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<blockquote data-quote="Rolls" data-source="post: 102817" data-attributes="member: 28"><p><span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><strong> Putting the truck in four-wheel drive I hump it for more than an hour, the lava field far behind me, nearly to the edge of the mountains, to the place I used to camp. Today I stop there again and unload the Triumph.</strong></span></span></p><p> <span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><strong> Filling her with gas she seems to smile. Checking the oil the engine is perfect. The tires need to be aired down to 18 pounds.</strong></span></span></p><p> <span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><strong> I fire her up. We are ready for one last ride to The Playground.</strong></span></span></p><p> <span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><strong> The Playground is in a strange invisable box canyon on the side of a foothill, at the base of a hiden alluvial fan that starts at the edge of the mountains. It is two square miles of perfectly decomposed granite where the traction is so good that you can slide and turn and do figuer eights for hours and never fall down. No one could fall. It is impossible.</strong></span></span></p><p> <span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #000"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><strong> From the truck it is a half hour ride up a slow rocky trail, over a mile of deep whoops, up the sand wash of death, across a traverse of a 500 foot cliff, over a steep hogback, the handle bars have to be kinked to get through a tiny slit between two huge rocks and there she is. </strong></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rolls, post: 102817, member: 28"] [COLOR=#000][FONT=times new roman][B] Putting the truck in four-wheel drive I hump it for more than an hour, the lava field far behind me, nearly to the edge of the mountains, to the place I used to camp. Today I stop there again and unload the Triumph.[/B] [B] Filling her with gas she seems to smile. Checking the oil the engine is perfect. The tires need to be aired down to 18 pounds.[/B] [B] I fire her up. We are ready for one last ride to The Playground.[/B] [B] The Playground is in a strange invisable box canyon on the side of a foothill, at the base of a hiden alluvial fan that starts at the edge of the mountains. It is two square miles of perfectly decomposed granite where the traction is so good that you can slide and turn and do figuer eights for hours and never fall down. No one could fall. It is impossible.[/B] [B] From the truck it is a half hour ride up a slow rocky trail, over a mile of deep whoops, up the sand wash of death, across a traverse of a 500 foot cliff, over a steep hogback, the handle bars have to be kinked to get through a tiny slit between two huge rocks and there she is. [/B][/FONT][/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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