The first time, I rode it front to back. All of a sudden, two much larger, serious dirt bikes came flying (literally) over a hill, big stupid grins pasted on their riders' faces. Alarm bells went off, and I slowed, and eased up to...
...a 1/8 mile, 45 degree downhill.
I sat staring at it a moment, when the riders returned. Not quite laughing at my bike, they informed me the hill was almost as much fun to go down as up. Under their stares, I took off. I'm not quite sure how I made it down the hill upright, but a lot of it was sideways, completely out of control, praying loud enough to be sure God heard me above the screaming 80cc 2-stroke.
Atthe bottom, after I stoped shaking, I looked back up. They waved, cheered, and left. I wheelied, started across the small brook there, and fell over. The engine had died as soon as it hit water (I later found out this was due to a short - the spark plug cable insulation was shot). It took 15 minutes to wrestle the thing up the 2 foot, wet, Georgia clay bank (praying, cussing, crying) and then it took 15 minutes of jumping on the kick starter and playing with carbs, cables, etc before it started.
The next time I rode it back to front. Pretty uneventful (dry brook), except that I picked up a nail. Macho man that I was, I rode it on to the Dysart's house - about 2 miles on pavement. When I pulled the nail and went to patch the tube, I realized I had permanetly warped the rim - about 2 inches to one side. This made the bike very interesting to ride until I paid a shop to fix it.
Great trail, but it sort of lost its appeal after that...
Moral: Always ride with a friend, and always carry a spare brain.
Copyright 1995 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved. Miles O'Neal <meo@XYZZY.rru.com> [remove the "XYZZY." to make things work!] c/o RNN / 1705 Oak Forest Dr / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514