Issue #241 When Demons Strike the Unwary Rider | His, Ted, Trail, Him, Would

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Issue #241 When Demons Strike the Unwary Rider

Written by John Fuller
Thursday, 08 May 2008
A barrage of dirt biking injuries over these past years has made it harder to hit the back country rain forest trails with my very intense regular group here on Vancouver Island. The upside is that I’ve met some interesting new riding partners, such as Ted Yelovatz, who just recently purchased a new KTM 530 EXC-R dualsport and is now looking to relive a youth spent roosting in the dirt. Commendable indeed, though, like anything, it’s a lot easier to say than do. After several weeks of ownership, Ted still had not taken his new off-roader into the bush. So, when he asked me to take him riding, I warned him that I generally cover a mix of terrain, from snowy roads to tight trails; I meant to prepare him for a good dualsport ride. Sunday came and it was time for an afternoon on the trails. The sun was reflecting off Teddy’s polished KTM when he arrived at our prearranged meeting place, dressed in a street jacket and ankle high boots, an MX helmet and sunglasses. His choice of riding gear led me to believe that perhaps he was not quite prepared for the 4C conditions of the day and the highway ride that lay between us and the forest paths we’d soon tackle. I checked on his condition after 10 minutes at highway speeds, but Ted assured me he was warm enough, though his cheeks glowed red and he was clearly struggling to form words through the frost covered mouth piece of his helmet. The howling crosswind required a little motorcycle sailing as my KTM’s 21-inch front wheel caught the stiff breeze, forcing the bike into a downward angle. This highway and its quirks were old news to me, but when we stopped at the trailhead Ted confessed he had struggled to keep from going home because he felt too far out of his element on the asphalt. I pondered how he might fare: if the pavement was tough, how was he to going to hold up on the trail? When I motioned for him to lead the way, Ted hit the throttle and roared up the two-track, exhibiting style and aggression, probably time warping back 20 years earlier in his history when bikes required more muscle. It was not long before we settled into a nice rhythm sliding through the snow, and I wheelied through the exposed dirt sections. Gradually we made our way through forest trails and logging roads toward a connecter trail that would carry us to Mill Bay a small community north of Victoria. Ted was having fun on the two-track dirt but showed some anxiety when I skidded to a stop and aimed my front wheel at the entrance to the connector trail. If you have ever ridden off-road and become stuck or hung up in any way, you can appreciate how the experience has a way of impacting your soul. Riders call it “dealing with personal issues” or “exorcising demons,” as the victim is forced to dig deep and allow his true personality to shine through. Getting-stuck scenarios are endless on a dirt bike, but the combination of very tough trail, slightly worn tire, prior crashes and heavily fogged goggles will elevate your heart rate, strain your muscles and inexorably pull out whatever savage being lives within you. The overload would probably justify an Emergency ward entry, a situation made better or arguably very much worse by your buddies as they scream instructions from the top of the hill. These experiences leave such a deep impact on the less-focused rider that the spectre of tight trails forever haunts them and inevitably chases them from the bush into more open areas such as fields or pits—the weaker among them sell their bikes outright. So when the list of excuses as to why he could not do this trail on this particular day started to flow from Teddy, I figured a past trauma must be now manifesting revealing itself. I stood my ground, and insisted this was the only route to our destination. Teddy became more agitated walking around his bike, as if wondering how he would control it once on board. He was looking up at the trail with terror. “Relax,” I said, “it’s not a tough trail.” But Ted couldn’t believe I was being straight and said that if I misled him he would exercise some true force against me. I insisted the trail was only a connecter with no changes in elevation, only mild log crossings and root sections, not too much water and just a touch of snow at the other side. I caught Ted’s hesitant, dubious and somewhat contemplative look—a sure sign that he had resigned himself to his fate. I knew this was my chance, so I motioned for him to go first. Looking up the trail he slammed his shifter into gear and launched up the rugged terrain in his best circa 1980s riding style. By coffee break we had covered some decent distance. Ted was improving progressively as we rode and now, sipping our beverages, we had time to inspect the battered, mud-splattered KTMs. Ted sat back in his chair, looked at me with a huge smile and said, “I had no idea it would be this much fun. Thanks a lot for taking me out riding.” I thought to myself: what kind of sport would run you through a gamut of personal emotion—from pure naked fear to self-satisfaction? Dirt biking, of course. Comments (0) Subscribe to this comment's feed Write comment You must be logged in to a comment. Please register if you do not have an account yet.