many rivers to cross

It allways rains when I go trailriding-how about you?
The saving grace of the Limousin weather is that it changes very quickly-”4 seasons in a day” is an expression often used by the locals to describe the climate here.
One period covering 2 days in February 2004 we saw a shift of 30degrees centigrade between consecutive days-minus 10C one day,plus 20C the following day.
Apparantly Napolean Bonaparte preferred to employ Limousine soldiers,figuring that if they could survive the vagaries of their region,s climate,foreign manouevres would present few problems,be it Cairo or Moscow(although like Hitler a century later, he rather misjudged the severity of the Russian winter ,didn,t he?)
When it rains here- IT RAINS.
Virtually every trail includes a stream crossing,and some can be pretty deep,especially in winter.
Summers are nearly allways very dry,often 3 or 4 light downfalls in 6 months,but during the winter months it can be torrential.
Crossing rivers needs a smooth style and commitment-no turning back!

I,ve posted some pictures for you, to illustrate the point.

Firstly the right way

The cautious approach

the wrong way

the foolhardy way

and lastly

The Stratobiker sensible option 

A BIENTOT

Mud,mud,glorious mud

Funny stuff mud.
It tries its best to suck your wheels from under you-front one way,the rear spinning hopelessly in the opposite direction.Your instinct tells you to go slower,your brain knows you must apply more gas,a constant dilemna for all dirtbikers.In fact ”Gass it!” seems to be the cure for all awkward moments encountered on the trail.If it all fails,mud provides a nice soft landing at least!
Mud is ok when it shows itself to the world.
A farmtrack with petrol tank- deep gullies,the result of the monster 4 wheel drive John Deere tractors paid for with EU subsidies,presents no problem to the greenlaner-luv ,em.
A stretch of boggy moorland churned to butter consistency by a thousand pirellis-no problem!as they say just”gass it!”

Its when mud secretes itself,when it presents a crust of vegetation to the unsuspecting or a small innocuous puddle, barely afforded a second glance-the beast snatches the passing wheel and sucks you down into his stinking lair.