A Biker's Look at ATVs
By Grant Parsons
October 23, 2004 – Somewhere between the 1,000-foot overlook and the isolated ruins, it hits me: I think I may finally understand this whole ATV thing.
Not
that I haven't enjoyed riding ATVs in the past, mind you, it's just that I haven't
exactly logged a lot of seat time.
Until now, I've generally thought of quads as pretty fun ways to get around, especially if you don't have a motorcycle handy.
But blasting over the top of Ceballito Mesa in northwestern New Mexico, it strikes me that on this particular afternoon, on these particular trails, I can honestly say that the machine I really want to be on is an ATV. And not just any ATV, this one: a Suzuki Z400 performance quad with Doug Drussel's innovative and highly effective Rev-Loc clutch.
Because this thing is magic.
In our mixed motorcycle/ATVgroup, which includes some skilled dirt riders whose back wheels I would never see if I were riding a motorcycle, I'm actually chasing the front guys. On a quad. Yee-ha!
For me, this is the biggest surprise to come out of one of the most enjoyable days I've ever spent on the trail.
We started the morning with five bikes and four quads in four vehicles. We drove to the trailhead, then set about unloading trail vehicles, locking down highway vehicles, and gearing up.
In no time, we'd left behind the main U.S. Forest Service road on the valley floor, and start rolling along a wide, dusty rock-strewn two-track threading among the pines. I spent the first few miles reminding myself to use my thumb, not my wrist, to control the throttle, stopping my left hand from grabbing the non-existent clutch lever, forgetting my countersteering instincts and remembering long-dormant weight-shifting techniques in fast corners.
By the time we got to the rock field that is the trail up the side of the mesa, I had it all down and could focus my attention on the task at hand. That was good, since attention comes in handy any time there may be a several-hundred-foot dropoff just yards off the trail.
We switchbacked up the side of the mesa, quickly gaining several hundred vertical feet in elevation. Up top, we followed two-track trails that are descendants of logging and mining roads from the 1920s and '30s. This area was heavily timbered at one time, but you wouldn't know it to look at it now.
Rounding one last corner, we pulled up to an overlook that has to be at least 1,000 feet above the valley floor. If you're heebed out by heights, walking to the edge of this will definitely do it for you. But you can't resist soaking in a view that seems to go on forever.
After lunch at a GPS-indicated 7,830 feet, we mounted up, and it quickly became clear that the ride had reached the special point that every off-road ride eventually hits—it was about to turn into a race.
And within a few miles, I realize I've been looking forward to this. Yeah, I got myself one bad four-wheel sport machine. Bring it on.
For miles, we chase each other through the trees. The guy in the lead is supposed to know where he's going, and as one of the guys behind him, I'm only responsible for following. So I shut off all navigational instincts and home in on the nearest rear tire.
And then it clicks. After several years of feeling a bit awkward on ATVs, it finally starts to feel natural.
I'm using the power-slide line: Keep the speed up right up to the middle of the corner; throw the bars to the side; gas it; and weight the inside peg to get the rear loose. Then catch the rear-wheel slide when the front lines up with the corner exit, thumb in more throttle and go like stink for the next corner.
There's also a brake-slide line that involves dabbing a bit of brake on the corner entrance to lighten and slide the rear. But the Z400 has so much power that I don't bother with the brakes unless things get really hairball.
I know I've got it right, because suddenly, it's no longer work. I just look, and the machine goes there.
I also know I've got it right because the guy in front of me—New Mexico native Jim Burton—isn't getting away on his Yamaha YZF426. Sure, he's probably not hanging it all out, but he's moving along pretty well, and I'm keeping him in sight, grinning like an idiot, for miles.
This ends up being a good thing, because it means that I see him loft the front wheel and ride the rear right over a large, downed tree blocking the trail. And I quickly realize that as capable as the four-wheeled Z is, it doesn't have the ground clearance for that.
I lock up all four brakes and skid to a stop. We use the winch on a Suzuki Eiger to haul the tree out of the way and clear the trail for everyone else. Pretty cool.
Soon after that, the race comes to an end when we jump onto an incredibly tight trail. I'm trying to figure out where this could possibly be leading, but soon enough, I find out.
Jim pulls up at the top of a natural amphitheater created by a gentle curve of the terrain.
It's now getting to be late afternoon—time to come down off the mesa. And what an exit we make.
I'm following the trail when it simply disappears in front of me. I park with the others and walk to the edge to discover a sheer drop of several hundred feet. To the left, maybe two feet from the edge, there's a vague hint of a trail traversing the sheer side of the mesa. Right at the top, before the trail even begins, there's a 2-foot dirt mound to climb before dropping down onto the trail.
The drill is simple: One at a time, we each run right up to the edge, execute a 90-degree turn over the mound, then nosedive onto a shelf trail with a rock wall on the left and the ubiquitous sheer dropoff on the right.
I make the turn with several inches to spare, then start down the trail, finding more huge dirt mounds, designed to divert water off the trail, every 30 feet or so.
It's an intimidating trail—steeply downhill, with no runoff room and those periodic water bars you have to climb before even seeing what's on the other side. But the four-wheeler makes it a bit easier, since I can climb each one, then stop and consider the trail ahead before proceeding.
We pick our way slowly down the trail—a couple of bikes, then a clump of ATVs, then a couple more bikes.
I get to the bottom and look back up as the final bike riders struggle over the obstacles, trying to maintain balance and momentum. It would be a lousy place to crash, within yards of the road back to the trucks.
I look down at the Z and decide once again that on this particular trail, on this particular afternoon, I'm glad I'm on an ATV.