For some people, Black Friday means getting up at the crack of midnight to stand in a ridiculously long line to buy Christmas stuff. As I learned on Thanksgiving night, my soon-to-be-wife is one of these people.

I am not one of those people. My idea of shopping is Amazon.com. Besides, I couldn’t go out at midnight to Occupy Wal-Mart and risk oversleeping, I had an appointment on Black Friday to drop my dirt bike off at Agent Smith Racing for some much-needed TLC.

Always one to take advantage of opportunity when it arises (which, in this case was a disinterested, sleeping-in-late-after-surviving-Black-Friday soon-to-be wife) I decided before dropping Mid-Wife Crisis off at the doctor’s office, I’d brave a different kind of Black Friday; Rookie Day at Hungry Vally OHV Park.

Long weekends and holidays bring out droves of rookie riders, those people that maybe ride once a year. I have no problem with them directly, riding and family time are good and fun and important and all that, but tons of rookies clogging trails in their jeans, wife-beaters and skull cap helmets adds a certain element of danger that isn’t present on a normal weekend.

This ride would be my first solo adventure. Normally Fiona and I attack the desert as a team, fully supported in our Mobile Desert Assault Vehicle. There’s nothing better than bringing all the comforts of home to the desert, but hauling the toy hauler to Hungry Valley didn’t make sense for this one-day adventure. The fact that Sleeping Beauty is a nurse is also comforting, because I am still learning this whole riding in the dirt thing, and I do tend to fall off the bike more than I like to admit.

I slapped all my protective gear on and headed for the hills, doing my best to dodge strafing runs from lunatic ATV rookies. I managed to break rule number one of desert riding – Always Carry Water – because my Camelback was safely packed away in the trailer, which was safely parked in the driveway. I also broke rule number two – Have A Way To Get Help If You Do Something Dumb – because my SPOT Tracker was next to my Camelback. Since I violated these important rules, I vowed to ride safe and slow (the slow part isn’t really a problem for me) and stay close to my truck, where at least I had some bottled water.

The trails were fun but packed, so after about thirty or so miles of near misses, I decided to take the track less traveled, and explore a black diamond rated ‘motorcycles only’ path that I’d seen a few times. Since Fiona rides an ATV, this trail is off limits to her, and since we ride as a team, the trail is normally off limits to me as well. However,  my lovely betrothed was still sleeping at home, so this new motorcycle only route seemed like a good opportunity to test myself a bit.

Sometimes I can be so dumb.

The trail started off tight, and quickly climbed a huge hill. On one side was a cliff, on the other side were clawing tree branches trying to push anyone foolish enough to ride this trail down the cliff. Just to make things more interesting, giant boulders and deep ruts lined the trail at regular intervals. Five minutes in I had my only rational thought of the day – Turn Around – but as it always does, my stubbornness got the best of me. I soldiered upwards and onwards.

I had my first good scare not too long after that epic decision. My front tire caught a jagged rock and nearly sent me over the edge. Once my heart rate slowed, I gathered my wits and continued following this goat path. The trail led off the sheer mountain face, directly into the next fun obstacle, a field of baby head sized boulders loosely strewn about. I set off to climb the rock field. It didn’t take long for me to catch another big stone and before I knew what was happening, I was ass-over-teakettle on the ground. In my spectacularly graceful dismount, I managed to bash my knee on a big rock. I then learned I’d violated Rule Number Three – Wear Better Knee Protection. I also learned that hitting your kneecap really hard when you are all alone without water or a way to call for help can be a scary experience.

The bike restarted, and I continued on this great adventure, quietly cursing myself as I rode forward and upward. When I started down this trail, I assumed – wrongly- that it would lead to the main OHV park in a mile or two. Yes, broken Rule Number Four is definitely Buy A Map! The tiny trail wound its way upward and onward, and I stubbornly followed it, tackling each obstacle as it came.

I had another near miss when I hit a thick patch of mud. Mid-Wife Crisis ended up stuck in a thick bush, motor still running. I ended up on my back facing the sky, adding another bruise to my growing collection. “Buddy,” I said to my ride as I picked it out of the thicket, “we’ve got to stop crashing!” The engine revved in agreement.

One obstacle I wasn’t prepared for was snow. After about an hour of splashing through puddles and bouncing over rut after rut, the trail simply ended in a blanket of white. I had no idea when I set out that I broke Rule Five – Bring Snow Tires Or A Sleigh. I rode through the snow, finding the trail again after about a mile.

My odyssey lasted nearly three hours, for thirty seven miles, up and down and around I went, cursing myself for breaking all the rules and being lost like an Easter egg, worried about running out of fuel, knowing that Fiona would by now be wondering where the hell I was. Finally, to my great relief I spied a road below me. The trail worked its way down toward that road, and I finally relaxed a bit. That relaxation was short lived, because standing between the road and me was a very large, very locked gate. I knew I didn’t have enough fuel or stamina to turn around and follow the trail all the way back to the start.

Oh shit. I stopped to think for a minute. I realized that there had to be other dummies like me that had strayed off the beaten path, and I wondered what they did to get free. I followed the fence line, and sure enough, there was a point where someone (not me!) had cut the fence. I plowed through the gap and got on the road, breaking another very important rule – No Dirtbikes On The Road. This rule is a pretty serious one to break, but I had no choice. I cranked my CRF 450x into fifth gear and screamed down the road, praying that the rangers were too busy with the rookies to be out patrolling.

My gamble paid off, and I soon found the back entrance to Hungry Valley. Thirty minutes later I was back safely at my truck, gulping water by the gallon. I called Fiona to put her mind at ease. Instead of putting her mind at ease, my call woke her up instead. Who knew midnight shopping could be so tiring?

I took the now filthy dirt bike to Agent Smith Racing, where Paul, the owner, laughed at my miserable trail tale. Casually, he mentioned I should check out the U.S. Desert Racing Series, because they have a beginner’s class which he thought I’d be perfect for.  I miss the cutoff age by one lousy year, so if I made the bad decision to try actual motorcycle racing, I would have to run in the Senior 1 class. Bad decision? I am an expert at making bad decisions! Senior? I’d be the youngest senior in the field! And, the idea of racing a few laps on a well marked course does have a certain charm to it….

In other news, the ‘Just Because’ running contest is nearly complete. With five days to go, it seems the very stubborn Frenchy has jogged his way to an insurmountable gap.

The main reason for all this silly running, besides general fitness and overall fat loss, is I am competing in my first ever Warrior Dash  this Saturday in Deerfield Beach, Florida. I think I am about as ready as I can be for this race. On Saturday I’ll be armed with a video camera, and if all goes well (or, more likely, extremely badly) there will be a video posted shortly after the event.

Author: frenchy