How To Get Your Ural Stuck
Lessons Learned on a Fall Colours Ride 12 Oct 06

It was a drizzly, chilly morning and we were supposed to be heading out to Port Dover, ON, for the Friday 13th motorcycle rally, but had decided to stay home instead because of the iffy weather forecast. So there I was with two days of holidays and nothing to do except hang around the house. That lasted until about 11am when I got the idea to take the all-weather Ural out for a Fall Colours Ride through the backcountry. I decided to leave Hector The Wonder Dog at home for this one, as it was very likely I'd encounter rain during the trip and didn't want him to get soaked sitting in the chair. So I donned my cold/wet weather riding gear and away I went, trundling down some of the more obscure country roads in search of some photo opportunities in the fall foliage.

Things were going fine until I spotted an interesting looking, pothole infested, overgrown trail leading off into the deep woods. I rode along it for a couple km's until it ended at a gate. It looked like a good spot for a photo, so I proceeded to get the bike turned around to set it up. Instead of doing a tight three-point turn, however, I decided to bash into the weeds at the side of the road before backing out onto the trail again. Dumb move, as it turned out.
What I failed to notice was that the leaves were obscuring a rather steep descent off the trail, which became evident when the front end dipped down alarmingly as the rig left the trail. Inertia carried me all the way down the small hill and when I went to back up onto the trail the rear wheel started to dig itself a rut in the soft, rain soaked ground. Yep, I was stuck. I wrestled the bike around so that it was facing the trail at an angle in the hopes that I could back out a little easier, then tried again.
A few minutes later as the smell of hot rubber, smoking leaves and freshly churned earth filled the air, I realised a more detailed escape plan was needed. I broke out my trusty folding shovel from the trunk of the sidecar and carefully dug a ramp into the soft earth, filling it with gravel scraped from the surface of the trail. Then I hopped back on the bike for another attempt. The gravel made lovely pinging sounds as the rear tire fired it against the oil pan and cylinder heads, while the bike dug itself a deeper rut. I was stuck even worse now and things were starting to look serious.
As I was rocking the bike back and forth, trying to launch it out of the rut, I became aware of a small scraping noise that grew louder with each pass. I finally shut down the motor and hopped off for a look. I discovered a large rock lying hidden beside the rut; as each pass dug the bike deeper into the ground the rock would kiss the bottom left edge of the oil pan. Oh, cr*p! One of the cooling fins on the underside was now cracked, but thankfully the pan itself was intact and not leaking, so I attacked the rock with the shovel in an attempt to dig it out. And then the shovel handle broke. Double cr*p. After 10 minutes of intense scratching at the earth with the remains of the shovel and prying at it with a few large sticks lying conveniently nearby, I managed to get the rock out of the way. By now there was a gaping hole next to the rut and the rear wheel promptly fell into it on the next attempt at backing out.
So out came the trusty hatchet from the trunk and I set about clearing a path ahead of the bike onto more level ground. I figured if I couldn't back out, then maybe I should try to get the rig turned around and try heading out in first gear. After MUCH hacking, chopping, clearing, dragging, swearing and sweating I was able to roll the bike further ahead and then wrestle it around so the front pointed towards the road. I had managed to tweak the left front signal light on a sapling, as shown in this pic, but otherwise there was no damage and there was now a clear path ahead of the bike.
By now I was exhausted and soaked with sweat and needed a few minutes to recuperate before attempting another escape run. Fortunately, I always carry a large bottled water and some treats for Hector in the trunk of the sidecar for when we go out on an adventure. The water, although stale, was refreshing but the doggy biscuit tasted like sh*t.
When my breathing finally returned to normal I was ready for another go at the self-rescue. I fired up the rig and then launched it into a no holds barred, do or die, laugh in the face of death, sit your butt on the rear luggage rack and pray to the Goddess of Traction final attempt. And it worked! I tore up the hill and gave the front wheel some air time as the rig bounced back onto the trail, barely managing to stop it in time before plunging into the leafy abyss on the other side. I was not keen on having a Part Two of this adventure.
After a thorough check of the bike, I fashioned a tripod for the camera from some of the saplings I'd cut down (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle). It took a few minutes to get the camera in position and set the timer, after which I hobbled back to the rig in time to pick up the broken bits of the shovel and pose for this photo. Kids, don't try this at home.
Then I lined up the rig for the photo I had originally planned to take before getting involved in this whole "Where's the Ural" adventure. As I donned my riding gear and prepared for the ride back to the road, it occurred to me that there were a few valuable lessons to be learned here. Although I've had many adventures on motorcycles over the years, this off-roading thing is fairly new to me and obviously there are some new rules I need to become more familiar with.

Rule #1: Always carry a cell phone and let someone know where you're going. I had the cell phone with me as always, but had neglected to inform my sweetie Angie of my intended route. Had I suffered an injury while trying to get the Ural out of the muck, it would have been a long time before anyone would have found me - especially if I was in a "no-service" area for the cell phone.

Rule #2: Look before you leap. This whole incident could have been avoided had I the sense to check the ground first before leaving the trail to attempt my turn around.

Rule #3: Carry good quality "self-rescue" gear with you. That $10 folding shovel from Canadian Tire seemed like a good bargain until it broke in my hands. At least the hatchet held together.

Rule #4: Keep some water and a high-energy snack on the bike at all times. No, I didn't eat the doggy biscuit but did briefly consider it as all that digging had worked up an appetite. And while the water was stale, it rehydrated me and allowed me to continue on with the journey.

Rule #5: Dress for the occasion and bring extra clothing. I was properly dressed in layers for a chilly, damp fall ride and had an extra long sleeved shirt stowed in the trunk. Fortunately, I also had my electric vest in there and it kept me toasty warm and dry for the rest of the trip.
Ok, enough preaching. I followed the gravel road to the next paved route and then promptly crossed over it onto the next leaf-covered trail. I was still in an adventurous mood, although MUCH more cautious this time. Fortunately there were no nasty surprises on this road although it did end at another gate, so I had to do another three-point turn. Stayed on the gravel this time. I stopped to take this photo on the way back to the paved road. Had a great time splashing through all the mud puddles, including one so large that I swear I saw a bow wave spreading from the nose of the sidecar.
Much later, I found myself on a previously unexplored county road that took me past an old and deserted farm. I wheeled into the long unused driveway and dismounted to rummage around for a bit. I thought that this barn would provide a good background for another "Where's the Ural" pic.
Since Angie and I are always on the lookout for a nice country retreat at an affordable price, I have become quite fluent in the language that real estate agents use. I believe this house is what would be referred to as a "Rustic fixxer-upper loaded with charm and located on a quiet rural lot, needs only some minor TLC to make it your dream home!"
"Detached, spacious single car garage and large outbuilding/workshop for the hobbyist and handyman at heart."
Anyway. A few roads later I happened upon this small herd of cattle and pulled over for a chat. They were a little wary at first but began to gather around the fence as I talked to them. I'm originally from the heart of the Canadian prairies (Saskatchewan) and know my way around a farm. In fact, my Indian name is "Oksana-ka-tak-we" which, loosely translated, means "Dances With Cows."
This charming young bovine was the friendliest of the bunch and couldn't get close enough to me as I stood there chatting away. She seemed not the slightest bit concerned when I told her about places like Burger King and McDonalds and what happens to naughty cattle there. She let me scratch her head while contentedly chewing her cud, all the while looking at me like she understood the conversation we were having. Either that or she recognised me as her intellectual equal.
I left the cattle in peace after wishing them a long and prosperous life and carried on through the fall scenery. It was now mid afternoon and the rains had returned, so I hightailed it back down through the countryside to the Pretty River Parkway and my fave store, the Rockport Lighthouse.
I loaded the sidecar with essential supplies - beer for me and milk for Angie's morning coffee and cereal - and headed into the now strong headwind, aiming for home. The rain let up just enough for me to enjoy the scenery of the St Lawrence River (dammit, I forgot to stop and take some photos of it!) and the Ural motored along, smooth and composed despite the thrashing it had received earlier. Which reminds me, I forgot to mention one other rule...

Rule #6: Have fun, enjoy life, ride an Ural!

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