Ray's 2020 Motorcycle Adventure #22: Divide, Mexico to Canada
Part 1
Snow Storm
Below I give a few thoughts about Camping in such a snow storm.
Once again there was no discussion. I'm not going to let her drive home by herself. So after a night in a motel, we drove home together - she driving the truck, and me riding the bike.
Camping in a Snow Storm
Let me give a few thoughts about my camping in this snow storm.
The day of the storm, I received several warnings - from people I met in the outback, and from Jenny herself - about a big snow storm headed for Southern Colorado. How big? They all said three to six inches of snow was coming that night, and the temps would return to the 70s the following day.
I was riding fast, sometimes blazing fast, in an effort to get though that section of high mountains before storm hit (more for sport than actual necessity). But when the snow started falling in the late afternoon, I simply pulled in to an empty campsite, and quickly made a comfortable camp.
My mistake was believing the 6" forecast and not continuing out of the mountains with all possible dispatch - which would not have been very fast given the snow accumulating on the road. I knew the motels down there would be full. And when I arrived, I would have to set up camp on snow covered ground. Up here the ground was dry - as yet - and I knew that would be much warmer.
Well, the big storm hit that night with 30" of snow.
In my opinion, with the proper skill set, camping in a big snow storm is much safer under a tarp than inside tent. Much safer.
People lacking the proper skills usually zip the tent door closed and proceed to wait out the storm. These people are at a higher risk. The tent traps moisture from the person's breath and insensible perspiration; that moisture accumulates in the clothing and sleeping bag or quit and degrades the insulation - and conducts the person's warmth away from their body. And even more dangerous, they usually let the snow accumulate on top of the tent, until finally the snow becomes so heavy it breaks the tent poles. And when that happens, usually in the dark, the tent becomes useless and about all they are left with is a damp sleeping bag.
Even tarp campers who lack the proper skills are at risk, at least those who allow the falling snow to accumulate on the tarp. The tarp begins to press against them with unbelievable force until they can't move, or the support sticks break. But all is not lost. These nylon tarps are unbelievably strong. So a person should get up and shovel the snow away, and find stronger support sticks. And viola - back to square one.
Now I will address those people camping inside a tent, in a snow storm, and who have the proper skill set. They avoid closing the doors, in order to allow the accumulating moisture to escape - mostly - but they thereby let in more snow. Then they put their boots and rain jacket on, and emerge into the night, and scoop away the snow from on top of the tent. Time and again they have to go out into the night to clear away more snow. This is super inconvenient, and it gets the jacket, pants and boots more wet each time. But at least the tent doesn't collapse.
Then at last we will address those people camping under a tarp, in a snow storm, and who have the proper skill set. Me, in this case. I was not laying inside the Net-Tent, but instead laying on top of it, without stringing it up - using it as a ground sheet. This gave me full access to the tarp. So when more snow fell on the tarp, I simply reached up and banged it off, using the palm of my hand. You could (should) do this in a tent, also; but here's where the real magic happens. After much banging the snow off the tarp, it accumulates below the edge of the tarp. And when this accumulates becomes deep enough, it covers the edge, and the banging no longer works. That snow on the ground, under the edge, must be moved away from the tarp. But remember that I have full access to the tarp. I don't have to get up and go out into the storm in order to clear the snow away from the tarp. I can do it from inside - reaching under the edges and pushing or scooping the snow away. My clothing and quilt stay dry - so I don't lose body warmth.
The bottom line when its snowing heavily - is to keep the snow off the tarp or tent. Day or night, this is not the time to go to sleep. Stay with it, and you will be fine.
Part 2
"Home, home on the range,
Where the Deer and the Antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the sky is not cloudy all day."
Well, usually seldom do I hear a discouraging word, but not today. Jenny had some discouraging news. Over the phone she said the coyotes got two of our chickens. What a bummer! That leaves us with four chickens. And lesson learned: no more free ranging for them.
I was camped at Trail Creek with my food kept in my yellow bag, lying by my head, when in the wee hours I heard a soft rustling of a small critter. Not to worry, I went back to sleep. Next morning I rose before first light and packed my yellow bag with the sensation that I should check the bag for that critter. Nah, it couldn't still be in there.
The route was rough and I rode hard all day. Got to get my money's worth :) And so at day's end I pulled into my next camp at Bassam Park Pass and proceed to unload.
Opening the yellow bag, a Pocket Mouse came shooting out, and quickly ran off into the woods. Man, that was something else! Imagine that poor guy crammed in the bag all day. That was pretty amazing!
Returning to my work of setting up camp, I pulled more things out of the bag, when at last I saw another Pocket Mouse in the bag. Another one! And this one didn't want to come out. So I took a photo of it, then started gently shaking the bag upside down. Finally the poor creature dropped 12" to the ground, but for a few long moments it just stood there, as though still dazed by the wild ride. Then coming to its senses, it ran off in the direction the first one had - leaving me hoping the two would find each other in their strange new land.
Lucin Pond
I didn't have time to get my foot off the peg, so found myself lying in the mud with my foot trapped under the bike. And it was here that I discovered a good thing. The buckles attaching my yellow bag and top bag to the bike were in front where I could easily reach them. So I quickly detached and moved the bags off the bike; and this eased the weight pressing down on my foot. Much the same event had happened a few years earlier (foot trapped under the bike) while riding my Hot Rod X-Challenge in deep sand, and from that experience I had developed a method of extracting the foot. Lying on my back, I lifted the other foot above me, and pushed mightily upwards on the bike while pulling the trapped foot with an opposing force. Inch at a time, I was free.
Among the Teddy Bear Totem aficionados - people who live rather locally - I'm sure most of them view the Totem as fun. For example, you will notice in my photo that the Teddy Bear on top of the stack is wearing a covid-type mask. It could be, also, that the whole thing started as a memorial to someone. Or maybe not. And some of these aficionados might be attaching symbolic meanings of this pile of teddy bears. Search the internet for the symbolic meaning of teddy bears, and you might find some good thoughts.
And speaking of Animals, I'm going to say a few words about my special wild animal friend - the one who lives on our property and who we call, simply, "Rabbit."
In a phone call later, I asked Jenny if she saw me stop and visit Rabbit. "Yes, and that was amazing!"
Note: In this photo she is not looking at me, but instead looking worriedly at my camera - the strange big eye looking at her. But again, there is that trust - knowing that I won't harm her.
This Bannack Pass is of historical interest to Jenny and me, as this is where we left the mountains en route to the flatlands of Idaho Falls, during our 2003 IUA Hike and bike, and where we then switched from hiking to riding bicycles.
Part 3
Ray's All-Night Dig
After reaching the US-Mexican Border at Antelope Wells, I turned around and started back along the GDR. When I pulled into my next campsite, north of Silver City, I shut off the engine, lowered the kickstand, and as usual gave the bike a little shove towards the kickstand, to firm it up, and make sure it would hold the bike upright with just enough lean. With that, the kickstand punched through to an unseen mole hole, and suddenly the bike fell over and pushed me down with it. I ended up laying on the ground with my leg and foot pinned under the bike.
The bike weighs 450 pounds, and the force on my leg and foot was immense. It felt like being caught in an industrial vice. The pain was excruciating - and try as I did, I couldn't pull my leg out.
I tried to pull my foot out of the boot itself. However, this type of boot was designed to stay on - no mater what. It had strong, tight-fitting clamps that held the boot on securely. I pulled so hard I could feel my ankle joints begin to separate. Not good.
I tried my cell phone to dial 911. I was about 10 miles from Silver City, NM and had no signal.
For the last month I had been motorcycling with my satellite phone (left over from our South Pole trip), carrying it as an emergency signaling device. But my contract had run out and I didn't want to pay another for another month of service for such a short trip, so close to home. So I hadn't brought the sat phone. BIG MISTAKE!
In fading light I tried my home-made "whatchamacallit" device to ratchet the bike back upright. It had worked before, but now the bike was somehow too heavy, and the device broke. I repaired it using tools from my tool bag. I tried again, and it broke again. And after several more tries, it finally flung parts into the night, and they were lost.
I tried digging my leg out with a tire lever and also my long pole (part of the whatchamacallit), but the ground was too hard and had some rocks in it. Anyway, the bike was laying on my leg up to mid thigh, so the digging tools couldn't reach the lower leg, let alone my foot.
I tried levering the bike upright with my pole, and managed to lift the bike just enough to put the seat under the handlebar, which was pressed against the ground. Then with more levering I got a spare inner-tube and a shoe under the handlebar, but they wouldn't stay there. And every time I moved the bike, the pain went from an 8 to a 9.
I tried calling for help. I shouted at the top of my lungs "Help! I need help! No one heard me.
I tried praying for help. This didn't seem to work either, maybe for the same reason. (only joking :)
I tried signaling for help with my little flashlight. I set it on strobe SOS, and held up - as high as I could reach - whenever a car passed by on the highway. But the flashlight wasn't very bright, and my camp wasn't very visible from the highway because of the trees and underbrush. Nobody saw me.
I reverted back to digging as my only remaining option. Even though the digging was pitifully slow - if I had to dig all night, I had to get my foot out.
I felt like a coyote with it's foot caught in a coil spring trap - trying desperately to get free, struggling for its life. I didn't know how long my leg would last with that much weight on it.
After several more HOURS of digging and scraping, I had managed to excavate a hole about five inches deep in the area below my knee. I squirmed the knee down into the hole, and that relieved some of the pressure off the ankle - and lessened the pain from an 8 down to a 5. Or maybe the leg and foot had lost all feeling. Even so, the pain was no longer excruciating. So at that point I knew I could last the night.
Another hour of digging and I could move my foot - only a fraction of an inch as first, but with an additional 20 minutes of digging, I achieved a few inches of movement. Then, at at last, I was able to pull my foot out from under the bike! however, the foot wouldn't come out of the hole. This was strange. I couldn't pull too hard because my foot felt dead as a doornail and I wondered if the leg was broken. Then I realized that the Velcro on my boot was merely caught on a small root.
It was early morning before sunrise when I finally managed to pull my leg and foot out from under the motorcycle. I couldn't walk or even stand up, so I crawled a few feet away, spread my bedroll, and drank some water. At long last, I could rest. Lying on my back, I looked up at the shimmering stars. They were incredibly beautiful, vivid and bright. It was almost like I could reach up and touch them. My heart mirrored their glimmering. A spirit of gratitude came flooding over me. Gratitude for my newly reclaimed freedom from entrapment, and not having to endure the pain for so many hours. The meaning of life had shifted. I was also exhausted, so I ceased my musings and found a comfortable position that didn't hurt my leg and foot too much, and fell into an enervated asleep.
My sleep was fitful. I looked up at the stars often, and when I finally saw the planet Mars dipping low in the western sky, I knew the sun would be rising soon (Mars happened to be in opposition).
I had slept for almost two hours until sun came up. When I tried to stand up, I found that my foot and leg had recovered. I could walk again! So with more thanksgiving I walked around taking a few photos.
I turned the ignition key and the bike started immediately. So I packed all my belongings, loaded the bike, and set off down the road - still reeling from last night's ordeal, but with leg and foot intact and feeling fine.
Lessons learned:
- Be smart and stay home. :) (This is usually not my preferred option.)
- Ride with a partner. (This is usually not my preferred option, ether.)
- When riding alone, carry an emergency tracking and signaling device that operates on satellites.
- Carry a flashlight with a super-bright SOS strobe and some method of attaching it to the highest object within reach.
- Wear a type of boot that protects the foot and ankle but which you can pull your foot out of, in an emergency, without having to release the buckles.
- I later realized that I should have tried 911, despite the lack of phone signal. An emergency call works on many carriers or networks, as long as you're in a location covered by a cell tower.
- I later realized, also, that I should have tried to send Jenny a text message. Despite the lack of phone signal, a text message will often go through.
On the road at last, the motorcycle carried me comfortably along as though riding a magic carpet. Mile after endless mile of beautiful scenery gliding past. With no music or other distractions, I was riding free. But I kept thinking of someone whom I met a few years ago.
I was hiking the AT in the late afternoon, when I descended from the mountains and arrived at a small town. I rarely sleep in motels. But it had been raining all day and I was wet and cold. So I thought "You know what? I'm going to get a motel room tonight."
There was only one motel nearby, however the AT administration discouraged the hikers from staying there. I didn't want to waste time finding a better motel, so - what the heck - I called in. The manager/owner proved incredibly hard core, and I soon realized the reasons for the bad press. I paid for the room anyway, and was about to leave the office when curiosity got the best of me. I asked him about the scars on his face.
He explained that he was at a racetrack when a car came flying into the spectator stands. He spent months in hospital and endured over a dozen surgeries. I sure felt sorry for the guy. But I couldn't get over meeting someone who had suffered so much, but who hadn't been softened by his trauma. You would think he would be kind and considerate; but apparently not so.
The motorcycle rumbled along, with the wind gently whipping past, and I thought to myself: I didn't want to be like that guy. Everyone has experienced trauma in their life. It's inevitable. A part of life. With the great amount of adventuring I do - 60 years worth, and counting - and the high octane ratings of some of my trips, if not most of them, I'm bound to run into difficulties every now and then. I don't seek out traumatic experiences, far from it. But when they happen, I shrug them off. And the trauma has a softening effect on me. More understating and compassion. More love and less hate.
Preparations
Next, it was time for the bike's annual valve clearances check. I removed the valve cover, and found the valve clearances slightly out of spec. So I removed the valve cams and replaced the shims with thinner ones (in this case). However, the inlet cam refused to go back into the carrier, and the crankcase refused to turn. What had I done?
Again I removed the clutch cover, then the clutch itself. In this photo, I'm on my way into the engine, trying to figure out why the crankcase wouldn't budge.
Finally after hours of head-scratching, I found a small washer hidden from sight, jammed between the timing chain and crankcase-timing chain sprocket. Apparently I had dropped this small washer into the engine during the shims replacement. It had come from the upper cam carrier.
With the offending washer removed, the engine went back together easily.
Work done, in preparations for the 2020-09 Divide ride:
- New Steering Head Bearings (old ones had become notchy)
- New Fork Seals (one was leaking slightly)
- New Coolant Pump and Seals (Pump Shaft was heavy scored, and old Seals were shot)
- Replaced the Valve Shims (Clearances had become slightly out of spec)
- New Fuel Pump (precautionary measure)
- New Antifreeze, Oil, Oil Filter and Air Filter, new Spark Plugs
- New Battery
- Remove and lube Swingarm, Idler Arm, and Tension Strut Bearings
- New Rear Sprocket and new Chain (Front Sprocket was fine, rear Sprocket Teeth were becoming hooked)
- New Tires and Tubes