Riding Solo

Do you ride alone?  A personal experience that happened on May 13th has me reevaluating my propensity to ride alone when documenting roads for the site, or any time for that matter.

It had been awhile since I was out and about. It was clear and sunny, so I decided it was time to finally ride the West Fork Smith River Road. It wasn’t raining and the pavement was mostly dry. West Fork Road is remote enough, but when I got to Roman Nose Mountain Road, I decided to take the side trip.

Talk about remote! From the tire tracks in the winter’s fallen debris, it was obvious there had been very few vehicles on this road in the last several months. On the way up the road, I had to go around and over several obstacles. If you’ve ever been up Roman Nose Road you know that the pavement ends about a half mile from the top of the mountain. I stopped at the end of the pavement to consider the challenge of riding this steep portion on gravel that was rutted by winter rains. The top was so close, the temptation overwhelmed me and up I went. Not 50 feet into the gravel portion, I nearly went down trying to navigate the heavily rutted road bed. The thought that I was completely nuts went through my mind, because If I went down here, I knew I would be lucky to pick up the heavy RT. The rest of the way up was dicey on the unstable rocky road.

With my heart out of my throat after the near fall, but still worried that I’d made a big mistake, I made it to the gate that is still a tenth mile from the very top of the mountain. I got off the bike and spent several minutes looking at the expansive views the 2900-foot mountain in the middle of the Oregon Coast Range offers. I kept putting off thinking about the inevitable descent until it was time to go. Going downhill on these rip-rap road beds is more difficult than going uphill. At least I knew what to expect, and I managed to make it back to the pavement with a big sigh of relief.

On the way down it wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen, and I admit my attitude and attention to detail got a little lax. When I came to a large branch down across the road, I decided to go around it instead of just going straight across it like I did on the way up. As soon as I made the commitment to turn around the branch, I knew I had made a mistake. The path I chose required me to make a corner through the loose tree needles that had accumulated on the shoulder of the road. Stupid move! As soon as I hit the needles, the front wheel slipped from underneath the bike and down I went.

It seemed like a slow motion movie as the bike low-sided, I came loose from the bike and we both went sliding down the steep pavement. Seemingly a million things went through my mind in the few seconds the whole thing happened. The first thing I was aware of was I wasn’t hurt. I knew immediately I was okay. My next thought was concern for my bike as I heard it sliding on the pavement and saw the sparks fly off the valve covers. After getting up and hitting the kill switch, I assessed myself and the bike’s condition. I seemed to be fine except for a slightly sore shoulder. Amazingly, the only damage I saw was the engine guard in pieces, the valve cover scraped flat, some amazingly minor scratches on the saddlebag, and the driver’s foot peg was broken off. The bike slid about 50 feet on just the valve cover and the left saddle bag. Nothing else was even scratched.

I looked over my riding clothes (ATGATT forever) and the only thing damaged was my riding jacket. Not a scratch on my boots, pants, gloves or helmet. I slid approximately 40 feet on just my left shoulder. I managed to pick up my bike (no easy feat in the best of conditions.) After the initial shock wore off, it suddenly hit me how extremely lucky I was. Nothing broken or even sprained. I would make it home in okay shape.

What if I wasn’t so fortunate? If an arm or hand was even mildly injured, would I have been able to pick up the bike? If a leg or foot was injured, would I have been able to pick up the bike? No, on both counts. I was about six miles up a road that might not see a traveler in weeks, off of a remote road that was 12 miles from a lightly traveled road that was about 25 miles from the nearest town! If I had an arm injury, at least I would have been able to walk out. If I’d injured a leg and my cell phone didn’t work…well, it’s hard to imagine. The kicker is that not 30 seconds before I went down, I realized I probably should have told someone where I was going. I didn’t. I’ll never do that again.

So, after all that, what now? I have to let someone know where I’m going and approximately when I expect to return. I have to be less cavalier about road conditions, not only on rutted gravel like I navigated at the top, but on seemingly innocuous pavement as well. I have to question if it is prudent to ride alone, especially in such a remote locale as Roman Nose Road. The first two resolutions I will have no problem adapting to. But riding alone is something I will probably continue to do. I can go where I want when I want without having to consider anyone’s needs but my own. I love it and I feel truly free on the road by myself. I enjoy riding with others but I wouldn’t give up my solo sojourns for anything. What I will do is have a more realistic appreciation for the dangers that exist is solo riding.