Rampart Range road was slick in a lot of places, and we almost drifted off a few times. I guess there's a reason why there's speed limits, even on roads in the middle of nowhere. A few lost drivers stopped us to ask for directions, assuming we knew where we were. Half the time, Dad and I were lost too, but we never let those drivers know that, especially the sketchy ones. After ending up in two very busy parking lots and a few more dead-ends, we finally found road 502.
I got super excited when I saw the road. It was wide and smooth. It was exactly what I hoped it would be. There were very few people, and those who were there were mainly on dirtbikes and mountain bikes. I talked to one mountain biker to ask how rough it was, and he told me it was smooth for two miles before it got gnarly, but even the gnarliest part of the trail was still very doable for me and my dirtbike. I shook hands with him, pulled on my gear, turned the volume in my earbuds almost all the way up, and hit the road with the throttle pinned, leaving my dad in my smoke and dust.
The road had wide turns and was sloped down, so I was leaning on my dragging ankles as I railed those turns, and kept my body closer to my dirtbike as I rode faster and faster. Eventually, I caught some air as the road sloped towards the sky, and was slowed down by gravity. The road sloped down again, and I sped up until the road split into two trails. I drifted to a stop and waited for a few minutes as my dad caught up, and he signaled right, so I headed that way.
The road was rockier and narrower, so I didn't go faster than 30 miles per hour, according to my dad. But I still kept my speed and glanced briefly at the pretty sights. We crossed over creeks and rode alongside a small river. The trail led through grassy valleys and piney woods, and eventually I stopped to really take in the beauty of the trail. By then, I was two miles into the 10 mile road, and in need of some water. Below my boots, there were faint cougar tracks heading into the woods, but unfortunately, I didn't think to take a picture. However, my dad thought to take a picture of me.
The trail was very rough and steep beyond the little place we parked and rested for awhile, but I trusted I had enough power to make it. After all, as long as the elevation stays below 9,000 feet, my dirtbike will run just fine. So, I took in my first deep breath, which at the time, I didn't realize meant my lungs were unclogged, and pinned the throttle.
My dirtbike was having a hard time. I kept the throttle pinned so it wouldn't stall, but at times I worried that it would. I worried that the powerband would kick in at a horrible time, sending me over the cliff or into the side of the mountain. I was also worried about oncoming drivers. I probably wouldn't be in very good shape if a driver came suddenly around a corner towards me. But I remembered words my dad has told me in the past, "Don't be a pussy! Pin that shit and go! Don't think about the bad things that could happen, think about the good, or don't think at all! Only stop if you have to!", so I turned the volume in my earbuds all the way up, leaned my body forward, and pulled my throttle hand all the way back.
My dirtbike growled like it would stall at any minute as I ascended the road. My tires spun often, and at times my toes were dragging behind me as my dirtbike reared up like a horse, and other times I had to hold my feet up as my dirtbike dipped into deep ruts. But I kept going, and I promised myself that I wouldn't take my fist off the throttle even for a second. I could feel the heat of the expansion pipe on my leg and the heat of the muffler on my seat, but I didn't think enough to care.
As I rounded a bend, a huge white Jeep Rubicon popped into existence seemingly out of nowhere!
"Shit!" was all I shouted as life slowed down. I leaned hard to the right and scraped my shoulder and knee into the mountainside. I heard tires skidding, and then someone faintly shout "sorry!!!", as I shakily blinked and realized I wasn't dead, let my dirtbike tip over, and turned around on my heels. If only the people in that Jeep could see my glare. I really wanted to run up to the driver and vulgarly shout about how he almost killed me, or perhaps punch out his driver's side mirror, but he had a couple of girls in the back who looked to be around 8-10 years old, so I resisted the urge and bent down to pick up my dirtbike. I would have no issue cussing out a grown man for nearly killing me, but not when he's got his kids with him. I still have morals.
Five minutes later, I only pushed my dirtbike up about 10 feet forward. My boots kept sliding on the slick gravel, and the dirtbike weighs more than me, so I was getting tired and nowhere. Thankfully, my dad arrived, and he helped to push my dirtbike to a level place where I could successfully start it up and keep going. He was also almost hit by that jeep driver, and I told him about how I saw my life flash before my eyes. We exchanged nervous laughter which tapered off into silent scowls, and after a moment, we got back to riding and driving.
