
We got pretty spread out on Pipeline, so we regrouped where it turns north,
and struck out toward Gold Hill Road. Oh – I forgot to mention – the Israelis surprise-attacked us – I knew Vadim was coming;
turns out some new guys were with him; Zeev, Yoram, and Naor:
They’d all been off on some trip near Cali City with their enduros, and joined us on those. I thought Calvin would bring his Husky, but he was on his KTM.
So were Terry and Tony. About five Beemer riders cancelled last minute (Paul was too busy shopping for a new R1200 GS to actually come out and ride…), so with Rachel on her Super Sherpa, Neal and Bob on KLRs, and Eric and Dan on Suzies, it was up to Ron, Laura, and me, on various F incarnations, and Keith on his 1200 Adv, to hold up the BMW end of things.
Anyway. We headed up Gold Hill,
and gathered at the dreaded Gold Hill Trail Gate.
We spent a lot of time getting the intermediate group’s bikes through the gate,
and the beginners who were leaving the ride for a time spent a while figuring out where and how to go around and where to meet us.
I had some maps for them, and gave them some ideas, but at that point, figuring out the timing seemed the biggest challenge. At some point we all came to some sort of decision; the go-around group took off, and we headed up the trail.
It’s, uh, still really narrow and steep, in places. It was really hard to stop on the worst of it to get photos, but here are some of the photos that we did get:
Meeting a group of four coming down was exciting. Their leader and I met at a tough, narrow spot, and neither of us could let go a hand to give a count, so as we passed, inches away, we both leaned toward each other and simultaneously yelled a number out. Kind of funny: Don’t wave, or say hi in passing; you lean over and yell “FIVE!” at this guy’s helmet and hope he heard you.
We made the ridgeline 3-way intersection all right. We were pretty spread out, which was cool because those of us in front (notably Naor and Neal and Tony) got to watch the rest come in. We had a quick snack break,
and then headed down the other side toward that little water crossing.
After that, we clowned around for a while at that spot where the trail hits the fire road,
then ran down to the Lockwood side exit gate.
Now that the hardest part was over, it got interesting: We were early for the meeting with the other group, which was supposed to be at the gate. But our next section of trail was down the road a ways in the direction they would be coming from, so we high-tailed it down there – they weren’t there yet either. Now, the other group could easily have got where we were by then, but on the other hand, we didn’t expect them for another 15 minutes or so. Vadim looked restless so I sent him further down into Lockwood Valley to look for the other group while the rest of us ate up all the snacks. He came back up the road a couple minutes later and said there was no way the other group was coming from that direction. He said there was a huge hole in the road. I went to have a look:
Right then. The entire road was gone.
There really isn’t a decent go-around for that; the only way to get where we were from Lockwood Valley was on the trail we were waiting for the other group to join us on. So we hit it.
Adventurers at heart, the other group had more or less tossed the maps I gave them, and got themselves high up into the middle of nowhere on this mountain which is only vaguely between where we were and the Lockwood Ranger Station, which is where I suggested they meet us if they had trouble finding us at the Gold Hill exit gate, which they never attempted to find (and so never saw the washed out road section that so worried us). They ended up coming down some decidedly not novice mountain trail, and bumping into us by sheer luck at a three-way intersection on the trail we were taking to reach the ranger station. Well, some of them did. One of their group told me the that Laura and Ron, the F650 riders, had turned back – which sounded great to me; one look at Terry coming down what was apparently an easier section of the trail,
and I was glad the others were headed back to the station.
The rest of us celebrated the serendipitous regroup,
and then took off station-ward ourselves. I had previewed the trail, but that was before the last rains. What used to be bumpy but firm was now a field of loose gravel and rocks. It was totally different.
We all muddled through somehow, except for Vadim and Yoram. Some one had asked them to go check on Laura and Ron, and they had disappeared up the way the novice group had come down to meet us. In a short while, the main group arrived at the ranger station.
I sent everyone off to our lunch stop – a quick paved jaunt – while I went to check up on the progress of our two wayward riders and their rescuers. I expected to start heading up the road the novice group had chosen, and meet them coming down with Vadim and Yoram: Oh, no. I went all the way to the top of the mountain they had ridden up, followed the same trail, which twisted through some high pine forest and descended some very steep, loose slopes. Sliding down some twisty, rutted track edged by frighteningly hard looking trees and strewn with loose soil and pine needles, it occurred to me that the novice group had probably descended the worst of the trail before Laura and Ron turned back – and that when Vadim and Yoram realized that, they would probably take them down the rest of the way, to where we had met the others from the novice group.
Sure enough, I ended up riding the entire loop the novice group took, dropped down that steep rutted track I’d seen Terry on, and ended up going straight back down, over the rocks and boulders again, to the ranger station. Nobody there. About two miles of pavement later, on my way to our lunch stop, I caught up with them. They had stopped on the side of the road. Laura and Ron had had enough and decided to head home, and the Israeli’s were low on fuel, so they turned back for their RV in Hungry Valley. With more or less nothing to show, I rocketed down to the Screaming Squirrel to see if there was still time for me to eat anything.
Eric had led the group to the restaurant.
When I got there they had just got their food. Everything is good there; I pointed at a plate at random and said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Within about five minutes I was completely caught up. I dig that place. Good food, great mountains. We hassled the waitress into taking our picture.
Keith had a big commute and a big bike, and decided to head home after lunch (he a puncture on the way back, and ended up stopping to pump his tire with his bike pump every 20 miles – quelle drague).
Naor and Zeev needed to turn round; their RV was back at Hungry Valley where Yoram and Vadim were. Neal lives in Lancaster, Dan in Pasadena, and we were headed west. They therefore carried on with us anyway,
since the next section sounded fun. That would be the nearly non-existent trail you and I previewed on the research ride.
I pulled up where it meets the fire road and pointed. “That’s it.”
“Where?” Nobody believed me at first. It had rained since you and I were there; I couldn’t see our tracks at the start. Cal and Rachel decided to stick to Quatal Canyon and photograph us as we passed; the rest of us took the new trail.
I pulled up to The Tree, and waited for the next rider to show up behind. It was Neal. I shrugged, like I didn’t know what to do, and he started looking around on the side of the wash, for a route. I started laughing, and pointed to the tree. He shook his head and shrugged. I did the point-at-your eyes, “watch this” sign, turned and rode straight into the tree and disappeared. That was fun.
From there on it eased up a bit; there was still no obvious line, for quite a ways, but when it was really unclear, I would try to leave a skid mark in the loose soil, to direct the riders behind.
It seemed to work out. Once we passed the fallen pine, it eased up considerably, and soon we were on an obvious dirt track.
We met up with Rachel and Calvin. Eric waxed so poetic about how fun that section of “trail” was, I think his helmet caught fire. He really loved it. Neal and Dan said goodbye, and turned back for their respective homelands. The rest of us rode the main riverbed trail,
which was not too loose because of all the recent rain on the sand. It was at least as fun as the upstream portion, but faster, so we didn’t stop too much for photos.
We gathered where the trail leaves the river bed.
We were all so giddy from the awesome riding that we had a hard time getting it together for a group photo.
Then we readjusted tire pressures,
and after clowning around in the riverbed a little more,
scooted down to 33. Dark fell before we even got into the mountains.
It was plenty cold up there, but nothing compared to the same road during DSR 05. We ambled into Ojai around 6pm,
and had a quick meal in town. I gave Ron a call: He had fallen on those loose rocks, back in Lockwood Valley, and it looked like he might have a mild ankle sprain. He said it looked pretty good. I asked him to send us a photo if it started turning colours so we could compare it to Roman’s from DSR 04. I reckon it didn’t get too bad (at least, I hope not); we never got a photo!
Laura lives in Ojai and I was hoping she’d join us for dinner, but – and I was really envious of her when she told me – she was already cleaned up and headed for bed by the time we got to the restaurant. Actually, we got home ourselves around 8:30 – only about 2.5 hours behind my original guesstimate.
By the way: You’re not allowed to miss another ride, SC: I hate writing letters.
2 comments. Click here to add yours!:
Sorry to hear about the ankle sprain. But you haven't lived till you bust up your ribcage after a tankslapper...ughhh!
Terry
Yeah...or busted up a perfectly good pair of forks...or riding pants...thank goodness I was on the Super Sherpa! I hope to see Laura again. I'm sure she's got a great story to tell!
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