Today I took the KLX 140R out to Delle, Utah (west of Tooele) for its first rip with Mike, DeeAnn, Seth, and Destiny for what can only be described as our “end-of-season, we’re doing this even if we freeze solid” ride. When we unloaded, it was 33 degrees — the kind of cold where you immediately start questioning your hobbies. It eventually “warmed up” to a toasty 40 degrees, which I’m pretty sure counts as a heatwave by November standards.
I was prepared, though: full thermals under the motocross gear, Jeep hoodie, lightweight jacket — the whole winter-riding ensemble. I never felt actually cold, but any time we stopped moving, the goggles would fog up like they were trying to retreat into hibernation.
I didn’t mess with tire pressure today; I had set it to 13 PSI after the last ride, and for once past-me actually did present-me a favor. The tires hooked up surprisingly well, even in the loose gravel and those sand traps that materialize out of thin air like nature’s own little “gotcha” moments. Much better than the mama bear “no pressure” and papa bear “too much pressure.” Baby bear was spot on.
We wandered all over the west end on a buffet of trails — single track, cut trails, and double track that probably began life as a Jeep trail but has since devolved into two parallel lines of questionable life decisions. Most of our exploring happened west of the road to the radio towers. That area is basically a terrain sampler platter: sand, rocks, ruts, and just enough sketchiness to keep your heart rate politely elevated.
And then there was That Hill. Rocky, rutted, slightly off-camber — basically the perfect place to pretend I’m a competent dirt rider. Spoiler: I am not. Halfway up, I lost my line and the KLX decided to take a tactical nap on the sidehill. Thankfully, gravity was kind enough to dump me on the uphill side, sparing me from a dramatic roll into the next county. Only my pride was harmed, and even that recovered pretty quickly.
“When in doubt, throttle out” saved me more times than I care to admit. There were a few moments where that philosophy was absolutely the right move — and a few others where I wisely decided that doubt meant maybe don’t yeet yourself into a rock garden today. I sat through most of the sandy twisties to keep the center of gravity low, but stood up in the rocky, bumpy sections so my legs could suffer the consequences later — which they are. The outsides of my thighs are currently staging a full-blown rebellion.
The crew rode great, even with the cold trying its best to shut us down. Mike led the way, DeeAnn was the only other casualty (took her own spill on one of those questionable rocky roads), Seth looked smooth, and Destiny handled the monster quad across the rough terrain like it owed her money. Meanwhile, I was back there doing interpretive dance moves anytime the sand grabbed my front tire.
Still — despite the cold, the tip-over, the sketchy moments, and the creeping thigh soreness — it was an absolute blast. The kind of ride that reminds you why you do this in the first place. Good friends, good terrain, and the simple joy of pointing a little trail bike at the desert and saying, “Let’s see what happens.”
A perfect end-of-season adventure.