Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

had promised, the view was breathtaking. To one side you could clearly see Mt. St. Helens and to the other you could see Mt. Rainier, both still completely snow-capped. It was awesome. Many photos were taken and we were headed back down the mountain. The trail went into some pretty dense forest with multiple log crossings and tight switchbacks. Some team efforts were needed to get some of the bikes through, but before we knew it we were back and eating lunch. Dave Sodergren, our local trail guide, led us up an incredible trail for the seeond ride of the day. The trail ran next to a white, silty wash and creek called Milk Creek. The trail actually stayed in the dense forest next to the wash and creek, but Jimmy Lewis, Steve Hatch, Rodney Smith and Burleson could not resist the temptation to ride down into the wash, which looked like the moon - white and barren. You could tell by the few puddles encountered on the trail that this particular area would be slicker than snot with some rain - silt + rain = snot. I continued up the trail, leaving Burleson and crew to play on the "moon," wondering where the trail ahead led to. I was ·awestruck when I came to Milk Lake, the source of it all, at the top of the trail. Due to the white, silty base of the lake the water looks like it's straight out of the Bahamas. It's simply incred1ble. The rest of the crew made it up to the lake and were as flabbergasted with its beauty as I was. We all took plenty of photos and headed back down to Whistlin' Jack Lodge for dinner and a good night's rest for the next day's festivities - whitewater rafting. We were all pretty excited about the rafting trip as most of us on the trip had never done any before. Some of the group rode over a couple of mountain passes to Cle Elum, where they met the rest of the group, loaded up their bikes and continued on to the town of Leavenworth and the Wenatchee River where the rafting expedition would take place. We were suited up and ready to raft after lunch. Things got ugly when the guides told us we would be sharing boats with a few other people slated to raft on this day. Burleson and Pete Den- (Above) The nil up to Milk Lake __ one of the beet of the trip. A white alit beee made the WlIter In the lake look like It had been transplanted from the ClIribbel1n. (Above right) Whitewater rsftlng on the Wemdchee River. It waa a full-on moto betwMf'l the two Moose rafts. (Right) Lava fIeIda were fairly common and were quite a contrast compered to the surrounding foresta. nison soon had the guides talked into giving our crew two boats and letting the other folks tag along in their own boat - and for good reason. We would soon be creating full carnage as we staged a full-on moto and water fight through the ensuing rapids. It was too fun. The guides said water fights were fully legal and even supplied two buckets per. boat for the war, but they didn't have any idea the extent to which a bunch of hard-core off-roaders would take it. We would race through the rapids and waterfight through the calm sections. It also became hip to steal the other boat's buckets and paddles whenever possible. This involved jumping from one boat to the other in search of supplies (l:!uckets and paddles), and knocking off of the boat as.many guys as you possibly could in the process. It was wild and before we knew it Gary Gibbs had a black eye and a cut, and Tom Webb was bleeding from the mouth. One of the guides was actually jumping off of the boat when the other boat even got close - he knew better. We all made it in one piece and were physically beaten down pretty good by the time we got to the end of the line. I'm sure that the guides were pretty worked as well. Some of the guys heard the guides bench racing after the trip as they were collecting our gear. They could not believe what they had just been through. They had been hit with paddles, jerked from the boats they were supposedly controlling, eternally soaked and even abandoned ship when needed (which became often). They had never, ever seen anything like it and probably never will. In fact, plenty of us talked and wondered if we could ever have that much fun whitewater rafting again. and decided that it probably wasn't humanly possible. After all, could you ever moto and battle on a family trip? Not unless your wife doesn't mind a black eye - or two. After a long drive home that involved a small stop for a speeding ticket from local law enforcement (credit the ever-speedy Kinney Jones), we turned in and prepared ourselves for the last day of riding. For the final day of riding the group split up, with some of the guys taking off with Pete Dennison to take a long loop around and through Mt. Rainier National Park, some of the group taking a pretty technical loop that led up to scenic Mt. Clifty, and Kinney Jones took off with Rodney Smith and Steve Hatch to shoot some photos. I went to Mt. Clifty. The trail here was terribly dusty and we all spread out pretty far to ride in clear air whenever possible. As you may know, Dick Burleson is a super-competitive and competent rider. I saw him, Rodney Smith, Steve Hatch and Jimmy Lewis railing and brake-checking each other all week long. It was fun to watch. But things changed for Burleson as we reached the top of Mt. Clifty - Burleson is deathly afraid of heights. I couldn't help but snap a picture as Burleson got off of his bike to push it along a rock-ledge trail that sat on the edge of a roughly SOD-foot rolling cliff. There were even mountain goats running around on the ridge below us. I'll admit that I was a bit worried myseU, but it was somehow just a little comforting to realize that Burleson was actually showing some kind of fear while on a motorcycle. He actually is human. We continued down the trail on the now-wider ridge and came to a couple of snow banks that had to be traversed. Burleson was one of the first guys through it and proceeded to bomb the rest of the guys with snowballs as they came through. Before too long, there were about 10 guys throwing snow at the remaining riders. Jimmy Lewis knew he was going to get it bad and decided to throw his bike sideways to roost everybody, and went down in the process. The snowball fight was just what we needed in the midst of the blazing heat. We all got going again on some of the best trails of the trip that dropped down from the ridges around Mt. Oifty. The trails were skinny, tight and in very good condition. We soon stumbled upon an old logging shack in the middle of a small meadow and had to stop and check it out. I thought I kept hearing the dueling banjo and guitar from "Deliverance" ring through the forest and was a little nervous, if you know what I mean. We were stopping a lot, and Lewis kept sarcastically commenting on how much we'd actually ridden and how tired he was. We kept a pretty fast pace and did some miles after that and drOpped back down into the valley where the lodge was. After a late lunch, most of us decided not to head out on another ride up to Mt. Oifty. Burleson had told Hatch, Smith and photographer Tones about the snow and they just had to go. I didn't blame them, but I was pretty bushed and looking forward to dinner and a couple of margaritas with Bob Haro. They all got back from Mt. Clifty at about 8 p.m. and we had dinner together. We had to fly out pretty early the next morning, but most of us had a great time closing down the bar at Whistlin' Jack Lodge. Haro and LeWis Karaoke'd the night away, stuffing crackers into their mouths over a bet I scam that Jimmy learned in Chile or somewhere like that. When Haro and Gibbs dog-piled Lewis and me in our cabin at about 2 a.m., I knew I was having fun - I think. (N

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