"Don't run over your Wingman!"

Danny, my "brutha from a different mutha," Wingman extraordinaire -- in the parking lot, just before we left to ride the Black. Yes, he always looks that maniacal before a ride...

A couple years ago at the annual dualsport rally in Eureka Springs, I left my riding buddy Danny at a gas station, believing him to be one of the headlights strung out behind me (or at least believing that the accepted policy of watching out for the rider behind you meant that someone in the daisy chain of bikes would stop if a rider got dropped off the tail end). To this day, neither Danny nor several others who know about the incident have let me forget it, constantly subjecting me to the advice not to ever "leave my Wingman." I hear it every time we gather up for one of our group rides. And, of course, Danny's always quick to pick on me about it.

"Don't ever leave your Wingman!"

I don't think I'll be hearing that anymore. If there's one thing worse than leaving your Wingman behind ... it's running over him. Especially if you put him in the emergency room with three broken ribs.

How the hell, you might ask, did I ever manage to do that? Well, pull up a chair and let me tell you all about it. Gather 'round here in front, though, cause I can't turn my neck to the side.

You've heard of the new trail at CrossTimbers, of course: the Black Trail. Sounds ominous, doesn't it? Expert-level. Double Diamond. Make out a Last Will and Testament before you try it ... that sorta thing. Danny got it in his head that we needed to give it a go Monday afternoon after work. (Note right from the start how I'm going to place all the blame for this (mis)adventure on him.) Silly bugger didn't even want to wait until his WR450 was back together (the weekend before last, he ripped out a rear spoke on a root while we were riding the Red Trail at CrossTimbers); he was just gonna tough it out on his DR-Z400 (a much heavier, lighter-sprung machine). Madness, I tell ya! Madness!

I wanted to ride my l'il 230 for my first attempt at the Black Trail, but knew I'd get picked on for that. Against my better judgment, I went ahead and took my CRF450X, affectionately referred to as "the beast." I don't remember the context, but at some point during the day as we were discussing our chances of survival, I was dumb enough to say to Danny, "You know I'd probably ride right off the edge of the Grand Canyon behind ya, buddy." Am I nucking futs?!?! What was I thinking? Little did I know how apropos that statement would be.

Anyway, after work, I tossed the 450X in the back of the truck and headed for CrossTimbers. I got there to find the place mostly deserted, which is the norm on a weekday afternoon. I had time to unload my bike and gear up while waiting for Danny. I'm always early. Danny's always late. What else is new? Danny finally arrived, having ridden his street-legal DR-Z400 instead of hauling it. We got mounted up and hit the trails.

The new Black Trail opens up off the very back end of the Red Trail, so you have a bit of riding to do just to get out to it. At some point on the way out there, I stalled my bike and had a hard time getting it restarted. I had this trouble the weekend before last too, as if the battery was too weak to turn over the engine, but that doesn't make much sense because the battery's fairly new and I always keep it on a tender. I had to kick start it, and the 450 is a bugger to kick. I finally got it running again, though.

Aside from all the dire warnings about its difficulty, I've heard conflicting stories about the length of the Black Trail: it's 17 miles long; it's 20 miles long; it doesn't matter how long it is cause you'll die before you reach the end anyway. I honestly couldn't tell you exactly how long it is because Danny and I only saw the first quarter mile or so. The first nasty obstacle -- there to separate the men from the boys, I suppose -- is what took us out. There's a sign which we didn't pause to read at the gate for the Black Trail. Something to the effect of it being a trail for "expert riders only." Maybe we should have read it?

So, with Danny in the lead, we took off down the Black. The first section is fairly tight woods stuff. The trail's brand new, so there are no ruts, no berms. At this stage, it reminded me of the Red Trail when it was first opened. Nothing to it. I was feeling good. I was keeping up with Danny through that first section, despite the fact that he's generally a faster rider, especially in the tight stuff. The trail climbed a little rise, then plunged down into a gully. Nice dropoff, maybe 15 feet mostly straight down. I was careful not to brake or haul in the clutch, letting the motor carry me down the dropoff. Nothing to it. Almost seemed I knew what I was doing (famous last words!). Danny shot up the other side of the gully and I accelerated after him. Steep hills also still give me pause, but I was on the pegs, weight forward, and I had no trouble. We shot through a few more trees. The trail wound around and up another rise and I saw Danny, just thirty feet ahead of me, plunge down another dropoff. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Poof!

I didn't even hesitate. There was a bit of a rise to the edge of this dropoff, so you couldn't really see anything about it until you were past the point of no return. As my front tire crossed the edge and I was shifting my weight as far back as possible to ride it out, I noticed another rider on the far bank waving. "Yeah, hey there, buddy. How's it going? Great day to be riding, eh?" My front wheel plunged down. I looked down to see where I was going.

Holy shit, this thing is like 25 or 30 feet straight effing down -- and Danny is all wadded up at the bottom!!!

I think I yelled his name. (He says I yelled "Fuck!" but I think that was actually him when he saw 250 pounds of CRF450X and 180 pounds of bahwolf coming straight down at him.) "Danny!" This was meant to be "Danny, get the fuck outta the way!" But all I had time for was his name. It's not like you can steer when you're free-falling down a 25 foot near-vertical creek bank. Danny was stretched out lengthwise right across the path at the bottom, like some Damsel in Distress tied across the proverbial railroad tracks. Dudley Do-Right is coming, buddy, but it ain't to save you from the train. He's bringing the train with him!

I don't know that he moved at all, except maybe to throw up his arms. My front tire caught him right across the upper rib cage. The bike endo'ed, tossing me head over heels. Fortunately, I missed the concrete parking lot thingamajigs laid across the creek (placed there to keep bikes from eroding the creek bottom and ultimately making the crossing impassable). I did, however, come down right on top of my head. The creek's about a foot deep here, maybe a little more. I plunged underwater and my head came to a nice solid stop on the rocky creek bottom, pummeled in good by the 180 pounds of bahwolf that I mentioned earlier. My neck was jammed down to about my asshole (the wife says my head is mostly up there anyway). I swear I'm probably an inch shorter now. I'd later discover that the force was strong enough to break the visor off my dirtbike helmet and actually bruised my head clean through the helmet. Without the helmet, I've no doubt my skull would have been fractured. It felt like I hung there a minute (that whole time dilation thing), doing a headstand in the water, watching fish swim by my submerged head, checking out their reflection in my mirrored Thor goggles, their little fish mouths O'ing "WTF, dude?" Then I fell over like a lumberjacked tree, submerging my sorry ass completely in the cold creek. I bobbed around for a second or two (I distinctly remember looking down at my toes as my boots filled with water), long enough to realize I wasn't dead anyway. Then I flopped over on my belly and pollywogged through the water to my riding buddy who still hadn't moved and was now groaning and wheezing like the wimpy kid in dodgeball who'd just caught one in the nuts. My biggest fear was that the bike might have caught him across the neck.

The rear wheel of the CRF was kinda laying up against his head and shoulder, so I grabbed it and slung it aside. Easiest I've ever moved that bike, lemme tell you. Then I knelt and asked him where he was hurt. He didn't say; he just moaned some more and kinda tried to sit up, and I convinced him to stay where he was. I asked him again where he was hurting, where the bike had hit him. He motioned to his upper ribcage. I pulled off my helmet and tossed it aside, then did the same for him.

After all the drama. We've moved Danny's bike to the other side of the creek and here I am trying to kick start my CRF450X. The Hill of Doom is behind me. Despite his pain, Danny took the time to pull out his camera and capture the moment. Remember, it's always steeper than it looks in the photo...

With the help of the rider who'd been trying to wave me off, we eventually got Danny and his bike moved to the other side of the creek. Then I pulled my bike out of the water and tried to get it started. The starter button yielded absolutely nothing, so I had to resort to kicking again. I think there must be something wrong with the starter motor itself, the switch, or the wiring -- something to sort out later. Last thing I did to the bike was install a Trailtech computer, so maybe I screwed something up in the wiring.

Danny was hurting pretty bad, but there was nothing to do but ride out of there. Several riders stopped to help, mostly leading/escorting us out (though it seemed at times they were taking us in circles -- Danny and I both commented later that we think we could have just ridden out of there faster sticking to the established trails). They led him down several obstacles that I thought were a bit much in his present condition. At one point, we had to drop into a ditch from about 8 feet up and one of the other guys rode Danny's DR-Z down for him. I was starting to hurt too, both my neck and my left wrist. Nothing too bad, though. I knew Danny was in a lot more pain. He's tough, though.

We eventually got out to the parking lot. Got both bikes loaded on my truck -- again, with the help of several other riders. Thanks to those guys for interrupting their own fun to help us out. That's the way riders are, though. Danny and I would have done the same for any of them. One time last year, in fact, we'd helped escort a guy with a broken leg back to the parking lot. Thanks though, guys, we really appreciate all the help.

I hauled Danny -- still moaning and groaning -- to an urgent care clinic. We called his wife, Kim, and got her en route. They x-rayed him at the clinic and thought it serious enough to send him on to a real emergency room, where they took some better shots of his ribs and declared three of them broken. Get ye to bed old man. Your riding days are over for a while. (Soon as Kim emails the x-rays to me, I'll see about adding them to this blog entry.)

I went home and immediately unloaded both our bikes, knowing I wouldn't be able to the next morning. Sure enough, my neck is now too sore to turn my head from side to side. It had me tossing and turning most of the night.

Worst thing? I told Danny, "Man, I had that fucking dropoff nailed! I was there. I was through it!" Scariest damn dropoff I've ever taken and I had it. If I hadn't hit him, I woulda sailed right across that creek and up the other side. I was on line. I was in control. Dammit, I had it!

"Soon as I'm better," says Danny, "we're going back."

No freakin' way! I've seen the damn thing from the other side now. Only way I went down it once was because I just plunged right over the edge without taking the time to look or think about it. There's no way I could ride over that edge again, knowing what it looks like now, knowing what happened the first time. Yeah, I'm a big fraidy-cat.

But ... "We're going back," says Danny. And I didn't see any way around that obstacle.

Danny's not sure how he crashed. He thinks he probably went over the edge, saw how steep it was, and panicked. Probably grabbed a big handful of front brake and the front slid out from under him. He says he remembers saying, "Oh shit!" Says that after his crash he remembers thinking that he maybe oughta get up and move out of the way ... just before that big red Honda came plunging down the hill at him.

I feel terrible about hitting him, of course -- even though he's told me a dozen times that there was nothing I could do. He can say that all he wants, but I sure wish I'd stopped at the edge of that dropoff and looked down first. I'm wondering if Kim is gonna let him come out to play with me after this. "You tell that Hopkins boy that you're not allowed to play with him anymore, Danny!"

Let this be a lesson to the rest of you. Never, ever, ever run over your Wingman!

"Passing it On..."

CrossTimbers Off-Road Vehicle Park: Fun for the Whole Family!

Those of us who love riding off-road have a great resource here in Oklahoma City: the CrossTimbers ORV Park at Lake Stanley-Draper. The old riding area on the north side of the lake has been closed down due to erosion. It may eventually reopen after a “re-vegetation” period, but in the meantime a wonderful new area has been added on the west side of the lake, near the CrossTimbers Campground. The new area is inexpensive, well-designed, and great fun for beginners and experienced riders alike.

Within minutes of Oklahoma City, CrossTimbers ORV Park offers a variety of trails, from basic ATV trails to tight, motorcycle-only single-track through the oak and cedar forest surrounding Lake Draper. A 3-mile “Grass Track” presents some challenging elevation changes and affords more experienced riders with the opportunity to catch some air-time and work on their flat-tracking skills, while beginning riders will appreciate the course’s forgiving, wide-open nature and its highspeed straightaways. The motorcycle-only forest trails offer plenty of challenges in the form of tight corners, deep gullies, logs and roots that must be crossed, and the ever-popular sand ruts. Nature lovers will appreciate spotting deer, squirrels, and the abundant variety of birds that call this part of Oklahoma home.

CrossTimbers was been particularly exciting for me this past year, because I started riding there with my daughter.

I started my daughter Summer riding at the age of ten by buying her a used Honda XR70. With three gears and a centrifugal clutch, the XR70 is reliable, affordable, and easy-to-operate, making it a great first bike. Initially, Summer wouldn't do more than ride around our house. I'd encourage her to ride out into a field at the front of my acreage, but she complained that the field was "too bumpy." She liked the manicured lawn (if you've seen my grass, you'll recognize that for sarcasm). Eventually, though, she started ranging farther afield. One day I went out and cut a trail through the woods for her. It was so dark and gloomy down through this trail -- all leaf-shadowed and loamy-moist -- that it kinda scared her. We dubbed that trail "The Dark Passage." We even hung a sign. It wasn't long before the Dark Passage was part of the normal around-the-house and out-through-the-field circuit. We needed more trails! "The Rifleman's Route" was born (so named because while I was cutting the trail, I found an old rusted BB gun), as was "Blood Alley" (so named because I ripped open my hand on an old strand of barbed wire there), and these were quickly supplanted by others, each hacked out of the brush by yours truly, braving the chiggers and poison ivy, so that my daughter would have a place to learn to ride.

My daughter and her first bike, a Honda XR70.

Eventually, Summer outgrew the little Honda, so we bought her a brand new Suzuki DR-Z125. (She'll tell you that "outgrew" is a relative term, as she couldn't touch down very well on the 125 when we bought it. Even now, at 13, she can't flatfoot the bike. Think of it as "growing room.") We progressed to more difficult riding lessons: logs that I'd have her practice jumping, exercises such as climbing and descending hills, turning on uneven ground, and navigating drop-offs. In time, what had once seemed a rather daunting complex of trails on our own property no longer presented a challenge to her (How interesting can it be when you pass the house at least once every couple minutes?), and it was time to take the next logical step. She had outgrown our trails, same as she’d outgrown the little Honda.

I had plenty of help taking her to CrossTimbers for the first time. You don't think my riding buddies were gonna miss out on the chance to roost a little dirt, do ya? This was great for Summer, as it gave her a lot of other riders from whom she could learn and absorb experience. My friends enjoyed it, too, because as all true riders know, there’s nothing as satisfying as passing on the motorcycle experience. The fact that she’s a girl just made it all the more rewarding; I admit that we all get a certain satisfaction at the surprised look boys give when they see they’re sharing the trails with a girl.

Summer and her current bike, a Suzuki DR-Z125.

The fact that CrossTimbers has such a variety of trails and terrain makes it a great place to learn. My friends and I have enjoyed watching Summer’s progress, and I think riding has helped her grow in many ways. When she falls, she doesn’t get discouraged. She doesn’t complain or think about packing it in for the day. She simply picks herself up, brushes off the dirt, shrugs off the bruises, and gets back on her bike. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit. I believe this attitude will accompany her throughout her life. As with the difficult sections of trail that she’s faced on her bike, the challenges she encounters in life will be met with confidence, determination, and the will to succeed.

I can’t adequately express how much I enjoy time spent riding with Summer and how proud I am of her. Our father-daughter relationship, already built on a solid foundation, has grown in leaps and bounds. More and more, as she’s grown older, I’ve lost time to activities like cheerleading, slumber parties, and shopping trips with her mom, but motorcycling is something unique and exciting that we two share alone. As with all my other riding experiences, the comraderie -- whether it be between friends or family members -- extends beyond the time actually spent on the bikes. As riders, you understand as well as I do that motorcycling is an experience that touches every facet of our lives. How utterly great to share it with the ones that you love!

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“Why I Ride” by Summer Hopkins

I ride because I think it is a lot of fun! I enjoy it so much and like to go different places and try new things. It is challenging for me, because the places I go can be really difficult. There can be lots of turns, or tight places, and whether I crash or not, I am just proud that I tried to do it and wasn’t scared.

It is a great workout for me! Usually later that day I feel sore, but I never really care.

It gives me time to spend with my dad, doing what we both love to do! I love dirt-biking and so does he, so we enjoy going to Draper or just around our house together.

I like to meet all the different people that come and ride with us, they help me out a lot and tell me what I do wrong. My dad has a lot of friends and they all are so nice and are good riders that help me out a lot.

It’s just a great way to spend time outdoors in the great state of Oklahoma! Going down to the lake or just around my house. It just makes me so much better!

I get to see lots of different places and experience new things like jumps or something hard that someday I will do or get better at. I get to meet all these different people that ride different motorcycles that someday I would love to ride too!

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Additional Information on CrossTimbers ORV Park

Website: http://www.lakedraper.com/OffRoadRiding.htm

Facilities: 640+ acres of riding area; ORV trails ranging from ATV trails to motorcycle-only single-track; tight forest trails, wide-open grass track, and a small motocross circuit; the parking lot provides spaces with trenched areas for unloading bikes; adjacent campground.

Location: Lake Stanley-Draper is located on the southeast side of Oklahoma City, south of Tinker AFB and the General Motors plant, just minutes from I-35 and I-240. While Lake Draper covers a large area, the marina is located at 8301 SE 104th St; the CrossTimbers Campground and ORV Park are just south of SE 119th on the west side of Draper Drive. The marina's phone number is 799-0870. There's a recorded message for trail conditions at 945-1938.

Rules: http://www.lakedraper.com/orv_rules.htm

Trail Map: http://www.lakedraper.com/images/Trailmap_Apr2006.pdf

Permits: Available at the marina, $10 adult/$2 junior (under 16 years of age) daily or $60/$12 annual

Hours of Operation: Mon - Fri, 8:30 AM - 8:30 PM; Sat - Sun, 8:00 AM - 8:45 PM

Best Time for Riding: In the summer, early or late in the day are the most bearable times to be out in the heat. At any season, these are the hours when there are fewer riders sharing the trails. Aggressive riding is a great workout and the energy expended is generally enough to keep you warm without wearing expensive winter gear, even into the mid-forties, so don’t think once spring and summer have passed that it’s time to put away your motorcycle. Just be sure to have warm, dry clothes waiting in the parking lot.

Off-Road Safety:

Never ride offroad without a DOT-approved helmet, sturdy footwear (motocross boots highlyrecommended), goggles, and gloves as a minimum. Knee guards, elbowguards, and a chest protector are also recommended. Nothing cuts into your riding time worse than an injury, so make your protection a priority. There is no substitute for good riding gear.

Don’t ride alone if you can help it. Some of the CrossTimbers trails are long; if you were injured and unable to ride out, it could take a considerable amount of time before someone found you. Riders you meet at CrossTimbers are generally a friendly bunch, and if approached would probably be happy to ride with you. Group riding comes with its own rewards.

Riding in the heat takes its toll. Be sure to stay hydrated. Remember that you’re out to have fun and it’s not a race. Take breaks as needed; just be sure to pull off the trail for other riders who might come up behind you. Never ride opposite the indicated direction of travel on any trail.

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"That's Gonna Leave a Mark..."

Who knew Bill was gonna be so damn fast!?!? Watching the ass end of his Kermit-green KLX250S disappear down the trail -- flicking away the muddy clods he just roosted across my chest -- I realize he might have been blowing smoke up my exhaust pipe when he gave me that whole song and dance about not having been on a dirtbike trail in 30 years. Who do you think you're kiddin', buddy?

Still, I don't think I'll have too much trouble keeping up with him; if nothing else, I know the trail better than he does. I know where I can push it a bit and make up some time. You crest this hill -- not too fast now, 'cause there's a hard right-hander on the other side and it's really hard to turn with your front wheel in the air, not to mention that everything is still wet from that snowstorm we had a week or so ago -- then slide through the left-hander past the big sweet-smelling cedar into a tight section beneath the trees. The trail splits there, in the gloom under the naked winter oaks, only to rejoin again after a hundred feet or so. The left fork is shorter and faster. Bill doesn't know that, though. If he takes the right, I'll definitely have an edge; maybe make up a bit of the time I lost when I let him shoot off ahead of me, not realizing he was going to be so friggin' fast!

There's only one problem: the sun hasn't been under here in ages. That's not just shadow darkening the trail ... that's sticky red gumbo mud! I'm coming in way too fast, sliding the rear end of the CRF in order to square off the turn into the left fork, but the front end is suddenly sliding too. This isn't good. Traction abandons me as that slimy syrup I herewith dub "Oklahoma Red, vintage 2006," stamps null and void on my Pirelli 321's. Knobbies? Where? It seems I'm now on slicks made of rubber colored to match the bricks in my house.

The ground comes up and smacks me a good one. The right foot peg of my CRF delivers a hardy "this'll be a pretty purple color tomorrow" jab to my calf muscle. I slide ten feet or so, plowing a deep, juicy furrow. At least the mud makes for a nice soft landing. My first thought as I'm slopping to a halt, getting peppered by the mud spraying from the still-spinning rear wheel of my prone motorcycle, bubbles burping up around me like the gaseous emanations in some fetid swamp, is this: "At least Bill didn't see me crash, so I'll be spared that embarrassment!"

Then I wipe the mud from my goggles and sit up to find that Bill is likewise just rising from a mud bath. He and his Kawasaki are just 20 yards away, oozing ever deeper into a muddy furrow of their own. We spot each other at the exact same moment and burst into hysterical laughter.

And that's just one brief glimpse into the fun Bill and I, along with a half dozen other friends, as well as at least a hundred other dirtriders, had at CrossTimbers Offroad Park this past Sunday. The event was the Oklahoma Dirt Riders' annual Toys for Tots Poker Run, and if you missed it, feel free to stop reading now and give yourself a good solid kick in the seat of your motocross pants. You missed not only the opportunity for some great riding, but the chance to help out for a worthy cause. Mark it on your calendar for next year now, so you don't forget.

Kids of all ages participated in the Toys for Tots Poker Run ... on bikes large ...

...and small.

Participants ranged in age from dinosaurs like Bill and myself to a little kid perched on the tank of his father's bike. My favorites, of course, are the little guys just getting started on their PeeWee 50's. My face is split by the biggest grin watching those little guys twist the throttle and rocket off with a roostertail and a boisterous "Yeehaa!"

Dirt bikes of every popular brand were to be found in abundance, carving ruts in the soupy Oklahoma Red. There were minibikes. And ATVs. And even a few dualsports.

A rider's card gets punched at one of the checkpoints on the trails. The event is organized and run by volunteers. This happens to be my riding buddy Ed. Nice work, Ed!

A rider drawing his poker hand at the final checkpoint. I drew two pair, Kings over Threes with an Ace kicker, but I was too busy riding and having fun to even hear if I won anything.

The entrance fee was one toy (they filled a very large pickup bed with them!) or a cash donation, and prizes were awarded for things like the best and worst poker hands. Mostly, though, everyone was there to have a good time. Our prize was enjoying the beautiful sunny day on our motos and knowing Santa would pay a visit to kids that might otherwise get nothing for Christmas.

As for Bill and me and that particularly slimy stretch of CrossTimbers trail ... well, neither of us had a camera at the scene of the great gumbo mudslide ... so, technically, without photographic evidence, it never happened. Right?