I primarily ride in the desert, mountains (still in the desert), and dunes. Often, I ride alone. When I ride alone I nearly always phone/radio someone with my coordinates, in case of a problem. If someone is out looking for me, I really don't want them to fail--and my yellow SP500 doesn't hurt in that regard.

Sunday I was _far_ out in the mountains, in the Mohave Desert. I was mainly following the washes, but ran into some coyotes, a bobcat, a rattlesnake (didn't expect that, since it was "only" 80 degrees out), a scorpion, and an unbelievably aggressive swarm of (killer?) bees. I hit patches of rocks and boulders that were almost as high as the SP's bumper, but I pressed on. I must say the SP500 just kept on going (not without a few little "battle scars"), and never let me down.

Well, the blue sky turned black and I was looking at a totally unexpected rain storm (heck, we only get about 6 inches of rain a year). As I stared at the sky, my thoughts turned to the wash--you know that nice "natural" trail that turns into a raging river three times a year. Was this going to be one of those times? Before I could ponder that question the clouds let loose with their first volley. Shoot! I swear I could hear the rumbling of rock and water heading my way. The sides of the wash were near vertical, and about 30' high. Ahead of me was another "boulder garden" that I had already decided was too much to handle (well, for that day anyway). Behind me, another patch of boulders I had just come over--the kind you go over wondering how the heck you're going to make it back.

At this point it was pouring, and I knew I had to make a decision. Quick. I knew I could go back down the same way I came, and would probably make it in time. However, I did not relish the idea of trying to outrun the impending watery onslaught. In case you've never experienced a desert rain storm, I might add that they come fast, and drop a bunch of water in a very short period of time--and it all heads downhill. The washes, which often cross roadways, can grab a passing car during a rain storm--even in as little as 20" of depth.

So, I decided to venture out of the wash, and head back using the mountains' slopes. This isn't as easy as it sounds, as these mountains are covered with rocks (6"-12" in size, and laid down as if it was "gravel"). In fact, the mountains themselves are really nothing more than GIANT rocks, covered with smaller rocks. Trees are virtually nonexistent, and any that are lucky enough to eek out an existence in this Mars-like environment you could uproot with one hand. So much for the winch (good thing too, since I didn't buy it yet).

Well, I made it out of the wash while there was less than 6" of water "flowing" (yep, it had started to flow). My GPS' maps showed the washes, but not much else, terrain-wise, so it wasn't too useful at this point. Every foot that I rode, I slid two (or more). And the rain kept coming. Little-by-little I made my way through the mountains, trying to stay on the least severe inclines as possible. The temperature had gone from 80 to 50, and I was wet and cold (hey, when you live here 50 degrees _is_ cold). That's when it happened.

I was getting used to the semi-controlled sliding that was going on when, all of a sudden, the sliding didn't stop. Ahead of me was, what looked like, a drop-off. I'm thinking, "Bail Mike, bail!" Yet I couldn't. For some reason I could not leave the "protection" of my ATV (the idea of landing on 6"-12" jagged rocks didn't seem too attractive, I must say). So, I semi-bailed. I jumped off, but held on to the bike; literally digging my boots into the rocks to help slow the out-of-control beast to a stop. The sudden pain in my right foot told me I had only succeeded in running myself over. Good one Mike. But, I didn't let go, and finally wrestled the thing to a stop (you'd be surprised how well you can man-handle a SP500 when you are forced to). I was stopped, but I wasn't out of the clear. For one thing, the slope was so steep that any movement I made caused several of my rock friends to start tumbling down the mountain (Note: When you start calling rocks your "friends," you've been out too long).

Fortunately, the rain stopped and--thanks to my GPS--I located the nearest wash (ironically they are labeled "streams" on my GPS, something I had always laughed at). At this steep an incline, I couldn't really "ride" my SP any longer, so I "walked" it (engine running, giving it drop of throttle to keep it at a walking pace) towards the wash. After much searching I found a place where I could get back into the wash. Actually it was just a place where the wash's wall was not quite so vertical. Well, back in the wash I ran into some new boulder gardens, but somehow, after what I'd been through, I went over them with ease (albeit with a very sore ankle). I have to say, when my truck was finally in sight I was more than glad.

After getting home, naturally I did the right thing and said to my wife, "Rain? No honey, I didn't see any rain out there, it was a little boring, actually."

If you've read this far, thanks.


-Mike

 

Mike,great story.I cant help but to think you write stories or something similer.I read it all.It was like reading a good book,once you get into a good story,you must finish reading it all.=====BILL