An Offbeat Patrol : Police: Tim Wienckowski is more concerned with off-roaders and dumpers than gangsters and taggers. He is the LAPD’s only full-time officer to patrol the rugged turf that rims the San Fernando Valley.

Los Angeles Police Officer Tim Wienckowski may not have the roughest beat in the city, but it’s probably the bumpiest. Most weekends he puts on enough padding to play full-contact football, maybe even hockey.

He needs the protection; one of the previous officers on the beat had to give it up after breaking his neck. Wienckowski’s beat is where there is no street. He is the only full-time officer assigned to patrol the rugged terrain of the hills and canyons that rim the San Fernando Valley.

On weekdays he works alone patrolling from Big Tujunga Canyon to Oat Mountain in a four-wheel-drive truck. Sometimes he follows the trails through undeveloped regions of the Santa Monica Mountains. He looks for tracks, trash and any signs of illegal activity.

Come the weekend he and a partner from the Valley Traffic Division take to the beat in off-road motorcycles, an incongruous image of futuristic Robocops streaking across a stark landscape out of the Old West.

They seek off-roaders who invade mountain fire districts and destroy pristine landscapes, trash and toxic waste dumpers, car thieves and careless partyers who ignite campfires near thousands of acres of dry brush.

It is summer, and the mountains are stocked with brush fuel. A careless cigarette, even the red-hot tailpipe of a Jeep or motorcycle could touch off a disaster. The off-road detail, the only one of its kind in the Los Angeles Police Department, aims to prevent that from happening.

“This summer we are really concerned with fires,” Wienckowski said. “There has been a lot of rain this year and a lot of growth. There is a lot of fuel up there in the hills. It’s ready to go.”

Nowhere in Los Angeles is off-road riding on motorcycles or in vehicles legal. Yet the rugged hillsides and canyons around the Valley have long been a draw to off-road enthusiasts. Many hills with easy access from streets are scarred by decades-old trails.

These areas are called mountain fire districts and bringing a motor vehicle into them is a misdemeanor infraction that carries a minimum $330 fine. Police can also impound vehicles and jail violators for repeated offenses. Illegal dumping or igniting of fires can bring stiffer penalties.

The Valley Traffic Division has had an off-road unit since the early 1970s. But in recent years--thanks to a state-funding grant--it has evolved from officers in blue jeans and uniform shirts riding stripped-down Harley-Davidson street bikes to a unit outfitted with professional racing and safety equipment. There has not been an injury requiring a day off for an LAPD off-roader in more than five years.

The unit has five ATK 604 dual-purpose motorbikes. They are rolled out of the garage on weekends--the periods when most illegal off-roading and partying takes place in the mountain fire districts. Wienckowski is joined on the off-road patrol by one to three other officers who work as motorcycle traffic cops during the week. It is a highly prized detail, allowing the officers a dramatic change of pace from street patrol.

Indeed, this is often a cut-’em-off-at-the-pass type of police enforcement. Like scouts of old, they keep their eyes on the horizon.

“We’ll pick up a dust cloud coming up on a trail far off and work out a strategy of how to get there and close in. Then we go get them,” Wachtler said one morning while surveying the foothills above Lake View Terrace from one of the lookout points.

“We have to use tact and common sense,” Wachtler said. “We are the only ones out here and there’s no backup. If we needed backup, how are they going to get to us?”

Wienckowski said many of the off-roaders the officers encounter are experienced, some even professional racers, and, unlike street traffic violators, are more apt to make a run for it.

“It can become a cat-and-mouse game,” Wienckowski said. “We have to try to beat them at their own game. We try to figure out where they are going, use pincher tactics, make them stop.”

Even when the violators slip away, the off-road cops attempt to track them down through witnesses, neighborhood complaints and sometimes--when they are lucky--license plates. When off-roaders attempt to elude officers, the officers routinely impound their vehicles or motorbikes. Many times, Wienckowski said, off-roaders have thought they eluded the officers, only to see them ride up on the street, or in one case, into an off-roader’s garage as he was stowing his motorbike.

“Police officers don’t like to lose,” Wienckowski said.

But because of the longtime presence of police in the hills and a recent campaign to post signs against off-roading at trail entrances, such encounters do not occur often. In fact, Wienckowski and others worry at times that they may work themselves out of a job.

“The unit’s best value at the moment may be as a deterrent,” said Sgt. John Gambill, the unit’s supervisor. “Even though they may not be out there citing a lot of people, they are getting the job done.”

Deputy Chief Mark A. Kroeker said the off-road unit will remain a permanent fixture in the Badlands surrounding the Valley. He likened the officers to “environment cops” who have an impact that cannot be measured in areas of fire prevention, noise control and ecological preservation as well as law enforcement. “To pull them out would be like pulling the police presence out of a neighborhood where you have had a reduction in crime,” Kroeker said. “It’s not wise; it’s inviting it back.”

The unit works in the zone where urban sprawl meets the undeveloped environment. The officers try to stay on established trails to prevent further damage to the areas they patrol.

On a recent weekend outing, Wienckowski and Officer Mike Bissett patrolled the “Big T”--Big Tujunga Canyon--with Gambill riding backup in the unit’s Ford Bronco. (Gambill previously served in Wienckowski’s slot until an off-road accident in 1988 left him with a crushed vertebra in his neck.)

Wienckowski and Bissett gingerly navigated their bikes through rocky outcroppings alongside the dry bed of the Tujunga Wash. They spotted two men in a sports car driving on the wash and flagged them down. The driver got a ticket and directions back to the streets. The patrol went on; Bissett spotted a Jeep parked in the rough. Another ticket.

Farther into the wash there were signs of dumpers--a refrigerator box full of refuse, a truckload of palm tree stumps. But there were no signs of the culprits.

At the water’s edge was a blackened ring left by a campfire. It was only a few feet from a tangle of dry brush, kindling that could have ignited a blaze that would probably have raced through the canyon.

“This is the scary thing,” Wienckowski said. “These people obviously don’t know how dangerous this is. Or they don’t care.”

On the way out of the canyon, they stopped two men in a four-wheel-drive pickup and warned them not to enter the fire district--their apparent destination--and the pickup turned around. The rest of the morning proved to be slower. Pacoima Wash and the hills above Hansen Dam were quiet. On one trail they encountered three women on horses who complained that illegal off-roaders were tearing up the horse trails. Wienckowski said the patrol would be back.

After the patrol, the off-road officers stopped at a diner for a Code 7 break--lunch. Wienckowski and Bissett, in their off-road regalia, commanded the attention of everyone in the restaurant as they headed to a booth. Eyeing Wienckowski’s riding uniform, steel-tipped riding boots, shoulder pads and LAPD insignia, the hostess looked confused.

Then she said: “Did you win?”