The team, which can be explained better over here and here, with two new members, gathered in the woods north of McCall Idaho this time. Ready and willing to tackle some laughter and late evening excitement to keep riding even though the light is almost completely gone.
Rule #1: No 2-strokes.
Apparently we suck at enforcing rules. We found this dude working at the city and snuck him out fer some real rednecking, and tried so hard to get him to shut up about Vermont. I dont think he can? Thats Brad fer ya.
SOB came out too, loving life and ready to fix some 600. But as it usually goes, it didnt fix, which is why we have so many dang bikes. On the 250 he tore it up. On foot, we both sucked air felt like poop. That being said we came to ride not hike, Period.
So we found ourselves up at Loon lake, the scene of a bomber wreck in the "long time ago" time period. We had to hike all the way over to the other side of the lake, in riding boots, which as far as I can tell are not made for walking. Its hot out too.
A B-23 is supposed to look like this:
What we found looked like a significantly smaller, crumpled, mangled mess of aluminum. Most of the important stuff had been removed and the cool stuff pillaged by visitors. Lame. A cooler part of the story was how the crew had wrecked in a giant snow storm, landed on the frozen lake, slid into the woods ripping the wings off and managed to stay alive and warm by cutting trees for firewood with a big .50 caliber machine gun from the plane. Tight.
So we continued riding, continued racing up the Carey Dome Lookout road, with or without millions of Landrovers, and cooked and ate really good yet gross looking concoctions from the outdoor kitchen, mostly made up of leftovers from the night before. Zambi guarded the camp from chipmunks. On the last day we were gonna head up to towards Riggins and hit the Hard/Hazard Creeks Trails for the sweet inverted switchbacks and such. Thankfully on the way out we decided through a haze of exhaustion that burgers and beer would feel better. They did. That night Brian and SOB took off on the long journey south, dreaming of singletrack, thumpers and whiskey. Im sure B also thought about that "youre the only one who hasnt wrecked yet" comment. We're bastards, I know.
The next day G and I continued the mission and headed up the H&H trails and made it to what I think is called Hard Peak, or Squirrel Square Britches Mountain.
This where I give major credit to Amsoil. When I rebuilt my top end earlier this spring and broke in the piston rings with some crap oil, I needed some new good stuff, and I couldnt find the Silkolene I used to be running. Back in LA at the Husky shop, old man was telling about oil with zinc being the best, so I found Amsoil and wow, it really works. Between the new rings and amsoil I no longer have to change my oil after every other ride, and it stays buttery gold in color. Impressed. I did manage to puke the radiator a couple times on climbs while watching G "mario kart" bounce up the trails ahead of me.
The struggle
