Issue link: http://trailridermagazine.uberflip.com/i/105496
"When in doubt, gas it," goes the old saying. I really didn't believe it, but at that point, I had absolutely nothing to lose. Much to my amazement, that healthy whack on the throttle did straighten the machine out. Wow, two near misses in a row. I knew, I just knew that there was no way my luck would hold. It took a long time for my heart to resume beating. inches of travel. Mine moved at least nine before they bottomed. When they did fully compress, my body started moving forward at great speed. The handle bars prevented further movement, and there I was sitting on the gas cap again. Balancing straight on end for a moment, the Yammie teetered then fell back to the level ground, assuming the normal upright position. After that last close call, I settled down to a sensible pace, with the emphasis on no more heroics. But there is no such thing as a sensible pace in the desert. A simple fire road can start doubling back on itself without warning I just sat there for a moment, stunned, stark terror flowing out of my body. Once more fate had been cheated and, except for a few minor bumps and bruises, there was no damage. It took a few minutes to ride out of the gulley and get back on the course. When I did get back on the course, I resolved to cool it and just finish. Enough was enough and I had my share of close misses. However, the entire balance of that ride was nothing but one near crash after another. Finally, in a mild state of paranoia, I arrived at the finish line, never wanting to ride another bike in my life. "Well, Rick old boy," I said to myself, "you've been one lucky dude out there today. All those tight situations and not one crash. The dirt bike gods have been smiling on you." You guessed it … this simple fire road I was on, doubled back on itself without warning. The turn was a natural 20 mph thing; unfortunately, I was doing 40 at the time, and there was no chance at all to make the corner—unless your name happened to be J. N. Roberts. Mine isn't; it's R. L. Sieman and I went off the fire road standing on the pegs, having no idea what I was going to land on. As it turned out, a deep gulley flanked the road and it spanned maybe three bike lengths. "Oh no, not again," I said to myself. "It's finally going to happen … I'm going to disintegrate against that gulley wall." It was late afternoon and time to load up. I got the plank out and started to wheel the Yamaha up into the bed of the pickup. That's when the rotten old plank broke and the bike fell on me. You wanna know something? Pizza and beer don't taste worth a damn when you're all busted up laying in bed. The front wheel was the first to make contact as the bike stopped dead against the far wall. Yamaha forks are claimed to have 6½ January 2012 29