Tim's (mostly BMW) Motorcycle Page

Tim’s 2001 F650GSA & Linda’s 2002 F650GLA at Hoosier Pass in Colorado.

(Just 2 miles from our Chalet - Colorado mountain riding is great.)

 

SAND DOWN OVER NEW MEXICO

by Linda Balough ( with comments by Tim )

Tim and Linda and Webb and Cindy and Bill's trip to the 1995 BMWMOA National Rally in Durango, CO

We played in the high country and cattle ranges most of the day; wrangling cattle, inspecting heavy equipment and getting lost, then settled into a camp sight near Chama. Cindy wasn't feeling up to par and after we set up camp in a pretty grove of trees, she volunteered to stay and put together supper. ....[Oh, quote of the trip gleaned during a conversation between Cindy and a 12 year old girl holding a very tiny Chihuahua outside a country store food stop where several bikes of all kinds were parked. The very chatty young lady asked which were our mounts and when Cindy pointed them out the girl looked up wide-eyed and explained: "I can't tell the difference between a Harley and a motorcycle." Later around the campsite upon contemplation, we couldn't come up with an answer either] anyway, back to the point. Bill, Webb, Tim and I decided to find some dirt to ride. I spoke with the camp owner and he suggested a short pathway around a pretty lake and off we went. Most of the terrain was easy riding with only one or two tricky parts dealt out by some fairly steep hills and loose rocks. We declared it a satisfying ride, returned to camp, ate, watched the star exhibit unfold that seems to be at its best in New Mexico and bedded down for the night.

The next morning ,Tim decided that he HAD to have huevo rancheros, so we planned a short ride into Chama to watch the trains and eat breakfast. Jeremiah, however, did not choose to leave just yet. With adventurous gleams in their eyes, the guys started for the rope. Cindy and I confronted them with a suggestion that we acknowledged was a "girl idea" of taking the darn battery into town with us, having someone recharge it while we ate and coming back to install it into the lazy bike. The idea was summarily rejected. Since the camp road was too short to get up speed, the gentlemen hied themselves to the highways (yes the one with all the curves and traffic hurrying to Chama to work). Cindy and I headed for the rest rooms. Once again the triumphant grins on their faces made it hard for them to take off their helmets as they returned winding up the rope and herding Jeremiah back to me. We did make a stop in Chama to buy a battery for my bike but the one that was the closest fit (a tractor battery) just wouldn't quite squeeze in the battery compartment. Besides, I don't think the guys wanted to miss out on the morning fun. I think they were planning to open a seminar at the National on Bike Starting With a Rope.

We did get the breakfast and train watching done and met bunches of other Beemers coming and going on highway 64. We concluded that Mesa Verde would be packed with people and opted for a trip that would include some gravel and dirt riding to Chaco Culture. This Anasazi area was more remote and seemed really appealing in the New Mexico travel brochures and other Indian history material I'd read, so we set out for the Bloomfield/Farmington area. Our route there took us on 64 to Farmington where we decided to try to pick up some jumper cables and find a cool place to stop. We stopped at a small general store to gas up and cool down, and continued on 64 to Farmington where we found the jumper cables. We then set out on highway 44 to highway 57 to Chaco Culture.

The first 20 miles after we turned on the dirt road that was highway 57 were pretty easy riding of very hardpack, some washboard, and some loose sand. We then began to experience more and deeper sand drifts. Bill, our most experienced off road rider had already scooted up front, and from where I was appeared to be charging right along. Webb followed Bill; Cindy was behind Webb; I was behind Cindy, and Tim trailed at the rear. As the sand got deeper I realized that I had to do at least 45 to stay in top of the soft powder. I just pictured all the Baja and Paris Dakar filming I had seen and kept it up on 45. Then I saw Cindy's bike fishtailing BADLY, I had no idea how she was keeping it up. Then I was gaining on her much too fast to maneuver around, I had one quick glance at another wild shimmy from Cindy's bike and closing ground between us as the shimmy cut her forward speed.

Tim's interlude: I thought riding this sand was terrible. The worst moment of my life was seeing Linda's bike start to fishtail HARD and throw her off. The bike hit on both sides before the sand and Linda had settled back to earth. Her speed was down to 25 before losing it; I was gaining on her rapidly, but managed to stop short of where she landed on her left side. She was yelling in pain with every short breath. I started talking to her, trying to verbally pull her back to consciousness. Cindy arrived moments later and took charge by using her first aid knowledge. Webb and Bill flagged down vehicles from both directions and asked them to send an ambulance. (Bill also called 911 on his cell phone.) Cindy tried to soothe and cool Linda while I stood to shield them from the sun. Shortly a young man stopped and offered a sheet for cover. This was a great improvement and helped cool Linda much better than my shadow. It was 40 minutes before the Ranger arrived followed by the EMT from Kansas. Webb and Bill controlled traffic (Linda was in the middle of the road), while I held the sheet to shade Linda and Cindy and the EMT. Soon other officers arrived, took the info for their reports and waited for the Air Ambulance. All told Linda laid there for two hours on the HOT sand. I'm sure all of us suffered from dehydration to some extent. Once Linda was safely on her way, Bill and I headed for the hospital. Linda's 10 minute ride took us two hours. (I was MUCH slower riding back to pavement.) At 8PM we reached the hospital. Linda was heavily drugged by IV, and Bill made arrangements with the Holiday Inn for a room and to transport Linda. I followed the Holiday Inn van while Bill waited at the hospital for Webb and Cindy. The next three days were spent nursemaiding Linda through her fog of pain interspersed by our three musketeers (Webb, Cindy and Bill) bringing news of the outside (our room) world and food. Jeremiah was retrieved from storage and found lodging at Ken Richardson's (BMWMOA anonymous listing member) in Farmington, NM. Using Ken's tools Jeremiah became an organ donor (giving up his starter so that Webb's PD could continue the trip).

The next sensation was that of cool water being wiped over my face and a lot of pain coming from my midsection. My breathing was only from the top half of my lungs, the lower half refused to draw any deep breaths. However, that much air was evidently enough for me to do a LOT of noise making. Cindy and Tim both heard me long before they could get to me. (Guess I'm not very stoic with pain.) It also seems that my guardian angel or some little subconscious part of me has some medical training, because during the part I can't remember I was giving treatment orders. "Hot, too Hot, cool me down!, Take off the helmet!" Why they didn't just stuff something in my mouth to shut me up I don't understand. My companions took extremely good care of me, and I remember Cindy at my side constantly monitoring me and cooling me. While Chaco Culture is in the middle of a vast Navajo Reservation, the crew really managed to gather a lot of people. By sending passing cars for help and calling on Bill's cellular phone and flagging down folks we at one time had, a Ranger, a Navajo deputy, a Navajo EMT team, a volunteer EMT from Kansas, a New Mexico deputy, and eventually a helicopter complete with EMTs and pilot. The EMT from Kansas used the medical bag from the Park Ranger and very efficiently started checking me over. She of course asked several questions to see if I was conscious and coherent, and when she asked what was wrong that little part of me that has evidently taken medical training replied that I had a broken left clavicle and broken 5th and cracked 6th rib. (strangely enough that was exactly what the X-rays in the hospital showed.)

The helicopter took me into Farmington to the San Juan Regional Hospital; Tim and Bill road directly in from the desert, and Webb and Cindy waited for the tow truck for Jeremiah, and on their way back out stopped to help an Indian woman in a stranded pick-up truck. As soon as they got into Farmington Webb's bike's starter conked out. THEY had a hell of a day wouldn't you say?

Well, not much to tell about the inside of a Holiday Inn where Tim and I spent the next three days. But, next comes an amazing story of the outpouring of help and caring of the folks of the BMW family and especially the Indy BMW Club. Tim and I had sent word in our yearly Christmas card to Dan and Nova Bowser that we'd be attending the National in Durango. Dan and Nova were members of the Indy club when they lived in Indy several years ago. When Tim called Dan and explained our plight, the next thing we knew Nova was in Farmington with their Blazer and a trailer borrowed from the Durango Honda dealer ready to pick me up and keep me at their house. I was carefully established in the Bowser's recliner (a Godsend for broken ribs) and attended on a 24 hour basis by their little dog Beemer. The foursome posted signs and notices to rallygoers of the accident and started organizing the offers of assistance. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who helped and inquired, there were a bunch of you! Charlie and Martha Thomas hauled our extra stuff home in the back of their van. Greg Miller located some friends from Darlington Indiana, John and Judy Lawrence, who miraculously had room on their trailer for Jeremiah and escorted him home. And the rest of you provided a lot of support for a very frazzled Tim at the rally. But more about the Bowsers. Not only did they provide care and lodging and hauled my wobbly body around Durango, but when we tried to figure a way to get me home, Nova announced that she'd figured that out, too! Dan and Nova have a home in Phoenix as well as Durango. (Dan has a business in both places and regularly commutes between them.) She decided that she would take me back to Phoenix with her and get me on a direct flight to Indy from there. With those plans made, I got to visit the rally site for about an hour and attended the awards (the huh-wards?). Then on Sunday morning Nova, Beemer and I set out for Phoenix, and Tim joined the chalet crowd heading for Breckenridge. Once again Nova opened her new and very lovely home in Phoenix to me, and she and Beemer looked after me until my flight on Tuesday morning. My unending thanks to a wonderful pair of friends (oh, and Beemer who was in constant attendance). Our next get together will be more fun I guarantee.

At 9:00AM Phoenix time I boarded a Southwest flight that was to be a straight shot to Indy with two very short stopovers in Oklahoma City and St. Louis. We were to arrive in Indy at 4:00PM, and I had made arrangements with Judy Cross to meet me at the airport. I managed a great seat that allowed me to sit in relative comfort with some room and no need to bend to get in or out of the seat. My seat mates to Oklahoma City was a mom with a 2 month old baby and an unaccompanied 10 year old. The cookie and Diet coke and the flight was fine to O. C. However, when we got on the ground, the pilot announced that they had closed the St. Louis Airport because of storms. They let passengers off the plane and told them to listen for a re-boarding announcement. Of course I stayed where I was. Well over an hour later we headed out toward St. Louis. About a half hour out of St. Louis, the pilot announced that we were in a holding pattern over St. Louis while more storms washed the runways. The 2 month old and mom had gotten off at Oklahoma City and had been replaced by another unaccompanied 10 year old; now I had two, the son of the Superintendent of Indianapolis Schools and a young lady from Knightstown who was returning from Japan and China. They were pretty neat kids, but the peanuts weren't holding out too well and the girl had a mad crush on the wonderfully handsome flight attendant. We got a lot of refills of drinks so she could talk to, (well giggle at) the really patient young man. Games weren't holding these world travelers attention too well. After an interminably long time of drawing circles in the clouds over St. Louis, the pilot announced that while they had filled the fuel tanks we didn't have an endless supply, and we were heading on to our alternate airport - Indianapolis. Cheers rang through the plane. (I don't think even the folks that were supposed to go to St. Louis minded too much.) The two kids and I watched out the window for landmarks we'd recognize and almost exactly half way between the two cities once again the pilot reported a change. It seems that they reopened St. Louis and we had to turn around and land there. The Kids tried mutiny and therefore got another round of peanuts passed out to everyone. We landed and parked in line in St. Louis to take off again. (We even got to drive around the runways and see all the little toured areas of the airport. It seems that only one runway can handle the 'big' planes and the wind changed, so we had to drive down to the other end of the runway and reform the line.) Everyone aboard helped that plane in the air when it came our turn. When we finally touched down, the long-suffering flight attendant announced that "We're not sure, but we think we're in Indianapolis; but in any case everyone get off because we're going to and we're going to stay the night, We've had enough." We agreed. I got off to find that it was 8:00 PM, and Tim who had left Breckenridge Monday morning had beaten me home. Judy and Tim and I met briefly, and I appealed to Tim to visit Cracker Barrel. Home sure was welcome, but my brain still wants to know where the damn vacation is. I totally missed my yearly fix of Breckenridge, and I have no idea how I'm gonna convince myself that I have to wait until next year.

After seeing my doctor, I find that the prognosis is 8 weeks for recovery. Thanks to Theresia I have reading material, and I've revived my needle craft ability, and thanks to the rest of you I have visitors and updates at breakfast. Jeremiah is languishing at the shop and Petey is dejectedly gathering dust in the garage, and I'm deciding which leathers to buy to replace the ones that got cut off in New Mexico. Oh, yeah, and I think I'll tear up my entry forms for the Paris Dakar and the Baja racing this year........