Planet of the Distant Past

Sounds like the title for a cheap Sci-Fi movie, doesn't it?
That is in reference to a guy asking about where he can ride his YZ-250 at riding spots in Connecticut.
He asked on a message board because he claims he may be moving out here from the mid-west, and he'd like to find out where he can take his bike riding around here before he pulls up stakes and makes the move, YZ loaded in the back of his covered wagon being towed by ol' Betsy, his lovely wife Martha by his side and their son Jeremiah playing in the back, turning the fuel petcock on the YZ on and off in amazement.
I hope there aren't any matches back there. :)

I replied that the Pachaug rock pile is open to trail riding, providing the bike is street registered and he sticks to the trails that make up the official Pachaug loop (AKA NETRA E8).
This seemed not to sit too well with him, and he basically sounds like he's expecting to find a place where all you need to do is just pull up to the riding spot, unload your motocross (and unregistered) bike, start it up, and roost all day without a care in the world.

I wrote back saying that I know of no such place like that anywhere in CT. anymore, although there were lots of places where you could get away with that back up until the mid-1980s (and I should know because I was an avid part of that scene around here back in those days).
Those days are, I'm afraid to say, a part of the distant past, and that's where the title of this post comes from.

It's a fact of 21st century environmental brainwashed thinking, which is a funny way of saying land is being grabbed away from the use of me and you and now under the strict control of big shots that are vastly superior in every way.
Certainly in the way of deciding how our lives should be lived and what we can and can't do, not to mention where all of your ever-increasing taxation money goes, and I bet it ain't where they claim it goes. :)

Another big reason for land closures has to do with silly lawsuits that suddenly seemed to become the latest fad with lawyers back from 1987-onwards.
I'll probably touch on this in a future post.
Three-wheeled ATVs and parents steered along by greedy lawyers and equally greedy and corrupt judges (and the whole stinky legal system, I do believe) played a part in it.

Anyway, the guy from the Planet of the Distant Past wrote back saying, basically, that back where he comes from, there are places to ride where you have no problems with riding what you want where you want.
I tried to inform him that it's not the case out here (not by a long shot), but, I get the firm impression he doesn't want to take my answer to heart, but, instead, would rather read the responses from other like-minded forum members that would rather make it sound like there are still scads of free-to-roam places to ride out here.

The reality is, unless you have a registered bike and hit the state-approved trails, or join a riding club with their own land (and who knows how much longer that will be allowed before some bogus environmental reason for making such places illegal comes down), or join a trail-riding organization like NETRA and ride their events (and guess what? At lots of those events, you need a registered bike...), or be fortunate enough to either own your own land or have permission from a friend that does, you are simply rolling the dice and riding illegally.

When I say riding illegally, I don't say it and feel it in such a way that any illegal dirt bike riders should be sent to the chair.
In my view, there are a lot more serious things that you can do to be called a law-breaker.
Honestly, in my opinion, as long as you're not making a nuisance of yourself and being an obvious asshole by disturbing other people in a rude and selfish manner, go have a ball on your dirt bike.
Lord knows I've done the very same thing a million times, and continue to do so to this very day.
What I mean by illegal is when you choose to not abide by these (often seemingly silly and petty) laws that dirt bike riders have to follow to avoid being labeled as a law-breaker.
Myself, I'd rather not have gone through the time, trouble, and expense to get my off-road-only WR-250FY firebreather inspected and registered, only to do something I know is against these silly laws and get a nice, fat DEP ticket.
Or worse.
Impound?

So, basically, the guy from the Planet of the Distant Past is gonna' do it his way, and I hope he lets us know where he decides to ride his YZ in CT.

For myself, I'm a'headin' on over to the garage to give the firebreather an inspection and pre-ride tweakin' before I head on out to the rock pile for today's ride.
I wonder if I'll see any YZ-250s out there.

Edit time. :)

Well, today's rock pile ride was better than yesterday's because I simply felt better on the bike and rode it better.
This always gives a feeling of great satisfaction - the bike working well and the rider (me) doing a good job of riding it.
I added yet more trail action from parts of the Pachaug loop that I rode last weekend with my ol' buddy, as well as a section of trail that I haven't been on for a solid year, which was back when I was riding my dual-purpose WR-250R in Pachaug.

Riding my WR-250FY over this same section was so much more enjoyable and confidence-inspiring (because it's simply a much better dirt bike), I'm probably gonna' do it again next weekend.
The part that I rode last weekend is a nice pine forest-esque area with plenty of pine needles on the ground and motocross-type whoops from all of the bikes accelerating over the trail over the last 40-or-so years.
I really got into it, and once I finished the section, I looped around and rode it a second time.
This is another section I want to ride again, too.

Today's mileage was even more than yesterday:
60.0 miles, exactly.
Not too shabby for an afternoon in the rock pile.

When I got home, I washed the bike up all spic and span, so that's out of the way.
I should change the rear tire before the weekend comes, and perhaps I'll do it before work one day this week.
It is worn to the point that it is effecting performance.

Now, din-dins with a couple of hand-pounded cheeseburgers. :)

-John