Going to Xtremes in Michigan

On a kiteboard/ATV weekend, watch out for the trees!

By Azam Ahmed, Chicago Tribune Staff Reporter
05:55 PM PDT, October 24, 2007

Some travelers come to this area of Michigan's upper western shore for the dunes. Or the golf. Or the sights.

I came to sign as many personal injury release forms as possible in a weekend -- and come back alive.

With its beaches and bays, the Traverse City area has long been a Midwest center for sports, from sailing and fishing in summer to skiing and snowmobiling in winter.

Now they've gone to extremes -- sports like kiteboarding, paragliding, skydiving, rock climbing, bouldering, BMX racing, off-road ATVs and other "Xtreme" activities guaranteed to raise your adrenaline. You can even take a trick plane ride.

My objective on this August weekend was to cram in as much danger -- and fun -- as I could in two days. But since I was a novice at all these activities, and you can't just jump on a potentially deadly piece of sports equipment and go, I had to settle for just two that I could learn, if not master, each in a day.

I chose kiteboarding and ATVs.

Kiteboarding

It's 11 a.m. Saturday on a private beach 15 miles north of Traverse City. I'd worked until 10 the night before, then drove almost six hours to make this morning lesson, and my eyes feel like sacks of sand.

Now, armed with a lifejacket and goofy red helmet, I am going to learn how to zip across the lake on the back of a kite-propelled surfboard.

The class, run by Broneah Kiteboarding, a friendly, professional Traverse City outfit, incorporates most of what I was looking for: speed, water and health risk. Also, pressed for time, it offers the distinct possibility of learning the basics of the sport in about seven hours.

Besides, I had been jet skiing, water skiing and parasailing (yawn). This was a new sport, one I'd never heard of three month ago. And so, after a brief orientation session, an instructional video performed by a silly-looking instructor and about eight pages of release forms, we load the gear and head to the beach.

Our instructor, Kegan, directs the three of us who have signed up to the shoreline, where we stand on the sand like scarecrows, arms out, testing the wind. A slight offshore breeze whistles across the placid blue water.

Kegan tells us this type of wind is preferable, lest one lose control and be blown into the trees like an unfortunate soul a few weeks earlier.

We won't actually be going into the water for some time. In fact, he says, we will be starting on a trainer kite, which is much smaller and easier to control than the real thing.

Now, he says, we learn to fly a kite.

From a black pouch he pulls a wrinkled parachute-looking thing, connected to a handlebar and harness that hooks into a belt. One of the students, a tall and ghost-white Canadian teen, enthusiastically tells us he's flown a trick kite, which is helpful given the similarities between the two. Unable to match his experience, I and my other fellow student, an environmental consultant, shrug with disinterest.

The instructor takes the first go, demonstrating how to maneuver the kite in the air with ease and grace. The Canadian does the same.

Before I begin, I glance up and down the empty patch of sand. No one in sight. This is good, given the likelihood of newcomers running people over when learning to kiteboard.

Almost as soon as my kite is in the air, I accidentally bring it into heavy wind. The sudden force jerks me forward, and the kite drags me along the sand. With a thud, it lands in a patch of water.

No one says anything, but I know as soon as the consultant gives it a go: I'm the worst of our little trio.

We practice doing various technical maneuvers with the training kite for about another hour, which only reinforces my initial ranking in the hierarchy.

Finally, it's time to head to the water.

Kegan, who works as a professional flight instructor, tells us it's also time to try the real kite. He grabs another bag, a much bigger one, and from it he pulls a kite about twice the size of our little one. Still no board in sight. That comes later.

The force it generates is much greater than the practice kite, Kegan says, and as the kite goes airborne, his arm and back muscles tense.

"See," Kegan says, as the massive gray kite coasts above us. "Try to do figure 8's in the air."

I grab the handlebar, and hook into the harness -- which feels a bit like mountain-climbing gear -- with a touch of unease.

For about two seconds I'm in control, staring into the sun while the gray mass floats majestically above me.

By the third second, I am flailing about in the waist-deep water, as if gripping the reins of a ticked-off rodeo bull.

The force yanks me off my feet, and I don't know whether to be more concerned about my arms, which no longer feel like they belong to me, or the fact that I have absolutely no control over where I'm headed.

My face hits the water, and down goes about a gallon of Lake Michigan's finest. The kite smacks the water's surface, and I come up for air.

"It can be difficult to get the hang of," says Kegan as I gasp. "Nice try, though."

The others take their first turn on the kite, and to my delight, my inexperienced consulting compatriot is tossed about like me. Not the Canadian, though. He manages to control the kite with infuriating ease.

We practice some more and become pretty steady at controlling the kite, and before we know it hours have passed. The fear of the kite's power has subsided, and we're all mildly giddy waiting for our next spin on the kite.

Kegan runs back to shore and grabs the board, a lightweight plank with footholds. The wind begins to pick up. He brings the board back into the water.

It's the moment we've all been waiting for.

As if in mockery, a 13-year-old in the distance skims across the water, jumping and twisting in the air as his father watches from a bobbing jet ski.

The kite "parked" above me, Kegan helps me fit my feet onto the board. With a sense of urgency, I swoop the kite into the strongest sector of wind, the power zone.

For the briefest of moments, the kite lifts me out of the water and I am actually standing. We have liftoff. Immediately after, we have face plant.

"Way to go, man," says Kegan, slapping my sun-baked shoulder. "You're making progress!"

By now, it's late afternoon, the Canadian is shivering, and we've all had our final attempt. A grapefruit pink streaks the sky as a chilly breeze helps usher us out of the water and back onto the sand.

The consultant and Canadian will be back at it tomorrow, where they can begin the day with the board and will likely end it with a successful ride or two.

I, however, have other release forms to sign back on land.

ATV

An hour's drive southwest of Traverse City, the lakefront breeze and resort feel begin to fade, replaced by a thickening forest and open fields. The number of pickups increases. The number of tourists decreases. Gas stations begin to look like country stores.

It is here that hundreds of miles of sand trails for dirt bikes and ATVs have been carved out of the enveloping woods, including some through Manistee National Forest.

But I plan on riding 150 miles on trails that run through Lake County atop a 350cc Yamaha. In less than four hours.

I arrive at the Wolf Lake Resort around noon on Sunday, my shoulders and legs aching from the previous day's kiteboarding. The resort, in Baldwin, is a modest one-story row of rooms backed by a tree-lined lake.

Dave, a heavily bearded local who is one of the resort's owners, is expecting me.

"Well, hello!" he shouts as I enter the resort's trailer office. "Are you ready to ride?"

Then, in perhaps the plainest terms I've ever heard, Dave explains the insurance policy for the vehicle. And my health.

"You break it, your problem," he says, handing me a clipboard with a stack of documents. "If I haven't lost you there, let's continue."

More than 700 people a year are killed in all-terrain vehicle accidents, according to some estimates, and I think about this as I sign. I also think about the ATV's $4,800 price tag.

Dave tells me the weather conditions, the trail conditions, the number of riders out (hot, dusty and few), then hands me a matte black helmet, a pair of goggles and a map before we head back outside to the ATV.

"This is going to be loads of fun," he offers. "Just don't go crazy out there."

I straddle the 4-foot-high ATV and flick it on. To make sure I know how to operate the vehicle, the owner has me circle the patch of grass in front of the resort.

At the trailhead, just before I vanish into the woods, he tells me to call him if anything comes up. My phone, junk that it is, has not had a signal since leaving Traverse City.

At first the power is overwhelming. Every little tap of the gas rockets the ATV forward. Cowed by the force, I start slow. At 20 or 25 mph, I coast carefully along the bumpy trail, looking into the woods for all the foxes, wild turkeys and birds I heard could be seen.

This lasts all of about five minutes. I have to move.

I mash the throttle and head into the first major turn. The whine of the engine fills my ears and the scenery whizzes by in a brownish blur. I whip into the turn and BOOM!

There's a jump. Where the hell did that come from, I think, as I soar into the far side of the trail, then bounce around idiotically.

Lucky for me, there are few people on the trail. I mash the brakes and rethink my speed.

I keep speeding. And I keep running into jumps, positioned like small sand dunes along the trail. They jar the body like Third World potholes.

I come to a straightaway and push the ATV full throttle. Expecting the bumps, I stand in a half-crouch position, absorbing the shock on my knees and using my thigh muscles to bounce atop the ATV.

It's like riding a graceful horse over jumps, moving in unison with the vehicle.

The trail winds through a landscape of trees, small creeks, open fields of sun-baked grass and ugly bald patches of scorched earth, where trees have been harvested.

A trio of motor bikers rolls past. The first holds up a peace sign. I throw one back. The next holds up an index finger, like "I'm No. 1" or something. The last holds up a fist.

Suddenly, I realize they are not lobbing friendly gestures; each is signaling how many other riders are following. I wince, and am thankful they've passed.

Speeding along, I come to a shade-soaked downhill pass. Using the steep grade to push past the ATV's 55-mph limit, I rush into the slope. The hill begins to curve to the right, and at the bottom, obscured behind the bend, is a fallen tree.

It feels like smacking a wave.

Over the top-most corner of the tree we fly, all 650 pounds of us. The ATV lands on its two left wheels, nearly flips, then (luckily) skids onto all four. My hands, a pallid white from clutching the handlebars, are stuck to the sun-softened rubber grips.

Then it happens: An uncontrollable smile breaks out. I press down the throttle and head back down the trail. My legs like tenderized meat, the bumps come in unbearable waves. It feels like someone is tapping my tailbone with a hammer.

A trail populated by few riders can prove to be many things, good and bad. There is no sheaf of dust obscuring my vision, as is often the case on busy, dry paths. I also don't have to slow down, or speed up, to accommodate other riders.

But as I tear down a final straightaway at maximum speed, moving too fast to notice a dip in the sandy road, it means that if I flip this four-wheeler on top of me, there is no one to help.

It's after 4 p.m. when I get back to the trailhead. Covered in dust, my arms and legs throbbing, my back tight and my forearms the color of rusty nails, I do the math.

Including a stop-off for gas, bathroom breaks, asking for directions and the odd (and accidental) flight off the trail or over a tree, I've covered my 150 miles in less than four hours.

I walk into a restaurant to dial Dave. I tell him I'm done.

"Already?" he cries, "You must have been flying on that ATV!"

"More than once," I reply.

Getting there:

Traverse City, Mich., is 320 miles from Chicago -- about a five- to six-hour drive. Take Interstate Highway 94 east to I-196 north toward Grand Rapids, then merge onto U.S. Highway 131 north. About 18 miles north of Cadillac, take Michigan Highway 113 west, then Michigan Highway 37 north to Traverse City.

From Traverse City to Baldwin, Mich., take Michigan 37 south; to return to Chicago from there, continue on Michigan 37 south to I-196.

Xtreme activities:

There is an array of options for the adventurous in the Traverse City area, from kiteboarding to paragliding, rock climbing to flight training. A simple Google search for options will bring up various Xtreme sports. Here are the ones I tried, or checked in on.

• Kiteboarding: Broneah Kiteboarding, 207 Grandview Pkwy., Suite 105, Traverse City; 231-392-2212; broneah.com. My one-day lesson was $399. A two-day lesson (for beginner and advanced classes) is $599 -- and you'll probably need this to be able to kiteboard on your own.

• Off-road ATVing: Wolf Lake Resort, 1197 N. Michigan 37, Baldwin; 231-745-4104; wolflakemotel.com. ATV rentals are $140-$175 for a 23-hour rental period. You can drop off or pick up the ATV at trail entry points for no extra charge.

• Trick plane rides: Northwestern Michigan College, 2600 Aero Park Dr., Traverse City; 231-995-1220; nmc.edu/aviation/program/fees.html. If only I'd had more time. ... This flight allows thrill seekers a chance to experience loops, acrobatics and other tricks at the hands of an experienced pilot. You won't be allowed to do any of the tricks yourself, but you'll probably be too busy trying to keep your food down to worry about that. Hourly rate in a Cessna 152 aerobatic: $125.

Information:

• For Traverse City: 800-TRAVERSE; visittraversecity.com/.

• For Lake County, Mich.: infomi.com/county/lake.

• For Baldwin: nfomi.com/city/baldwin/.