Taken from the May 2004 Newsletter

GEORGETOWN OUTING: by Le Wallin

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"Georgetown in the Spring of ‘04"

It was Friday, the 23rd of April, when the music end of TBSA four-strokes began to play. It was Colombo, Hampton, RK, Wallin and Smith loose one more time. This time they were heading east and, with all bikes street-legal, not much stood in their way. It was Wentworth Springs Road up to Stumpy Meadows, and the lake was looking good. As we looked down on the lake, we could see the fish in the water just looking for something to eat, while all the fishermen were about 300 yards up the lake looking for hungry fish. Makes you wonder about what is meant to be and what just happens by chance - a lot like life!

A few miles east of Stumpy, we turned off south and the next thing we knew, Union Valley Reservoir showed up. The lake is so low for this time of the year that we gave some thought to riding the barren lake shores, but one forward-looking rider said we would probably get arrested and deported to the country of our ancestral birth - that would be Sweden for me, Italy for Colombo, and Hampton had no idea where he’d be sent - so we took the road instead. Heading north along the east side of Union Valley, we booked up with Wentworth Springs Road and headed west uphill and into SNOW country. We tried the back road to Uncle Tom’s but soon realized we needed snowmobiles instead of motorcycles. Back to the new paved road and over the top to the downhill western slope. Oh, yes, there was snow, but nothing that a bit of momentum and gas wouldn’t get you through.

All was going well until we approached the Bald Mountain turn-off. Everyone followed the leader to the turn except RK; he knew a short cut and, sure enough, he got there first. Unfortunately, so did another rider coming the other way. HEAD ON. We were about five seconds behind the impact and had no idea what had happened. RK was astride his bike and looking around; the other guy was rolling around on the ground, jumping up and falling down. Looked like a chicken that lost his head. Poor fellow had whacked his foot severely and, instead of just taking it easy, he would try to get up and then fling himself to the ground. About half an hour later, his bunch came up to our camp andBig Bob fixed his broken back brake lever and off to Mace Mill they went. Turned out that RK took a short to his foot and a bloody scrape to the forearm. So much for RK’s weekend - he was chair-bound.

On Saturday, Ron Cottrell lead a ride of about a half-dozen into the wilds of Georgetown. The ride must have been something because it scared six or eight spokes out of a youngster’s wheel, bringing father and son back to camp early. We were taking it easy at the Rock Creek crossing when what was left of Cottrell’s troops came through. For a while we thought that there may be a bike wash at the crossing but all riders kept the rubber down. Oh, well, maybe next time.

Well, next time came in about half an hour, and it didn’t happen to the Cottrell bunch - it happened to me. To set the stage, we were on the west side of Rock Creek and I was being terrorized by the Big Greek Hampton who was right on my tail. We had been over some tough stuff and I was getting tired. Big Bob must have been taking pep pills ‘cause he was never more than ten feet behind me. Sure enough, one little hill, kill the motor on top, no ground under my right foot, and ov er I go. Well, Big Bob tried to pass on that side and, on my way down, I took him out, so now we are both upside down on the side of the hill. After the wrestling match with the two Suzuki’s, it took me only about ten minutes to find a huge water puddle, and now the bike thought I needed a bath. On, yeah, the whole dam bike was practically under water. Keith mentioned, "It’s not every day you see an exhaust blow bubbles like that." What are friends for?

Well, we made it back to camp with only one other incident, and that was the attempted kidnaping of Bob Smith. Bob was riding #4 spot and, as he came around a bend, he saw a rider motion him up a turn-off. The rider turned out to be the sweep rider on Cottrell’s ride. Up the turn-off Bob went and soon the mighty KTM caught up with the next rider. That’s when Bob got wise to the fact that he had been lured into the Cottrell ride. There was no stopping Bob - back down the hill, a hard right-hand turn, on the gas, and he caught us down the road. Now we were stopped waiting for Bob ‘cause our sweep Colombo was trying to explain to us how Bob had been lured into joining the other group. We were trying to decide - should we wait for Bob or did he willingly jump ship? It’s best if you are 60 years old or older to ride with this group; otherwise, nothing they do makes much sense.

After reading this article, do you realize the Harley Half-Miler potentials for the May meeting? I see at least four and I’m sure that the sweep on Cottrell’s ride was that smooth dandy Paul Boettin. I would get into Sunday’s ride, but this letter is long enough now. There were six rigs in camp and a bunch of day riders. Must have been a good campfire on Saturday night because all the wood was gone on Sunday. I got a total of 150 miles in, and that’s a long way at Georgetown. Hope to see you all at the meeting. - - Longfellow

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