“total Immersion”
“TOTAL IMMERSION”
The Trailrider
Bob Hicks
THE BASIC PURPOSE of the ride was to check it out, compute mileage, and make notations on our proposed Trail Ride No. 1. As part of our effort to inform new trail riders where to go riding, we had concluded that the best method would be to publish detailed routes, complete with marked topo maps, and turn-to-turn mileaged route sheets. Any reader with an understanding of maps and a route sheet holder could then follow this guide for an all-day ride.
A secondary purpose of the ride was one we often undertook when we went riding on a trip that would include a lot of stopping and starting. We invited a newer rider along, one who'd begun to show signs of developing ability to move along without the succession of flounders and fumbles that make a 30-mile ride an all-day one. Ross seemed ready for a tow, and today he was going to get one.
Our projected ride was based on trails Dave and I had come to know from layout work on the Monadnock Enduro. In the northcentral portion of Massachusetts, near the New Hampshire state line, and bounded on the west by the Connecticut River, were a number of towns which had been quietly shrinking. Too far from centers of business and industry to function as suburbs or exurbs, these towns, like Erving, Warwick and Wendell, had no particularly attractive natural beauties which would make them favored vacation areas. Rather poor, because of this, the towns were an approximation of Appalachia here in central Massachusetts.
What they did have, in profusion, were miles of the old roads which once led to hill farms no longer in use. These old roads had ceased to be maintained, and many now were within state forest land. The Commonwealth had steadily bought up the abandoned lands at tax sales, and a checkerboard of state ownership now covered an area 20 miles east to west, and 30 north to south. If we were to go over into New Hampshire, the trails ran north for over 100 miles in the sparsely inhabited western spine of that state. It was a neat place to plan some fun trail rides.
As usual, Dave had mapped out the entire proposed 65-mile route for the Trail Ride No. 1. Barring unforeseen barriers, this would become our first effort at publishing suggested trail rides. We started from the state parking lot at Laurel Lake on a fine day in late June. As it turned out, it was about the longest day of the year, and we were going to need it.
Dave had the route sheet mounted in his handlebar holder, and led the way. Ross and Fuzz came next, I followed up in the rear, with my notebook and speedometer, noting the mileages at each turn, making notes of outstanding details at any point where it seemed this information might provide a helpful guide. On the longer uninterupted stretches I sometimes would pass our newer companions just to stretch it out a bit, but they’d always catch up at.the next turn while I was stopped making notes.
Fuzz had been this way before, he had been the “new guy” a year or so earlier, and he knew how the game was played when you went riding with guys like Dave and I. So, when his front tire went flat, he didn’t get into a flap over it. He stopped at the next turn and told me about it when I pulled up to mark the mileage. Dave was waiting too, as was Ross, so our conference was easily held. The 21-in. tire didn’t wander much on the rim, and we only had about 15 miles to go on the 65-mile route, so we agreed Fuzz would just have to carry on. We'd not be near any gas stations until we recrossed Rt. 2 not far from the finish of the ride. Ross looked a bit aghast at the idea of carrying on over rather rocky, muddy ways with a flat front tire, but said nothing. His turn was yet to be.
Eventually we reached the Wendell General Store, and since it was 2 p.in., we decided to eat. After refreshments, we located a gas station a mile away down Rt. 2 in Stoneville, and Fuzz pulled in to patch the tire. We were about 5 miles from completing the planned route, but since it was still so early, we weren’t ready to quit. Dave had about 150 miles marked on his maps leading up into New Hampshire.
The gas station guy wasn’t much interested in helping out on the flat, but did sell Fuzz a patching kit. It was during the wait for him to repair the leak that Ross noticed his rear engine mount missing. When he announced this to us, there was a bit of relief in his voice, for he had been contemplating the farther journey with some trepidation. Without the need to stop for notations, the pace was sure to pick up, and he had been using our frequent stops to advantage.
“Looks like I might as well pack it in, fellas,” was about the way he put it. His rear engine mount was gone completely, and though he tightened the others, he was nervous about carrying on. Dave wasn’t having any of this quitting talk, but a check with the unfriendly gas station man revealed that he did not have any bolts long enough.
The town of Orange was about five miles away, so Dave proposed that we ride over there to obtain a big enough bolt, while Fuzz finished up his tire. “Meet you in Orange,” was our parting remark as we pulled out. We found a hardware store, and bought a piece of that long threaded rod, a handful of washers and some nuts. Dave borrowed a hacksaw from the hardware man, and we did a curbside repair to Ross’ bike while some local schoolboys gathered round. Fuzz pulled up as we completed the work (we’d been easy to spot on the single main street).
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Now it was 3:30. Ross mentioned this by way of suggesting it was perhaps time, after all, to call it a day. “Yes, it is getting late,” Dave replied, “so we’ll really have to get going if we’re going to get very far up toward Keene before dark.”
“Before dark?” You could see the question forming in Ross’ mind, but to his credit he swallowed the query and started his bike.
Now the tow began to work, and Ross was never to forget the rest of that day. Without any reason to stop and start, Dave took off at about 3/4ths his usual operating speed, and I assumed follow-up behind him. Fuzz dropped into third, and Ross rode tailgunner. This was the sort of automatic ranking that happens on this kind of ride. Pity poor Ross, for now he got no rest. He was out on a ride for the first time with some of the guys he’d heard of, and seen from afar at enduros, and the self-imposed requirement not to hold back these experts drove him onward.
At each turn, Dave would pull up, then I. Very soon Fuzz would arrive, and then Ross would appear. Poor Ross, as soon as he would hove into sight, Dave would shift into gear, and off we’d go down the next trail or road. Ross never got to stop. The hours passed; this was familiar country for Dave and I, so we hadn’t had to check the maps. About 6:30 we were getting low on gas, so we stopped at a general store in Walpole. It was the first break for our tailgunner, and Ross sort of flopped down on the front stoop while we gassed up. Fuzz got some soda and a box of doughnuts in the store, and we spent maybe 10 min. refreshing. The sun was now well down in the west, and the hillier terrain emphasized the lateness by casting long shadows.
Dave cast a concerned eye on the lowering sun. It would be sunset about 8 p.m., and dusk would quickly darken the woods thereafter. Maybe two more hours at the most, and Dave still had some great trails planned ahead. We’d be turning east now, over toward Marlow, the rough plan being to loop around Keene in a big circle, returning to Laurel Lake over some 60 remaining miles of trail.
“We’re really going to have to get moving now, guys,” Dave announced, and Ross noticeably winced. He had really been moving, and still was alone much of the time, only seeing the rest of us at the turns, and then only as we took off again. Now Dave really nailed it on, and I was hard pressed to hold him in sight. Fuzz opted to ease back a bit and keep Ross company, but neither could really back off. Only Dave knew the way now, and we were up into miles of old woods roads with numerous intersections. We weren’t waiting at every junction anymore, only at those where we would turn. If we weren’t there, the rule was to carry on straight ahead. In the gathering gloom this was cause for some soul searching for Ross, but what else could he do?
After an hour of this, we all gathered up at a point on a back dirt road where another trail led off into the darkening woods. It headed north, for there was a loop of about eight miles here in the plan Dave had on his map. We were an hour from Laurel Lake over the most direct roads, and would be out of light in the woods in another half hour. Reluctantly, oh so reluctantly, Dave decided to call it a day. Two of us had good lights, the others had pretty marginal ones. Our pace would slacken to a crawl in the darkened woods, and accident potential from unseen trail hazards would escalate.
So, we headed back over the roads, and as darkness descended, four small lights could be seen strung out along the winding country roads headed south to Laurel Lake. Ross was no longer last in line, for his taillight was not functioning, and we sandwiched him in amongst the rest of us. He had survived the ride he’d looked forward to, his first all-day adventure with some of the experts. A common bond of experience now brought him into our circle, for he’d not let us down. Never again would he be an unsure novice, never again would he regard a few hours ride on an afternoon as worth the trouble. Ross had now experienced total immersion, and trail riding had changed into a whole new adventure for him. 0
