But it took less than a mile for my dream ride to come to a sputtering halt. I was in a corner when I slowed, pulled in the clutch and suddenly heard an unnerving silence. I could not let this become the norm; DB's words echoed in my helmet: "You'll have to really use the clutch, because if you stall and have to kick it a lot, your fun meter's going to be pegged on zero." Meanwhile, all the guys I had just passed returned the favor. My morning went downhill from there. Even though I was making good time-riding as smoothly as I could and even picking good lines-all it took was a bobble or, once, just pulling over for a faster rider to pass, and the bike would issue forth a cough to signal it was time to start practicing the hot-start technique, again.
This time spent kicking alongside the trail allowed me a chance to see a few things quite clearly. First, despite all the time, energy and money Summers has poured into the CRF450R, it is still no docile trailbike. Because of its tall first gear, you need to ride this bike like a bat out of hell. Second, Summers is fast. Riding a hero's bike really highlights where you fall on the speed scale. Despite the lofty first gear and my low-speed struggles, I did have some serious fun on this bike. There's nothing like cruising up, down or across hills that have guys splattered all over in various positions of discomfort to park a grin on your face. Dispensing the proper amount of ponies was painless with a 17-ounce flywheel and the 2 pounds added to the crankshaft, smoothing out the motocross-bred hit. And I'm still shocked I was able to stall the bike with such deftness. All the spinning mass should have kept the mill chugging until it ran out of gas, if not also pulling out tree stumps as a side job during the week. The weight did make for a silky delivery, and I never got stuck anywhere-and believe me, there was some nasty stuff in those Indiana woods.
Speaking of trail nasties, Summers has the suspension dialed. It soaked up everything I managed to run over-logs, bumps, ruts, small furry animals and possibly even a few slow-moving spectators-without spitting me off in the process. Kramer praised the suspension's suppleness and the mill's tractability, and although he had fewer problems dealing with the tall first gear, it still was bothersome. Summers claimed he was shy of top speed as is, but Kramer and I never touched fifth, so we would have benefited from lower gearing. I had one hillclimb adventure in which the clutch was fading on me and I couldn't get the bike to slow down, so I just banzai'ed up and over two big logs that threw me in the air. Here the bike worked; when straight-line slamming into obstacles, the machine is magic.