Picture of John on his KLX 650

Surviving Windy Pass - continued

It was a Saturday, and I had convinced John to go riding up Hobble Creek Canyon. I was on a relatively new 1994 ATK 605, and John was on his KLX 650. After heading up Hobble Creek we took a dirt road that made a circular route as it headed north. The scenery was beautiful with rolling hills, aspen, pine, brush, and grass covering the landscape. At times rugged peaks would expose themselves on the tallest mountains. It was about this time we crossed a stream and headed up a side road that eventually turns into a trail. I had called the forest service to find out which trails were legal, and from what I was told, this trail appeared to be legal. We gleefully road up the trail. I was enjoying the trail so much that it felt illegal, it was kind of like committing a crime – without doing anything wrong. Little did I know that the trail would exact its own revenge later in the day. After riding up the trail we eventually hit the summit. The trail now turned towards the west and headed up a ridge that was thickly covered in brush at times. At times it was difficult to see what was around the corner, and I imagined surprising a bear as I headed up and down the trail and around the corners. I decided if this should happen, the best option would be to pull a wheelie, and take the bear head-on. Ok, I know that’s crazy, but a person’s mind wanders as they ride on unfamiliar trails in the wilderness. After riding for a while I could no longer see or hear John, so I parked my bike and starting walking away. CRASH! I looked back and there was my ATK lying on its side. I quickly ran back and picked the bike up to survey the damage. It appeared that the clutch lever had been bent. I grabbed the clutch lever and gradually increased the pressure as I tried to bend it back into shape - SNAP! John, soon came down the trail, as I was lamenting my newly broken clutch perch.


We weren’t sure if we should turn back or keep going, it might be shorter to keep going. It was about the middle of the day and our hearts were still ambitious and mildly fully of energy so we decided to press on. It was apparent that someone had cleared the trail with a chain saw a couple years before, but since that time trees had fallen across the trail. We pushed on, riding over, or under those that we could, and when it was required we would tug and pull the trees and limbs from the trail that blocked our path.



This soon became an exhausting process. But this was only half of it, the day was hot, and my ATK was a kick start only model – and this ATK could be a stubborn. We had now crossed and dragged enough logs that we didn’t want to go back, but we also didn’t know what lay ahead. Our water supplies were quickly dwindling.



After drinking my last bit of water I was concerned, but there wasn’t much to do except press on. After a while I was really thirsty, and I was literally praying for water. We were now so high in the mountains that something special happened! We encountered snow. This was an answer to prayer, but it is hard to quench your thirst on snow. I ate some, and put some in my water container and waited for it to melt. The snow partially covered the trail, so we skirted the snow, and crossed it were we needed to. The trail soon began a downward decent. We pressed on, down the mountain and into the forest. It may have been scenic, but our minds were caught up with survival, and the uncertainty of knowing where we were going. We came to log. I rode over and waited for John. His front tire went up and then slid sideways causing the KLX to land roughly on its side, hot antifreeze began to spew on the ground. The KLX was also having difficulty starting. All these starts and stops for log crossings, technical terrain, and rests, were hard on the electric start. It wasn’t long before the KLX was struggling to turn the engine over, and would make clicking sounds when the electric start was pushed. The good news was that trail was mostly down hill, so we could hop on and coast or pull in the clutch to start the bikes. We kept a careful eye on the KLX so it would not overheat.



John and I were sitting on the trail resting, and evaluating our situation. John said, “I would pay $3000 dollars for a helicopter to come fly us out”, I could tell that he actually meant it, and my thoughts were not that far from his. My thoughts were of a pot roast dinner and root beer at a local 50’s restaurant in Provo. We decided that when we got out of here, would stop at a 50’s restaurant on the way home and get something to eat. With this pleasant thought we pressed on, I coasted and rode my bike down the trail. John was no where to be seen so I leaned my bike up against the sheer side of the trail and waited a while, finally I began to walk up the trail to see what was taking John so long. After walking a short distance I ran into John walking down the trail with a long stride that his 6’6’’ frame allows. “Where’s your bike?” I said. “It’s gone” John replied. I said, “Lets go get it, I’m not coming back up here”. John replied emphatically “We can’t, its gone”. John seemed so sure that it was gone that I eventually took his word for it. My next question was what happened. John said he was getting on his bike, and threw his back foot over the bike and his shoelace caught on the luggage rack, apparently the bike was rolling and went off the a steep side of the trail. It now sat upside down in the brush off the steep side of the trail, both wheels up in the air, with both mirrors broken.



After the trail leveled out, John hopped on the back of the ATK and we began to ride out. However, with no foot pegs, John’s lanky legs, a partially working clutch, and abundant softball sized rocks on the trail it wasn’t long until the ATK was on the ground, and John and I were sprawled out in the brush and grass. At this point John decided he would rather jog and walk than ride - so I headed down the trail alone. It wasn’t long until the trail turned into an abandoned logging road that eventually intersected with a real dirt road, shortly after this I came to steel gate. I felt bad about being on someone’s private property, but I wasn’t going back the way we came. I then walked up the road and knocked on the door of the house to see if they would open the gate, but no one answered. Thankfully the gate angled down so it was not as tall on one end. I then sat down on the dirt road and waited for John. John eventually showed up and we lifted the ATK over the gate, I scratched the paint a little on the gate as we lifted it over, I thought of apologizing to owner that lived in the house up the road, but as small as the scratch was, they probably would not want to be bothered, they weren't home, and I wasn’t sure how they would feel about some guy trying to explain how his dirt bike ended up on their side of the fence.

After returning to Provo, we went and got that pot roast at the 50's restaurant I had been dreaming about. It felt so good to be safe, and to have a pot roast dinner and a big glass of root beer to quench my thirst.

Three days later with our energy stores renewed we hiked back up the South Fork; and with the help of a come-along type cable system, a rope, and another friend, we retrieved John’s bike.

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