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I’m on the last couple of legs of a 6,000-mile on-/off-road ride on my adventure bike.
For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a motorcycle that can carry full gear comfortably on the freeway, handle twisty canyon roads with plenty of power and control, and travel off-road to places that road bikes could never hope to go. (I’ve included some pictures below to accompany this story.)
This multi-leg journey has included plenty of solo riding, along with four legs where I was accompanied by three of my sons. It’s been a blast!
Most of the ride has been relatively uneventful. The bikes have performed well. Traffic has been light because we have ridden the smallest backroads, backcountry unpaved roads, and recreational vehicle trails. And, surprisingly, we have been rained on only a few times. (Afternoon thunderstorms are common in the desert regions we’ve traveled. Somehow, we seem to have ridden between most of the storms, seeing them in the distance, but either unintentionally dodging them or riding on the wet roads and trails they have left in their wake.)
We’ve been on mountaintops at 11,000 feet where the hottest summer days have turned to a bearable but not fully comfortable chill. We’ve awakened to cool mornings in the 50s, only to be sweating in 100-plus-degree weather by lunchtime as we drop into lower desert regions. It’s a completely different experience than driving in a vehicle with four points of contact on the road and the ability to open and close windows to manage weather conditions and turn on the air conditioning when things get too warm.
When you’re out in the elements like this on two wheels, you either embrace becoming one with the environment by being properly prepared, or suffer the consequences of being at the mercy of Mother Nature.
Along with being prepared for ever-changing weather, adventure riding also involves hauling food and water, knowing your route so you don’t become a search-and-rescue story, having enough mechanical knowledge to maintain your bike and make minor repairs on the trail, and having very specific tools with you for those needs — carrying everything you need to address possible breakdowns, while only including what you absolutely need to minimize weight and maximize limited cargo space.
It’s not convenient. It’s not always comfortable. And it’s definitely not for the faint of heart.
Despite best-laid, well-executed plans, adventure riding inevitably leads to facing unplanned situations. A complete engine failure. A broken leg. A bent rim. These, and many other possibilities, can shut down your ride completely. Hopefully, with foresightful planning, these extreme situations may result in significant inconvenience and expense, but you still return home safely.
I’ve endured a broken back dozens of miles from the nearest town (and even more miles to the nearest hospital), a broken leg and incapacitated wrists (in a separate incident from the one that broke my back), flat tires (three times), bad fuel that caused my bike to be inoperable, and, undoubtedly, a few other inconveniences that my brain has chosen to forget.
One such situation happened this week.
My son and I were off-road, enjoying the last day of our three-day leg together. We had been rerouted off our planned backcountry itinerary due to a wildfire on the first day, ridden through hail and rain (changing route plans to avoid muddy trails the second day), and were looking forward to a rain-free, fire-free day as we made our way to our destination on day three. It looked like he would get one as-planned day out of his time with me.
I led as we made our way along a mostly smooth trail frequented by ATVs (personal four-wheeled vehicles the rider straddles like a motorcycle), UTVs (multi-person, four-wheeled vehicles with seating similar to that in a car, with occupants sitting side by side), and motorcycles. On this particular day, however, we didn’t see any other vehicles or people as we glided along our path.
The road ahead looked great! The skies were clear. I was enjoying myself very much, glancing in my rearview mirror periodically to make sure my son was still behind me.
All was well.
I came over a small rise and saw that some recent flash floods had washed across the trail, causing some minor ruts. I slowed down to cross the ruts, standing to allow my legs to absorb the bumps. A few dozen yards later, I encountered another minor wash and repeated my deceleration and stand-to-cross approach. No problem. This, and much more aggressive situations, are part of the fun of adventure riding.
I came upon a third wash, but this one was different. First of all, the rise of the trail was such that it hid the wash from my view until I was upon it. Secondly, this wash didn’t consist of minor ruts crossing the trail; rather, the trail had been washed completely out on the downhill side, leaving a gaping chasm nearly as wide as my bike was long, and deep enough to suck my bike into a situation that would require it to be winched out (or retrieved by four or five particularly strong people).
I didn’t have time to stop, so I defaulted to the off-road rider’s motto: “When in doubt, throttle out!” I leaned to my left to cross the wash on the uphill side, where the damage to the trail was significantly less — perhaps half the width of my bike’s length. I leaned back as I stabbed the throttle, hoping to get my front wheel to come up and clear the other side of the wash. I almost made it.
My front tire came down with its lead edge squarely on the far side of the wash, bottoming out my forks. Had I not throttled hard and leaned back, my front tire would have most definitely gone down into the wash, hit the far side, and flipped my bike, throwing me over the handlebars. The forks would very likely have been bent in the process. I was fortunate!
As I recovered from the impact, keeping my bike upright, I sat down on the seat and glanced in my mirror, just in time to see my son encounter the wash. He had the opportunity to slow down considerably and was able to ride through the far uphill side of the wash, still being thrown hard, but recovering and riding it out successfully.
I was so relieved!
Then reality set in. My bike’s front end felt odd. My control was mushy. I had an impact blowout. My front tire was toast.
The good news is that I wasn’t riding solo, as I most often do. Solo riding isn’t usually an issue, since there are others on the trail. As I mentioned earlier, however, we hadn’t seen anyone that day. I left my son with my disabled bike and plenty of water, jumped on his bike, and headed to town to find someone with a trailer who could rescue my bike.
This is where the story really begins…
I pulled into a convenience store, went in, and talked to the woman behind the counter. “I assume in a town like this, there are plenty of people with motorcycle trailers and four-wheel-drive vehicles. Do you know anyone with that equipment who would like to make some money this afternoon?”
The woman slowly shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone,” she replied. “People around here really don’t ride motorcycles. This is an ATV/UTV town.”
“I’m sure we could make any recreational vehicle trailer work,” I said. “I’m in a bad spot.”
She thought for a moment, stepped away from the counter while pulling out her phone, and made a call. I couldn’t hear anything she said.
She finished the call, turned to me, and said, “Someone will be here in 15 or 20 minutes.”
“Thank you!” I exclaimed. I was shocked! My first attempt to find help was bearing fruit.
A young man in a pickup truck with a trailer pulled up less than 15 minutes later. He and I talked through the situation, and he told me he would follow me out on the trail.
I had asked this young man a couple of times how much he wanted me to pay him for his help. He had simply replied, “Oh, we’ll figure it out when we’re done.” I didn’t get any vibe that he intended to be unfair to me, so I let it ride, trusting it would all work out equitably.
I’ll spare you the play-by-play details. Suffice it to say it was a time-consuming, slow-going effort. The good news is that we got my bike back to town successfully.
We unloaded my bike in a space beside the convenience store where I had gone seeking help — a spot where it could be easily picked up and towed to a shop that could not only repair my tire but also check whether I had damaged the rim.
1. Distant storm and damp dirt roads (my favorite). 2. Summer hail and heavy rain. 3. Among the pines at 8,000 feet. 4. Slowly making our way off the trail with a disabled bike.
During the few minutes I had waited for the young man who rescued my bike, I had called to see if I could find an open shop and a tow truck to get me there. The tow truck was no problem; however, no bike shops equipped to meet my needs were open until Tuesday (most bike shops close early on Saturdays and are closed all day Sundays and Mondays, and it was the weekend).
At my wife’s suggestion, whom I had called to inform her about my situation, I found a truck and driver willing to retrieve me and take my bike to my regular shop, some 150 miles away.
I called the shop owner. He told me he could get to my bike on Tuesday, but didn’t want it sitting outside at his shop until then. He told me to let him know when we were 30 minutes away from his shop, so he could meet us there and put the bike inside. Thankfully, the arrangements for the truck and shop were made before we headed out to recover my bike, so the truck showed up shortly after the young man and I had unloaded my bike by the convenience store.
Once my bike was unloaded, I thanked the young man again for his help and asked him how much I owed him. “I need to grab something inside,” he said, and headed into the convenience store. I went in to wash my hands. When I came out, the young man, his truck, and his trailer were gone.
My son, who had followed us in off the trail, had parked his bike next to mine and was getting a drink of water. I asked him if he saw where the young man went. He had not.
Puzzled, I stood there wondering what was happening. Surely, this guy expected to be paid. Where was he?
Just then, a pickup and trailer very similar to the one the young man was driving pulled up and parked next to us. Surprised by the similarity between the two setups, I asked the gentleman driving it if he knew a young man in town with a similar-looking truck and trailer. “Why are you asking?” he queried.
“Well,” I explained, “He just recovered my bike from the trail, but he disappeared before I paid him.”
The man smiled. “Oh!” he went on, “You’re the guy my son just helped bring in.”
I was ecstatic! I found the guy’s dad. Surely I could settle the bill with him.
“This is great!” I exclaimed. “Can you call him to see what I owe him? I can give the money to you, and you can give it to him for me.”
The man smiled even bigger. “If he didn’t charge you, he must have gotten what he wanted out of the deal,” he said quietly. “It’s taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”
I was stunned. When I had originally headed into town on my son’s bike after the mishap, I had hoped to find someone who was fair-minded and wouldn’t gouge me because of the spot I was in. I never expected to find someone who would sacrifice his afternoon and not get paid anything.
I must have looked as surprised as I felt, because the man repeated himself, “It’s taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”
“That is more than too kind,” I stammered. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems insufficient, but thank you — and your son.”
I continued, “I don’t want to insult your son and his kindness by pushing to pay for this, but I’d like to give him a little something to express my appreciation. What would be appropriate?”
The man gave me a modest dollar amount and said, “He would see that as a return gesture of kindness without feeling like you were trying to pay him for the recovery.” I pulled out the bills in the amount he suggested, handed them to him, and, on the verge of tears, told him I appreciated him for being the dad he obviously is, for having raised the son he raised.
The man took the money, shook my hand, and thanked me for seeing the good in his son. “He will really appreciate this,” he said before turning and walking away.
I stepped into the store to thank the woman again for helping orchestrate my rescue. It turns out she was the stepmother of the young man she had called to recover my bike.
“Thank you again for helping turn a terribly inconvenient experience into a pleasant one,” I said. “You have an amazing family. I hope your kindness is repaid many times over for the difference you made for me today.”
“That’s just what we do,” she replied with a smile.
I had sent my son home on his bike. There was no reason for him to hang around. My tow showed up. We loaded the bike and headed for the shop — a two-and-a-half-hour drive away.
When we were about 30 minutes from the shop, I called the owner. He pulled in just ahead of us, helped unload the bike, and told me he would let me know what he finds when he gets to my bike in a couple of days. What a guy to drive 30 minutes to meet me, just so my bike didn’t sit outside. That was very kind.
The final kindness of the day came when I asked what I owed for the tow. “Just cover my fuel — or don’t even do that. It’s up to you,” was the reply. What? Who drives 300 miles and eats up their afternoon and evening just to have their fuel level returned to where it was (or even pay for the fuel out of their own pocket)? There are genuine expenses to every mile put on a vehicle beyond the cost of fuel, not to mention the value of one’s time.
“Seriously,” I replied, “I’d like to pay you appropriately.”
“You already have,” was all he said. At my request, we found a place with diesel between the shop and my house, and I fueled his truck before being dropped off — safely back home.
There are many truths remembered and lessons learned that I could choose to focus on from this experience. I will limit my thoughts to those surrounding human kindness.
Five people — three of whom I had never met before — went out of their way to help me when I needed them. I’m still basking in the light of their selfless kindness.
What could have easily resulted in a tab exceeding a thousand dollars all told cost me just a couple hundred dollars — including the necessary repair to my bike. But far more important than the money not spent is the connection that came through the thoughtfulness of these five people and their willingness to sacrifice to help a fellow human in need.
What could have easily been a two-day, time-wasting experience that had me spending a couple of hotel nights in a strange town and a repair at a shop I didn’t know anything about was reduced to just eight hours from the time I hit that wash until I was sitting in my back patio rocker, visiting with my wife and sharing my deep gratitude for everyone who had made the day enjoyable and memorable.
We rise to the occasion.
We see beyond our selfish desires.
We employ our resources to help each other.
I appreciate the people in my life.
While I try to live in a state of unconditional peace so I can enjoy the benefits of the clarity it brings, situations occasionally attack that peace. To my own surprise, this was not one of them.
As I rode my son’s bike back into town to find help, I reflected on the aftermath of the few seconds during which the situation took place and forced the end of our ride.
I didn’t get mad.
I wasn’t frustrated.
I didn’t use any colorful language.
I didn’t wonder why this happened to me.
None of those reactions are beneficial.
Because I didn’t step outside my place of peace and react emotionally, my mind was clear. I quickly assessed the situation and arrived at what seemed to be a plausible solution to my conundrum. While I didn’t feel any lightning-bolt moment, I will fully attribute my thoughts to divine inspiration. I can’t imagine any other reason that I would have immediately had a thought that seamlessly resulted in exactly what needed to happen.
I’ll wrap up this journal entry with a couple of thoughts on peace and service.
When we live in a state of peace that allows our minds to be clear, we open ourselves to opportunities that benefit us and everyone around us.
When we live in a state of service — and allow others to serve us when appropriate — we all win.
These two realities work hand-in-hand. Living in states of peace and service changes the game in ways nothing else does.
Pursue peace as a life-giving element equivalent to breathing.
Seek service opportunities with the same consistency as eating nutritious food.
These are foundational elements to living a fulfilled life.
They are necessary to being HumanlyConnected.
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