Another excellent ride report from Fred B on rec.motorcycles.dirt
Prologue --
Approaching the base of the woods, and the various entrances and exits snaking to and from the top of the ridge above, I ponder silently what adventure might lie within. Having never been here before, I can only imagine. The trails disappear into the woods and there's no way to predict what horrors may lay beyond. Which path do I choose?
And at that instant I see two fellows emerge from one of the trails. They have much newer bikes than I, and look to be pretty skilled. But most importantly, they appear to know their way around. So as they turn back into the woods I quickly jump in line behind 'em.
The trail is tight and twisty, with foot high rock ledges littered about as it climbs the steep hill toward the ridge top. The two fellas are smooth and fast and I'm right on their asses. The trail gets steeper and we're blasting up the hillside and at this very moment I'm reminded of a line uttered by Val Kilmer, playing Doc Holliday, in the movie Tombstone: "That's just my game." (emphasis on "just.) And I smile inside my helmet.
Report --
Our first visit to Red River began rather inauspiciously. We turned right, after the entrance, and made our way down to the creek area. The park camping area is VERY awesome. We found a big old shade tree to park under with an enormous picnic table right alongside. Then we unloaded the bikes and geared up.
Right away I could see that Tanner (my 9-yr old) was gonna have trouble. Sand is very difficult for the beginner, and sand was EVERYWHERE. He either stalled or dumped the little DT-80 half a dozen times before completing a small circle near camp. I could see he was extremely frustrated.
So I had the kids wait at the truck while I went exploring to find some ground that was more solid. I journeyed to an upper parking area to the east and was scouting it out when a fella on a qwad starting waving his arms excitedly. I stopped and discovered that he was a park employee who was rather irritated by my failure to abide by the "5 mph" speed limit (I honestly hadn't noticed the tiny white signs littering the fence posts along the road). The park official threatened to send me packing before I apologized and explained that this was my first visit to Red River. Seeing I wasn't just some hoodlum out to ignore the rules and cause trouble, the fella relaxed then and seemed to forgive me. Whew!
(It should also be noted that there were no campers close to the road in the area where I was zipping along. That's no excuse, mind you, but it wasn't like I was riding insanely are roosting campers!)
Anyway, I got back to the truck and convinced Tanner that there was indeed some solid ground up there that he could ride on. We figured that the safest way to get him there would be to ride back up to the entrance and take the other road where it splits off. So away we went.
Come to find out, that road just dumps back down to the lower area where we started! (I still don't know how those campers got to that upper area?). But I knew from my scouting trip that one of the trails skirting the north side of the creek wound its way up and around to that upper area. The trouble was, the trail head was steep, with exposed roots and a turn at the top. My son hadn't ridden anything like it yet and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if he could. I pointed the trail out and asked (over the exhaust of our bikes) if he thought he could handle it. I'm not sure he understood, because he replied simply, "Okay." So I shrugged and away we went.
I crested the hill and made the corner before finding a place to stop and look back. And much to my amazement, my son trucked right up it like a pro and was right behind me as I took off again!
Tanner ended up getting in quite a bit of riding after all. He even improved his sand riding skills by the end of the day and it wasn't until almost time to leave that he snapped his clutch lever perch when he crashed on another steep trail near the truck. He didn't get hurt and said he had a blast. That was good enough for me.
As for myself, I found time to make several excursions on my own, including hooking up with the two fellows mentioned above. I chased them for quite a while as we rocketed through the woods, skimmed the deep sand whoops, and carved up a bunch of red clay dirt. Initially, the second guy kept looking back... undoubtedly wondering who the hell was following them. After a while though, when I didn't fall behind or run him over, he quit looking back. It was great fun though because these guys were riding at a brisk, challenging pace and I was immensely satisfied with myself for sticking right with 'em. And then the leader pulled off to the side.
I knew his buddy would also stop and I figured I'd just wave and yell thanks as I continued on. And that's exactly what happened. But as I chose a new trail to explore and got on the gas my front tire slipped up against the trail's banking and down I went! It was probably a 5 mph crash that left me far more embarrassed than anything. I laid there exhausted and laughing for a fraction of a second before remembering the ol' rule that says if you're not injured you should get right up so the others know you're okay. I jumped up and waved to the two fellas to let 'em know I was alright. One of 'em grinned and shouted back, "See, all that riding and then you dump it right here!" I had to laugh.
I had proved myself though, and that was very rewarding. This was my first real challenge since getting back into riding and it felt good to realize that I could still go fast. (Fast to me anyway).
There was one more "pursuit" in my last ride of the day. This one following a solo YZ-450 pilot who appeared to be equally as skilled as the earlier riders. Again I was keeping up, but the big 450 was really accelerating out of the sandy corners. Just rocketing forward. So it was a little tougher to stay with this guy in the deep stuff. But I was doing pretty good until I once again got up against the trail bank with the sidewall of my front tire and laid it over (low side). This time I was going much faster though, and now have a nice strawberry on my left forearm. But as I laid there trying to wrestle my left leg out from under the bike all I could think of was the guy on the 450 getting away! Hehehe.
Red River Cycle Park, it turns out, is 108 miles from my house. It takes exactly 2 hours to get there (left at 9am, arrived at 11am). But one broken clutch perch, one patch of road rash, and 4 hours drive time seems a small price to pay for the awesome day we enjoyed! We left the park at about 6:30pm, satisfied and exhausted. Every day should be so great.
Some photos of our day can be found at: