Thermally Stupid: Off-Road Winter Riding

By Len Nelson, nelson@motorcycle.com

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DAY ONE: Upon waking Friday morning, all the trouble we had encountered the night before seemed well worth it. It was a beautiful day, and we assembled outside, making last minute adjustments to our gear, and then hopped on our bikes to follow a dirt road for several miles, eventually coming to a secluded reservoir nestled in a shallow valley. Here we stopped to watch a haze of gray fog rise slowly off the sheet of ice that covered the lake. Though visibility was low, we could make out the silhouette of some mountains in the distance. So far no one had fallen, but it was certain to happen and everyone knew it.

There was virtually no snow on the ground -- snow would have been a pleasure compared to what we found: Plenty of ice and the ground was frozen solid. White crystals of frost coated most rocks, downed trees, and exposed roots we encountered. The trail looped around the reservoir for several miles and then opened up into a wide fire road with dozens of puddles -- some only partially frozen. One large puddle would meet the edge of the next one making it hard to pick a line between them. We maintained a modest speed by keeping our tires on the thin patches of dirt between the woods at the edge of the road and the sheets of ice, but occasionally there was no soil and all we could do was hang on and remain relaxed. Sliding out of control and fighting the natural reaction of grabbing a handful of brake is a strange feeling to overcome but you quickly learn that the best way to recover is to simply relax and glide until you can reach solid ground, then go at it full power again. It's important not to misunderstand the feedback the bike gives you on ice and snow -- momentum and smooth, concise movements will help keep you on two wheels.

The rising sun proved to be a real disadvantage. A truck had previously been down the road and broken the ice into little pieces. They froze back together in such a way that with the sun now out, they produced a brilliant scintillating glitter. At times it nearly blinded us -- it was as if someone had smashed thousands of glass bottles on the ground and the pieces were sparkling in unison.

Before long we reached the other end of the reservoir and chose to ride up a small tributary-like trail that worked its way up to higher ground. More puddles, this time deeper and only partially frozen, spanned the width of the trail. We blasted through several of them feeling the ice shatter and smash against the tips of our boots. After this section we stopped at the base of a long hill to discuss the ride so far -- and to make sure we hadn't lost anyone. Looking forward, he slope looked good at the top but the run up was so badly rutted with frozen-solid tire tracks that it was going to be tough to gain the speed necessary to make it all the way up. Small slabs of ice ruled out going up the track-free middle, so we had no choice but to ride up the troughs made by the tires, scraping foot-pegs on trench sides the whole way up.

 After resting at the top for a short bit we continued along a ridge that allowed us a panoramic view of the area. We could see lakes, frozen rivers, and a ski area with ample snow coverage in the distance. Normally the summer foliage blocks such sights, but now we could see everything for miles. For a moment we thought about trying to ride up the ski slope. Alas, sanity prevailed, and we resumed our journey.

The trail soon turned into a downhill river of ice -- it may as well have been a small glacier! Ambient temperature had climbed sufficiently so that the ice was now melting -- its surface was polished to a slippery finish by the water that gently trickled across its face. No traction here at all. We looked at one another through our goggles, hoping someone would suggest we try another route. Our pal Mike, a stand-up comedian, bravely took the lead with his KX 125 and slid downhill out of control -- both feet scraping the ground fighting to stay upright. He finally hit a patch of dirt and stopped. The rest of us followed and we continued in this manner for roughly a quarter of a mile, smashing into mounds of dirt to slow our descent, braking wherever and whenever possible. At times we felt as if we were completely powerless to do anything except crash into the trees ahead, but there always seemed to be a little patch of dirt somewhere on the trail to save us.

Happy to be at the bottom -- and on dirt again -- we were reluctant to leave it, but someone in the group pointed out a new trail consisting of a dried stream bed leading up into the mountains again. Much of the trail was exposed to the sun so there were only a few patches of ice to contend with. We all agreed it looked safe enough and soon found ourselves carving the bikes through a well-groomed trail composed of several berms and thick, rich, black soil. The path quickly became very tight with saplings knocking and scraping against the bikes' plastic as we climbed higher. Big rocks were strewn haphazardly and we had to carefully bounce over them to avoid popping a hole through the cases or denting a pipe. The soil was soft on the surface but beneath the first inch there may as well have been ice. Careful clutch and throttle control was key to getting through this section.

Once at the top, we would have needed trials bikes to go any farther, so we turned back the way we came. Despite our caution, one rider managed to slam his rear sprocket on a rock twice in less than twenty feet, and the others were banging swingarms and forks as well. About half way down, the sprocket-basher's chain derailed. Closer inspection revealed that he had broken off six or seven teeth. We reinstalled the chain and promised to take it easy on the way back home. Then we noticed his front tire had collapsed. Apparently some solid foam-rubber tubes are subject to rapid deterioration when you run them on very rocky trails and his had broken in half. No one had a replacement tube so we stuffed some rubber sheeting in the flat spot and forced the tire back on the rim -- the tire exhibited a slight wobble at high speed, but for woods riding it was sure to last the weekend.

We made it back to the lodge without any further problems, and spent the evening reliving the day over a meal and a few beers. Exhausted and exhilarated, and went to bed early.

DAY TWO: Ah, the sweet smell of pine trees in the morning. Today, we planned to ride the same trails as the day before, but to take extra time to explore new trails and observe anything of interest we find along the way. Much colder than the day before, the ground was hard and the bikes were having problems getting any traction. So far we've managed running tires without studs because there wasn't enough ice or snow to justify using them -- rocks and frozen dirt would have destroyed them in no time. Another of our conscripted riding pals, Rob, soon finds himself guiding a KDX 200 down a hill that turns out to be much more than he bargained for. The slope is much too steep for the conditions and he quickly slides out of control and crashes. Reluctantly, we follow his lead and manage to slide down, toboggan style, out of control past trees and rocks to safety. Then it hits us. How are we going to get back up this hill? Oops. Look before you leap, eh?

Rob, standing silently near his bike, wears a disturbed look, and doesn't need to say a word. We do a quick search of his bike and realize what's wrong -- his clutch perch (the mount that the clutch lever bolts to) has snapped from the fall. Luckily for us, a logging shed -- complete with an old but useable roll of duct tape and some twine -- was only a hundred meters away. In a mad frenzy we tie his clutch perch back together and reinforce it with several wrappings of tape. It was quite a sight to see but it worked for the rest of the 16-mile ride.

Tech Tip: A great way to avoid breaking a clutch lever or perch is to get a roll of Teflon tape -- the stuff pipe-fitters use to join fittings -- and wrap a small amount around your handle bars underneath where the clutch and brake assemblies clamp down. This way if you do fall, chances are that the perch will simply pivot out of harm's way and all you'll need to do is force it back into position after you pick up the scattered remains of your bike. If you do fall the crash will probably tear the tape apart so don't try to get by with simply re-tightening the clamp -- it won't break free as easily next time. Take the time to properly re-wrap the bars again when you get home so you'll be ready next time. This trick is much easier than carrying another perch around or trying to get back home without a front brake or clutch lever. It also helps to leave the perch-mounting nut slightly loose.

Getting back up the hill became our next major concern. It would be dark soon and -- in anticipation of the rash of crashing we knew we'd encounter this weekend -- none of us had our headlights installed! Light-heatedly, we yelled at Rob for getting us into this situation. But then, how smart were we for following him down such a steep hill? There was no way we could make it up the path we came down because there wasn't one -- just a series of small ledges made of rocks and roots. Giant oak trees grew approximately twenty feet apart -- their roots were the only thing holding the soil together in this glen. We started up the bikes and sat for a moment, mentally picking a line off to the left of where we had come down, and screamed the bikes up the hill. After only a hundred feet I slowed to a stop, rear wheel spinning frantically, slid backwards into a tree, and fell over. Shut off the motor, pick up the bike, jump on and roll back down ready for a second attempt to bruise body and ego. We look up and see Rob falling over again -- he tries to pick a course through a series of small boulders but makes no progress. Making another attempt from the bottom he realizes that the ground underneath the first inch of soil is frozen solid -- it's pointless -- we're stuck. We spend the next thirty-five minutes pushing, pulling, and sweating to the hill's crest -- one bike at a time. Perhaps its time we think about installing a winch on one of our bikes.

After dinner the temperature drops and it begins to snow. Suckers for punishment, we install our headlights and take the bikes out for a night ride. The snow reflects the beams from our headlights so that the woods are completely illuminated -- riding conditions are perfect. The ground underneath is hard-packed but traction is somewhat manageable with a little bit of practice. We ride a few miles and then return to get some sleep in anticipation of the long day that awaits us.

DAY THREE: In the morning we wake up to find the bikes covered with fresh snow, AND everything has been frozen solid. Clutch levers don't return when pulled in, cables are frozen, and we can't get the choke to budge. We attempt to wheel one bike over to the tool box but both wheels just glide across the snow without rotating. Water has seeped between the brake calipers and froze them solid -- all the bikes have the same problem. Rob gets his KDX started but the chain snaps apart as he tries to drive away. Apparently the clip on his master link fell off the day before -- we quickly remedy the situation. The sight of this reminds us of the missing teeth on the rear sprocket, so, what the heck, we tighten the chain tension to keep things together and try not to worry about it. Another of the guys in our group, Chris, owns a bone stock Suzuki DR 350 -- he deserves an award for keeping up with the rest of the gang since he managed to follow us almost everywhere with his OEM street-oriented tires! Want to test your endurance? Try starting an ice-cold DR on a winter day -- everyone took turns at the kick starter until the big single finally fired up.

Once we were all set to go we headed for a farmer's field down the road and played for hours. The field consisted of wet grass with a mud base underneath and a light coating of snow on top. Conditions were perfect for practicing full power slides -- here we chased each other in an attempt to roost whomever was foolish enough to get caught behind the spray of a rear tire. By the time we were ready to continue the bikes were so muddy that they were indistinguishable from one another. We decided to wash up in a stream a few miles back in the woods. On our way Rob demonstrates how to crash into a pine tree -- so we politely showed him how to go around the tree and stay on the trail just to rub it in. Upon reaching the stream bank we were amazed at how swollen the snow-melt made it. Typically the stream is about six meters across, however today it spans roughly 13 meters and rages with strong turbulence. Naturally, we decide to cross, so we blast off -- fighting to keep the front wheel in the air -- feeling the strength of the stream's current. We make it across only to learn that the trail ahead is completely frozen over with ice and is much too steep for the DR's stock tires. Half way back through the stream, one bike hits a submerged rock and sinks into a small pocket of tank-deep water. It's a losing fight to keep the bike running and it stalls. The crowd behind cries and howls in appreciation as they choose a different return route. An attempt to revive the sunken bike fails and it blubbers and sputters till it finally dies. Here we are in January standing in the middle of a raging stream (river at this point) boots full of water, with a bike sunk just shy of the exhaust pipe. Another stab at the kick-starter and it starts and coughs its way to the stream bank only to die again. Fearing the worst, we find that a spark plug connector is filled with water and it starts up as soon as we shake it out. At this point we are all shivering and realize it's time to go home. No one protests the suggestion. Maybe sitting inside a nice warm house nestled on the couch with the TV on and a cup of hot chocolate isn't such a bad way to spend a winter after all.

Nah! We had a great time!