Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

(Left) Wishing for no more setbacks at the penny cans on the Mojave Road. (Right) Passing Government Holes, the site of the lest ·Old West" gunfight In the Mojave Desert. toward the Colorado River.. We were close, but we weren't there yet - a point that was further driven home when the White Brothers Yamaha WR400F started a sudden series of lockup/stalls while Gunter was riding it. Then a rather cruddy-sounding clunk soon began to emit from somewhere deep in the bowels of the beast. Thankfully, we were only a couple of clicks from our next rendezvous with the support truck at Highway 95, and the WR was nursed along to that point. Diving in through the clu tch cover yielded nothing loose or ra ttling; it was wishul thinking. Sadly, the WR was on Death Row. We put 'er in the truck, and Hoyer volunteered to ride with Marv for the remaining few miles to Laughlin. For the rest of us, the adventure continued with a climb up and over the Dead Mountains, or as Jones likes to refer to it, "Spirit Mountain." The mountain reputedly contains Indian burial grounds. And Jones says that after you ride down and take a look back, the dust in the air hangs on the spirits of the dead. Or something like that. True enough, looking back allowed us to see the still, serpentine dust trail that marked our path. But even better, looking forward allowed us to see the lights of the A vi Hotel and Casino, our final destination at the end of day one. The revelry and debauchery that soon followed isn't fit to print in a family publi-... Aw, who are we kidding? We had ridden 180 miles and were beat like red-headed stepchildren. After a round of showers and a rather late dinner, we attempted to salvage at least a little dignity on the casino tables. Nothing doing. We lost all of our money and then watched high roller Jones lose all of his before hitting the rack. Our 7:30 a.m. start time would come way too soon. DAY TWO othing elevates the mood quite like waiting for a long-overdue meal in a smoky casino restaurant. (Gotta love the smell of Kools in the morning... Smells like victory!) But we mowed through breakfast like a last supper in hell much wailing and gnashing of teeth and headed outside to get on the trail. The Husky was cold-starting easier - it only took us three tours of the parking lot to get the bike started with the lightweight Freeman aboard, and we were off. The only mistake we made was to attempt to ride the White Brothers 420 again. It started easily enough but didn't last, and it was back in the truck, along with Kit Palmer, who drew the short straw for the brief first leg of our ride • toward the Mojave Road. Day two's §! course would keep us some 25 to 30 ;;;;. miles north of our previous route. ~ It's pretty easy to tell when you're on ;:; the historic Mojave Road, and also ~ where you're headed on it. At every 28 intersection, you'll find these little piles of rocks, called cairns, which make for fairly maintenance-free road markers. All you have to do is keep them on your right when you want to go toward Los Angeles and on your left when you want to go toward the Colorado River. If you see a disheveled cairn, stop and fix it. Well, so much for the navigation rules of the Mojave Road. We had hardly gotten cranked up before we met the support truck at Highway 95, at which time Hoyer had to split off from the group in order to make a meeting with some tax accountant back in the real world. That was too bad for a couple of reasons: One, Hoyer didn't get to see the best part of the ride; and two, we decided to let him take the most streetworthy bike, the XR650L, to ensure that he would make that date. That left us with just two civilized bikes in the herd; we stiJI had K.J.'s DR350 and his brother-in-law Ray Franco's legalized Honda XR400R. Who knew we might be showing those crusty McLaughlin motor corps dudes some new tricks yet! Some 30 miles west of Laughlin, we ran into the first-of several historic attractions on the Mojave Road, which had turned from sandy-smooth to a rimtrashing rockfest. But we reached Fort Piute, or more accurately, the Outpost at Piute Creek, as it was known during its use in 1867 and '68. The outpost was used by the U.S. Army to protect the Arizona Overland Mail from the bands of Indians that occupied the area in those days. There's not much left to it now, just a few piles of desola te rocks that mark the boundaries of the corrals. However, if you're willing to climb off and walk up the Piute Creek trail about 200 yards or so, you can find several Indian petroglyphs etched into the rocks, and there is another rock wall that is most likely part-<>f the ruins of a fort built by a man named Samuel Bishop in 1859. The real Mojave Road actually continues past Fort Piute and over the mountains, but that portion of the road is strictly off limits, so the proper route is to head south and then west around Piute Creek Pass and rejoin the trail on the other side of the mountains, which we did as we headed back toward Lanfair Valley. There the road turned back to sand and once again allowed us to get on the gas as we ran through thickets of Joshua trees and Cholla cacti. As more than one of us learned, brushing too close to a cholla cactus at speed is... not recommended. Once again, we were 18 miles down the road and just getting into the flow of the ride when Jones skidded to a stop in front of a tree that looked like it had a bunch of garbage dumped in it. Well, li1Iie4'l!fleds ~~~~,~"'~w~..tI~~-:S:: cUclSboks • dieiIIIner aIlCI ~.~!;CI'Mlkow tag: =. 'tit. Kg d ac1c1ed oaIy a ~===~~~=:.s ~ dual-sport kits aIlCI a Slroker seat cover were the Our ride on the Straker KLX300 was a rewarding experience. The engine was the easiest-starting in our group, requiring no more than two klcks cold and one hQt to get motivating. And despite being the lowest-displacement motorcycle in the pack, the KLX more than held its own - and actually shined - in the wide range of terrain. Nobody complained when it was their tum to climb aboard the KLX, as the spirited motor revved freely, lacking only a bit more top end to make it perfect. The same could be said for the suspension and handling, which worked in harmony to produce a great ride in just about any condition. We might consider adding a tad more rebound damping, and we thought that the KLX got a tad nervous in the sand, but for the majority of riders looking to take a dirt bike and modify it for street compatibility, the KLX strikes a nice balance. It certainly did in our group of stone stockers and high-priced hot rods. The KLX was truly the most stock·, feeling modified machine in the bunch. One tester even noted that, at the end of the second day, the Stroker KLX was the freshest-looking horse in the s·table. Impressive. ice job, L.R.

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