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MotoTex
0
Funny. When I reloaded the site after a weekend in the Hill Country this is the photo that came up.
Though I had no personal involvement in that particular photo, I can confirm beyond any shadow of doubt that if this is the CR310 crossing of Sandy Creek, it is, as of yesterday, as slippery as owl snot on a brass doorknob coated with Teflon and dusted with spray Silicon.
Approaching from the opposite direction, I was wary. Having been riding around the Hill Country for the past several decades I am no stranger to the green slime. In fact, I had successfully crossed several other well-slimed crossings already that day.
I came in very slow, seeing how water was covering the entire length of the concrete, and the green sheen was readily visible, the thought in my mind when facing this great expanse of green was not so much about if, but more about when I was going down.
It didn't take long. I think I made it twenty feet into the hundred or so that was inundated, then found myself refreshed in the flowing waters of the creek as they easily found their way through my mesh pants and jacket. It did feel kinda good. It had been a hot day. The water was eclipsing the road surface by three inches or so.
Amazingly, I was able to stand up on the first try. Then, more amazingly, I was able to get the Tiger upright on the second try. There wasn't even a hint of traction to be found. I began pushing the bike across, shuffling my feet forward, inching the distance to the dry land I could see and smell, but knew it would take a while to get to.
At one point I decided that pushing from the downstream side, the left, might be better as the water would on occasion move me and the bike slightly. Stopping, which isn't saying much when you are moving at the pace of a snail on an inclined glass panel, was not an issue. Bending over the seat from the right side and putting the kickstand down, now that was something. I rank it right up there with some of them fancy circus tricks I've seen on TV.
Moving around, well, more like skimming around, to the left, I realize that the key is still on. Figuring that this was going to take a while to inch across I didn't want to deal with any chance of a dead battery when once purchase was again found upon the dryness of my dreams where the crossing turned back into nice, safe dirt. I turned the key off and begin again on my snail's perspective of a pace.
Everything is going well. There has been no other traffic, I didn't take any pics, nobody saw it, heck, it didn't happen, right? I'm pretty happy about the fact that there is no evidence other than a tweaked hinge on the Caribou pannier.
Then I get to that steel plate. You can see an example in the photo above. It too is covered in water and the malicious green slime, as is every nut sticking up from it.
Pushing with all the might that traction will allow (which isn't much at all) I bump it and am repulsed. Like on Star Trek when someone is walking down a hallway and hits a force field. It is time to bring out the big guns. I start the bike, put it into gear, and using clutch and all the energy I can transfer without taking another dip I make the charge. Okay, it could hardly be called a charge, but with this assist we are up and over. Whew!
Finally making it to the sweet, sweet dryness of concrete unencumbered with neither water nor slime I move the bike off to the side of the crossing to give room to anyone else foolish enough to come through. The lid on the pannier is tweaked and I begin work on it.
While fiddling with this a Jeep rolls up from the opposite direction. The feller stops and asks if I'm okay I tell him all is well and relate what happened. It turns out he's the land owner and a very pleasant guy.
He relates how another rider, on a Harley, went down last week and it took several hours for several people to get the bike off the crossing. I am amazed by this tale.
After the chat he continues across the bridge and when he gets to the spot I went down his Jeep gets almost sideways. I feel better.
He turns around, comes back across, and follows me out. There's one more slippery crossing, but it is short, as with all other crossings of shorter duration I had ridden that day passage is completed without incident.
On to Inks Lake to meet the missus and stay the night with her and her friends.
If you find yourself venturing out in that region while the water is flowing take care on that lengthy stretch of slime on CR310.
Oh, and more importantly, Harry's BBQ and Beer Joint at Willow City is now just Harry's Beer Joint, as they couldn't meet the demands of the county for food service without some significant upgrades. They did have a dispenser with Butler Hill Country Maps, and I picked up one while there. Nice folks. I was starving and looking forward to some BBQ. Settled for a HungerBuster at DQ in Kingsland.
Though I had no personal involvement in that particular photo, I can confirm beyond any shadow of doubt that if this is the CR310 crossing of Sandy Creek, it is, as of yesterday, as slippery as owl snot on a brass doorknob coated with Teflon and dusted with spray Silicon.
Approaching from the opposite direction, I was wary. Having been riding around the Hill Country for the past several decades I am no stranger to the green slime. In fact, I had successfully crossed several other well-slimed crossings already that day.
I came in very slow, seeing how water was covering the entire length of the concrete, and the green sheen was readily visible, the thought in my mind when facing this great expanse of green was not so much about if, but more about when I was going down.
It didn't take long. I think I made it twenty feet into the hundred or so that was inundated, then found myself refreshed in the flowing waters of the creek as they easily found their way through my mesh pants and jacket. It did feel kinda good. It had been a hot day. The water was eclipsing the road surface by three inches or so.
Amazingly, I was able to stand up on the first try. Then, more amazingly, I was able to get the Tiger upright on the second try. There wasn't even a hint of traction to be found. I began pushing the bike across, shuffling my feet forward, inching the distance to the dry land I could see and smell, but knew it would take a while to get to.
At one point I decided that pushing from the downstream side, the left, might be better as the water would on occasion move me and the bike slightly. Stopping, which isn't saying much when you are moving at the pace of a snail on an inclined glass panel, was not an issue. Bending over the seat from the right side and putting the kickstand down, now that was something. I rank it right up there with some of them fancy circus tricks I've seen on TV.
Moving around, well, more like skimming around, to the left, I realize that the key is still on. Figuring that this was going to take a while to inch across I didn't want to deal with any chance of a dead battery when once purchase was again found upon the dryness of my dreams where the crossing turned back into nice, safe dirt. I turned the key off and begin again on my snail's perspective of a pace.
Everything is going well. There has been no other traffic, I didn't take any pics, nobody saw it, heck, it didn't happen, right? I'm pretty happy about the fact that there is no evidence other than a tweaked hinge on the Caribou pannier.
Then I get to that steel plate. You can see an example in the photo above. It too is covered in water and the malicious green slime, as is every nut sticking up from it.
Pushing with all the might that traction will allow (which isn't much at all) I bump it and am repulsed. Like on Star Trek when someone is walking down a hallway and hits a force field. It is time to bring out the big guns. I start the bike, put it into gear, and using clutch and all the energy I can transfer without taking another dip I make the charge. Okay, it could hardly be called a charge, but with this assist we are up and over. Whew!
Finally making it to the sweet, sweet dryness of concrete unencumbered with neither water nor slime I move the bike off to the side of the crossing to give room to anyone else foolish enough to come through. The lid on the pannier is tweaked and I begin work on it.
While fiddling with this a Jeep rolls up from the opposite direction. The feller stops and asks if I'm okay I tell him all is well and relate what happened. It turns out he's the land owner and a very pleasant guy.
He relates how another rider, on a Harley, went down last week and it took several hours for several people to get the bike off the crossing. I am amazed by this tale.
After the chat he continues across the bridge and when he gets to the spot I went down his Jeep gets almost sideways. I feel better.
He turns around, comes back across, and follows me out. There's one more slippery crossing, but it is short, as with all other crossings of shorter duration I had ridden that day passage is completed without incident.
On to Inks Lake to meet the missus and stay the night with her and her friends.
If you find yourself venturing out in that region while the water is flowing take care on that lengthy stretch of slime on CR310.
Oh, and more importantly, Harry's BBQ and Beer Joint at Willow City is now just Harry's Beer Joint, as they couldn't meet the demands of the county for food service without some significant upgrades. They did have a dispenser with Butler Hill Country Maps, and I picked up one while there. Nice folks. I was starving and looking forward to some BBQ. Settled for a HungerBuster at DQ in Kingsland.
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