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Tue
Aug 5/03
Mike
So, back to California. Cleverly
I had the left the bulk of my gear down in California so as not to have to
transport it. Not so cleverly, I had taken the half empty rear part of my
Ventura Bikepack as carry on luggage, forgetting that the outside pocket
contains such things as a screwdriver, socket wrench, alle key, and three
cylinders of compressed air (for emergency tire inflation).
I could live with security confiscating the screwdriver but the
impromptu seizure of my socket wrench was a particular drag.
Is it possible simply to buy a socket handle without buying 178
lugs at the same time? I guess I'll find out.
The balance of the
day was the usual planes, trains and automobile saga required to get us to
our bikes in Turlock, California. Fortunately,
it was relatively uneventful and we were safely ensconced by the pool in a
remarkably cool (only in the 90's) Turlock by dinner time.
I would be remiss if
I did not mention our brush with fame.
Heading into the bistro in downtown Turlock for a late dessert, we
struck up a conversation with some fellow patrons at a neighboring table.
It turns out one young lady worked in a hair salon in Los Angeles
and personally cut Steve Martin's hair!!!
At this writing, I am still cursing myself for neglecting to get
her autograph. I did,
however, ask what Steve pays for his coiffure. ($100.00 it turns out).
I was, however, tactful enough not to ask whether or not he was a
member of the Hair Club for Men.
Wed Aug 6/03
Mike
Up and at em early on the road the next day?
Not a chance. Brian
had plans to take his bike in for a quick oil change that morning.
The quick oil change turned into a major scheduled service which
lasted several hours, elongated by the fact they didn't even have the
right oil and had to go to the local Buell shop to buy it.
Even then Brian was grumbling about the type they used.
Four p.m. and freshly
lubricated (Brian’s bike; not us), we set off east with our eyes on Hwy
120 to Yosemite. We warmed up
on one of our frequently ridden arteries, DH
Waterford – Coulterville (Hwy 132).
Our TIRES chops regained, we squiggled up to Moccasin in the hope
of getting some good late afternoon video on the Priest’s Grade section
of DH Moccasin – Yosemite Jct (Hwy 120).
What a beautifully
engineered little cliffhanger P.G. is.
Every time the road yawns over the cavernous drop on the climb up
from the Don Pedro Reservoir to the funky little town of Groveland, the
engineer has widened the shoulder. Add
to this a tabletop-smooth surface of coal black pavement and it’s an
ascent to remember. (Brian
says TE Old Priest’s Grade Rd
opposite is almost as good. Though
not the best one to be on 80 miles into a set of new tires.
The lateness of the
day, the high altitude and the creeping of marine air into the dry sanctum
of central California made the effectiveness of the fancy new air-mesh
gloves we’d both purchased all the more apparent.
I am now pretty much air-meshed from shoulder to shin. Below that, I’m still sporting the warmly insulated
waterproof boots I use to contend with the late fall weather back home in
British Columbia.
It was getting dark
as the tight curves gave way to big, pure sweepers.
The quality of the ride dropped once we entered Yosemite and
flattened out through the burned section of Big Oak Flat to the junction
with Hwy 140. I
confirmed that my night vision is indeed deteriorating at a rapidly
accelerating rate as I tried to rapidly accelerate down DH
Yosemite Jct – Mariposa (Hwy 140).
After pulling in at 9:00 p.m. and finding the last unconscionably priced
motel room in town, we walked to the promising Charles Street Dinner House
for - well, dinner. We barged
in despite the "closed" sign on the outside of the restaurant.
(One of the benefits of traveling with Brian is that he ignores such
trivialities.) By the time
the hostess accidentally sat us, it was too late to throw us out.
Perhaps they should have. Brian's
mandarin duck was tough and fatty and my shrimp stir fry had a couple
pounds too much butter on it. At
least the wine was great. A
2000 Napa Petite Sirah. Ah,
life on the road. After a
glass of Australian Port added for good measure (not recommended), we fell
asleep to the Tonight Show’s announcement of Arnold Schwarzenegger's
candidacy for Governor of California.
Truth truly is stranger than fiction.
Note: As Brian pointed
out later, if you’re ordering port after dinner, it means you didn’t
have enough wine with dinner.
 Thu Aug 7/04
Mike
Sal's Mexican Restaurant bears a plaque attesting to the Mariposa Chamber
of Commerce’s recognition of its outstanding customer service and
satisfaction for the year 2000. If
our breakfast was any indication, this designation went to Sal’s head--
they couldn't even manage an order of toast without burning it.
The morning ride back
up DH Mariposa - Yosemite Jct (Hwy
140), however, made up for pathetic breakfast.
Cutting beneath the cliffs, low along the edge of the Merced River,
the easy mix curves and staights afforded plenty of passing opportunities
up to the park entrance. And
beyond that I was content with the low speed limit as I turned my gaze
upwards from the road to the unmistakable monoliths of Yosemite.
We then blasted back down the eastern part of DH Yosemite Jct – Moccasin (which at this end is Big Oak Flat
Road), burning through the burn and managing for the most part to get by
the pylons which were, even at midday, starting to accumulate on this exit
route from the park.
I gassed up in Crane
Flat and commenced the day's piece de resistance— DH
Crane Flat – Lee Vining (Hwy 120).
Tioga Pass Road is by far the most consistently scenic DH that I
have been on in California yet. That
is if you like your scenery of the blow-your-mind variety. True, it invites a great number of pleasure-seeking pylon
pilots. Yet most of them were
pulled off into the numerous pullouts and parking lots that grace this
otherwise remote, closed-in-winter route.
Scaling down the
heights from Cathedral Pass, we arrived at Hwy 395 and saw the county
sheriff just where we wanted him-- parked at the end of DH with his
attention directed to the traffic buzzing by on Hwy 395.
Brian pulled across the road, did a roadrunner u-turn in the side
road that the STC was parked on and beep-beeped his way into the town of
Lee Vining. The second meal
of the day, while equally uneventful, was slightly more digestible.
I had the salad bar and a number of vegetables I recognized and a
sawed off piece of Brian's veggie burger.
Despite Brian and I
drawing far too much attention to ourselves with one of our heated TIRES
conversations—the kind that results in fellow restaurant patrons eyeing
us with a mixture of suspicion and alarm-- we escaped Lee Vining
uncommitted and headed south on Hwy 395.
For a quasi-interstate, there sure is some nice scenery down here
as you edge along beside the eastern slope of the Sierras.
We then veered into instant remoteness of DH Lee Vining (Hwy 120/395 Jct S) – Benton.
After the short stretch through the desert flat, the road climbed
and afforded the view over Mono Lake.
It then dipped through pine forest, twisting down to a shapely red
rock canyon before shooting across a dry plain.
Apart from the great
scenic variety on this road, what grabs your attention are the numerous
dips as the road engineers did not see fit to cut through the rolls in the
landscape. Rather, they were
content to lay the pavement in a manner reminiscent of a Hot Wheels track
with books placed under it at 2 foot intervals.
The results are a number of blind rises and dips sometimes so
severe that too much speed gives you air.
Frankly, if I was interested in moto cross I wouldn't be riding a
fully loaded VFR.
Beyond a particularly
striking section of Dr. Seuss-illustration rock, the road dove down into
the Adobe Valley. We passed
through Benton Hot Springs which, were we passing through later in the
day, would have made an interesting place to stop for the night.
The local inn offered food as well as wooden tubs full of water
right from the springs.
We arrived in Benton
and parked in the shade of the local restaurant for sufficiently long
enough to embolden some local kids to start stroking our motorcycles with
their greasy, tortilla-laden hands, attempting to persuade us to eat at
their parents’ Mexican Restaurant.
Having just eaten, we declined their kind invitation and scuttled
back to DH Benton Crossing Road, another east-west paved road that
intersected Hwy 120 a few miles back.
Benton Crossing was a
different story pavement and engineering wise.
Indeed, much of it was new pavement, especially at the western end.
To my mind the road had fewer curves, although we will see how the
numbers crunch. I personally
was not as impressed by the scenery even though we were looking straight
at the Sierras for a good part of the road. Of course riding into the sun always makes it tricky to
judge.
It being late in the
day, with four likely DHs under our belts, we were ready to blast south to
Bishop. Brian arrived
slightly before I did because I had to record a couple of service exits on
the way down. Brian proceeded
to check into a motel that had a great looking pool but seemed to think
that in August in the desert of California it was okay to take a $20.00
discount on a room because it had no air conditioning.
The so-called "portable air conditioner" turned out to be
a cooling fan which, Senator, if you’ve never tried one, is no air
conditioner. Fortunately,
there was still some lingering cool air and sleeping with the windows and
doors open and fan blasting was enough to afford us a good night's sleep.
Fri Aug 8/03
Mike
Another air recon day. I
popped a couple of Dramamine and ate a gentle breakfast in the hopes
today’s flight would not involve the use of a barf-bag. But
I had little time to worry about that as I awoke to discover a nail in my
tire. Much to my surprise,
the manager of Golden Gate Cycle not only showed up early that day, he
said "no problem" to my request that they plug the hole in my
24-hour-old rear tire. This
was quite a relief given the “no, we can't fix it because of the
liability” line we’ve come to expect from motorcycle shops.
As a lawyer this line always makes me suspicious.
It sounds motivated less by desire to avoid civil liability and
more by a desire to sell me a new tire.
But the Golden Gate
guys were righteous and I left the cycle, took my life in my hands as a
passenger on Brian's bike and rode out to the airport to meet our pilot
Don, who, true to form, was early (flying in from Turlock) where we were
late. After nailing down the
flight plan we took to the air getting up as high as 13,000 feet as we
flew face to face with the peaks, columns and ridges of the eastern Sierra
slopes. Also true to form, a
couple hours later, your hero was becoming reacquainted with his breakfast
as he deposited it to a ziplock bag.
Don took mercy on me and deposited me at the South Lake Tahoe
Airport where I lulled about drowsy and speedy from the Dramamine,
nauseated from the flight and reminding myself that this whole flying
thing was my idea in the first place.
A
couple hours later, Don and Brian picked me up and we headed back to
Bishop where we arrived just in time to pick up my bike at the shop and
look for a motel. As much of
the town was filled up, we decided to drive to the same motel again on the
condition that our room had a real functioning air conditioner.
Which we did. Unfortunately,
we didn't check the beds which, from their firmness, seemed like they were
replaced about the time L.B.J. was in the White House.
Still it was nice to jump in the pool, sit in the late afternoon
sun, and feel human for the first time that day.
Swum
and showered, we took a walk through town to try to find a decent place to
eat. Pretty slim pickin’s,
I’m afraid. So much so that
we ended up at the same restaurant we had been at the night before, the
Whiskey Inn. Rather than wait
for 35 minutes to get into a restaurant we didn't want to eat at in the
first place, we enjoyed a burger and bottle of wine in the bar.
Then it was back to the room to fall asleep to old Schwarzenegger
footage that’s suddenly everywhere.
Sat Aug 9/03
Mike
I woke up early this morning and snuck out about 7:30 a.m. to take a run
up Hwy 168 to Sabrina Lake. With
the painted canvass of the eastern Sierra Slope directly in my face
illuminated by the morning sun, it was the perfect time to ride this TE.
The absence of traffic and the easy engineering on this straight
and sometimes sweepy road made it an easy ride to boot.
I wish I had known in
advance about the Sabrina Boat Launch Cafe or the restaurant on the South
Lake Rd or I would have suggested Brian and I both go up there for
breakfast. Instead, upon my
return to the room, I did my back exercises to the ESPN ongoing footage of
the 2003 World Series of Poker and wandered to the Bishop Grill, a
bustling place with a harangued waitress who had been doing this job for
far too many years. Dry cereal, it seems, is off the menu since nobody ever
ordered it. (I thought Raisin
Bran lasted for years). In
any case, she managed to find me a bowl of fruit that was only partially
fermented, a couple of poached eggs and some toast.
As we were leaving, Brian told her that I was going to pick up the
checks. Unfortunately, he
neglected to pass that information on to me and I ended up leaving the
restaurant without paying. Fortunately,
Brian emerged from the restroom to encounter that same waitress, now in
Bishop Grill Security mode who noted that I had, in fact, not done as he
had promised. Sheepishly, he paid the check.
I could only assume he left a higher than normal tip.
Down 395 we blitzed
to Big Pine where, noting the lack of services as far as the eye could
see, I gassed up and headed east on DH
Big Pine – Hwy 168/266 Jct (Hwy 168).
What a surprise this road turned out to be.
Once across the brief flat, I darted up into the lava rock and
partially treed hills. The
pavement was good but the engineering was substandard and, indeed, even
narrowed to one lane where the road cut through a couple tall columns of
lava. Even as the shoulder widened and the sightlines improved, the
road bobbed and dipped over the creases in the terrain adding a vertical
element to a number of the curves. I
then entered the ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest and blitzed (so far as
one can blitz on a tight, narrow, gravel-in-the-corners road) up to
Schulman Grove, site of the world's oldest tree.
Schulman
Grove is a cool place, with a couple of trails for experiencing the
forest. The Discovery Trail, a moderate 3/4 of a mile walk wanders through
4000 year old Bristlecone pines, gnarled and twisted by the elements of
time. If you take the 4 1/2
mile Methuselah walk, you will be surrounded by trees almost 5000 years
old. The signs say you can't
take bicycles on the trails. There
does not appear to be any prohibition against motorcycles, however.
Back down off of
White Mtn, I resumed my ride on Hwy 168 through the historic forest,
darting down off of Westgard Pass, blasting straight across a large bowl
called Deep Springs Valley and then clamoring up and down off the twisty
slopes of Chocolate Mountain. Sweet.
Unfortunately, this
promising DH candidate ends at a junction in the middle of nowhere.
There is a ranch here and I'm going to make a note to call them and
see if they would be remotely interested in providing some refreshment to
the motorcyclists who will inevitably be arriving here in numbers some two
years hence. But unless that
happens, you would be lucky to find some roadside shade under which to
crack your carry-along beverage before heading on to Nevada or heading
back the way you came.
Heading back is what
I did. After all, this is Destination
Highways Northern California and, for the time being, the Nevada
border marks the forbidden frontier.
Back in Big Pine, we wandered into the local tavern to escape the
heat. After Brian's
explanation to the proprietor as to why it is essential that any
self-respecting bar carry potato chips and that simply carrying tortilla
chips would not do, we sat down to compare notes.
Back north on 395 we
rode through Bishop to a few potential Twisted Edges that needed checking
out. One of note turned out
to be the Lower Rock Creek Road. This
is a terrific and easy 395 bypass with great pavement, tons of curves and
varied scenery as it climbs up close to the Sierras, in and out of a steep
walled valley. The town of
“Paradise” has obviously been there for some time and there is a great
old 50's neon sign on top of the restaurant there.
Unfortunately, there is a question as to whether or not this place,
along with the adjoining cabins is open or not.
Mammoth Lakes, the
popular California ski resort, was a bit of a disappointment, not only
because of its immense size and lack of charm, but the fact that after a
promisingly paved, engineered and twisty ride up toward the top, you
encounter a gate after less than 4 miles where a park ranger advises you
can only go further by shuttle bus, unless you are there before 7:00 a.m.
or after 7:30 p.m. and then you have to pay $7.50 to get in.
And if you do, I understand all you get is a one lane road with
pullouts. Hmmph.
I drifted back down the hill to the expensive and pool-less Motel 6
that Brian had booked for the night.
But at least the day ended on a positive culinary note with our
best dinner of the trip at a restaurant we'd had recommended to us called
Skada. I had a lobster salad
and a chicken pesto dish of sorts. Brian's
looked and tasted far better with a mushroom crepe that was, admittedly,
out of this world. I don't
recall his entree but I do recall the dessert - a chocolate macadamia
thing that is up there with one of the top five desserts I have ever had
in my life. Too bad I can’t sleep when I eat chocolate late.
Sun Aug 10/03
Mike
I awoke at 1:00 a.m., the caffeine from the chocolate kicking in.
After self-reflecting for the next six hours, I rolled out of bed
wondering how long it was until the next sleeping opportunity.
We had breakfast at one of Mammoth's overpriced and poorly serviced
cafes, got into some heated argument about T-shirt design, and hit the
road for the long blast on 395 north to the first DH of the day, Hwy 108.
We took the time to
check the June Lake Loop (Hwy 158) which had previously been sussed out
from the air. Brian was
lukewarm on this road. I
personally enjoyed it quite a bit, what with its nicely paved squiggle
around and up above the northern part of June Lake (the road's best part),
dipped-down wind along the river and the sweeps along a couple of lesser
lakes with the Sierras on the left and some things called the Pumice Cones
off in the distance to the right. Deep
marine blue against a drab brown landscape is always inspiring.
But not as inspiring
of the early miles of DH Hwy
108/395 Jct – Twain Harte (Sonora) (Hwy 108).
Wow, what a road. Starting
off tight and badly engineered, this road made my VFR feel as big as a
Goldwing as I wrestled it to and fro through the well-paved corners,
trying to take in the scenery and the sense of remoteness at the same
time. The tightness doesn't let up until you reach the Sierra
summit. Here, the road widens
and the engineering improves for the trip down.
With all the campgrounds in place, we started to pick up a fair bit
of traffic exacerbated, no doubt, by the fact that this was a Sunday
afternoon. This made some
parts of this road a little bit tough to rate.
But I got to experience it in all its glory when, after stopping in
Cold Springs and realizing we may have missed a possible TE, I had to
backtrack 20 miles to check it out. As
it turned out, Clarke's Fork Road was too bumpy to recommend, but I sure
didn’t mind the trip. Coming
back from this detour, I experienced this road in all its glory, as it’s
meant to ridden-- with no traffic. Blasting
away on the high-end pavement through the high-end curves, I could
understand why we saw almost as many motorcycles as pylons on this road.
I concluded the ride
in Sonora, took a brief rest, and then taped a great TE up Rawhide Road
and Hwy 49 to Angel's Camp, where I, for once, took charge of the hotel
booking duties. A
heavily-sweating Brian pulled up about 20 minutes later to find me
relaxing in the rapidly-disappearing sun by the pool dictating this diary
into my recorder. Let’s give him a wave:
“Hi Brian.”
While I had been
backtracking, Brian had been checking out a couple of TE's of his own and,
more importantly, had been trying to find an appropriate place to end this
DH in a way that would not require our readers to suffer the busy stretch
up Hwy 108 from Sonora any more than they had to.
Mission, I understand, was accomplished.
Mon Aug 11/03
Mike
After a very satisfactory breakfast at Perko’s (bowl of fruit, poached
eggs, wheat toast, orange juice), we ventured up TE
Murphy's Grade Rd to Murphy's. This
road, though often busy, winds very nicely along the shores of Angels
Creek. I heard really good things about Murphy's but still had room
to be impressed by its narrow, funky streets, interesting shops and stores
and wine-tasting rooms. We
had heard Sheep's Hill Road was a favorite among motorcyclists in the
area. It’s hard to imagine
why. It’s narrow, bumpy and
has the engineering of the Sierra Crest Trail.
Sorry, not even a TE. The
bigger disappointment here though was to see a banner hanging over Main
Street advertising the fact that David Grossman was performing at a local
festival--- two days ago. Got
to keep up on my bluegrass buzz. Hwy
4 between Murphy's and Angels Camp was straight and dull, so much so that
it was an easy decision to take the DH from Murphy's all the way east to
its junction with Hwy 89.
Even starting it that
far off Hwy 49, DH Murphy’s –
Bear Valley (Hwy 4) took awhile to clear the development and really
get going. In fact, it wasn't
until Arnold (no relation) that the suburban feeling truly eased. The traffic that had been a staple earlier on the road eased
up as well and soon we were into high flying sweepers over excellent
pavement on a climb high into the Mokelumne Wilderness. The engineering
was excellent so it was quite a surprise when just past the town of Bear
Valley (lots of those in California) the road narrowed to a 1 1/2 lane
wide track. At first this was
charming but later became apparent this was going to continue for another
20 miles. This will appeal to
some motorcyclists but does not appeal much to us.
Though not tortuously twisty, the narrowness of the road and the
poor engineering make it difficult to do much real motorcycling.
Arriving at the Hwy
89 junction (finally), we ventured into the tiny and charming county seat
of Markleeville (California’s smallest) for lunch. After checking out the road to the hot springs (now a cement
pool with a lineup outside of it), we came back to town and settled into a
pleasant lunch in this pleasant little town.
It was an interesting moment for me as we left the town to head
back to ride DH Markleeville –
Hwy 89/395 Jct to see a lawyer stepping out of this courthouse in the
middle of nowhere, obviously having finished his case for the day.
As this could have been me doing a case in small town B.C., I felt
my two worlds make a close pass.
Leaving Markleeville,
we had a curvy, pleasant and remote run along the river but this was
nothing compared to how this road improved after the Hwy 89/4 junction,
where it twisted beautifully along the river on high-end pavement. The desert landscape made for great visibility around the
corners and it was a great climb up to the top of the cliff. It was a memorable moment when coming over the crest you saw
the world open up below. Shangri-la.
Great engineering compensated for the steep slope as the road
curved beautifully down, down, way down to Hwy 395.
It may be best motorcycling experience of the entire trip thus far.
Before heading back,
I dropped down the 10 miles to Walker to record the closest services.
After noting several, including the curious Walker Sporting Goods
Campground (better confirm I read that right), I was back to rate Hwy 89
east to west all the way to Meyers, just outside of Lake Tahoe.
Unfortunately, the heady experience dissipates once you pass
Markleeville. The road
straightens, development increases and by the time you are coasting down
the hill to Meyers, you’ve lost interest.
Looks like the road’s going to start and end in Markleeville.
We're sure our readers will want to stop there anyway.
Then it was up to Hwy
89 along the west shore of Lake Tahoe where the harsh geography has
prevented development to the point where a short DH may just possibly
squeeze itself in. DH Camp Richardson (South Lake Tahoe) - Tahoma (Hwy 89) is a very
twisty and beautifully paved route up and down along the shoreline with
some incredible vistas over the lake.
The traffic was (and will always be) an issue on this road so you
have to either time it right or get a little lucky.
With a number of
miles under our belts by this point, we headed north from Tahoe City to
Truckee and then I set off in search of a couple of possible Twisted Edges
that Brian had seen from the air. This
is where the day really went off the rails for me.
With Brian's sparse directions, I was unable to find the route out
of Truckee that he had been talking about.
So I came up with a plan of heading east on I-80 and picking up
Stampede Dam Rd (the second one) then trying to find the first one from
the east end. Unfortunately,
there was a lot of road construction going on and through a combination of
closed exit and entry ramps it took me several passes and about 50 miles
of back and forth to finally figure out where this Stampede Dam Rd was.
(why, oh why don’t they use numbered freeway exits in
California?) I headed up
Stampede Dam Rd with what I thought was enough gas to get me there and
back. After exploring the far reaches of the pavement on this road
in the near dark, I coasted and limped back to the interstate with my
reserve indicator flashing madly.
At this point I
discovered the gas station I had counted on had closed and the access ramp
that would take me to Truckee was closed as well for construction
purposes. Thus, it was going
to require a 20 mile detour (going east to the next exit and then back
again) to get to Truckee via the interstate.
My plight was was not
as precarious as the Donner Party’s, but I was still cursing myself for
playing so fast and loose with my fuel supply.
Good old AAA. They had
me gassed up and rescued with directions as to how to find an alternative
way (the lost TE candidate it turns out) back to Truckee.
From there things got better as Brian had found one of our best
meals of the trip. If he ever
gets his diary done, I think he made a note of the name of the restaurant.
Tue Aug 12/03
Mike
Even hardcore moto-journalists have to take days off sometimes and we had
decided that this would be ours. Brian,
for reasons best known to himself, checked into a very expensive condo
resort on Donner Lake. But it
was sure nice to walk down onto the dock and spend a couple hours reading
in the morning sun on this beautiful and popular lake.
We grabbed some breakfast and then went to the Donner Memorial
Museum in the Donner Memorial State Park.
We were frankly disappointed in the paucity of this exhibit and the
fact that it seemed to focus more on the history of the railroad than upon
the gruesome experience of these notorious pioneers.
In any case, we left the museum and then set off-- with a little
detour to have Brian check out the Stampede Dam Rd TE-- to one of my
favorite places: Reno, Nevada.
I found it surprising
that Harrah's, the best room in town, is not set up to accommodate
motorcyclists. They put our
bikes in the cellar where the employees park, ostensibly for security
reasons. Because there was no working elevator, we had to access the
hotel by way of the employee's stairwell which was lined with original
slogans like "Don't Worry, Be Happy" and "Anticipate the
Customers Needs". Yeah,
like easy access motorcycle parking.
I used to be a
frequent visitor to Harrah's and it was a bit of a homecoming for me to
visit the old haunts, Harrah's Steak House being my favorite. Watched a show, had a great dinner, won at Pai-Gow, lost at
craps and generally had a wonderful 18 hours before grabbing a quick Keno
breakfast and hitting the road again.
Back to work.
Wed Aug 13/03
Mike
Another long day lay ahead. Back
to Truckee, up Hwy 89, down a possible TE to Jackson Meadows then up
through Sierraville to ride DH
Sattley - Nevada City (Hwy 49). Wow.
Is this a road! 73
miles of almost-always-winding pavement up and down off the Yuba Summit
and along the shores of the Yuba River.
Downieville, the town in the middle, was a particularly funky
looking place, its town slogan being "A Way of Life".
Hmm. That’s pretty
familiar. I think they ripped
it off from Harley-Davidson.
We arrived in Nevada
City and then, as the sun was beginning to fade, blasted out DH Nevada City – Hwy 20/I-80 Jct (Hwy 20) to see if it was
anything. To our surprise,
this extremely well-paved and engineered road bore its share of curves and
precious little traffic, considering it was rush hour out of the
burgeoning Nevada City - Grass Valley area.
Where this road was sweepy and easy, the TE down to the little
riverside town of Washington with its twists and turns was exciting and
challenging. And what a
pleasant surprise to have a beer on the back deck of the Washington Hotel
and overlook an absolutely beautiful little section of the Yuba River,
perfect for taking a dip or just generally hanging out.
We had underestimated
how long it would take us to get to Chico, our destination (since we had
an appointment with the folks at Bohn to view some riding armor the next
day). So we did our usual
pull-into-town-at-9:30-p.m.-unsuccessfully-try-to-find-a-decent-dinner-and-end-up-settling-for-B-level-cuisine
thing. The Italian Cottage
with its gimmicky sawdust on the floor shtick barely passed the test for
ten o'clock dining.
Thu Aug 14/03
Mike
Woke up in Chico with plans to arrive early at the Bohn Armor Warehouse
and be able to get on the road in timely way.
These plans were waylaid when it fell to me to ascertain the
whereabouts of this place and to navigate us there.
Likely as a consequence of my having looked at a map of the city of
Chico upside down we ended up taking a several mile, 40-minute route to
get to a place that turned out to be about 5 minutes away from our motel.
But our efforts were rewarded by the purchase of several hundred
dollars worth of body armor to go under our Motoport suits.
This stuff, while good, makes me feel more like Conan the Barbarian
than Mike the Motojournalist. Can't
seem to get away from that Schwarzenegger theme this trip.
We had a more than
satisfactory breakfast at the Country Kitchen or Kitchen Country or some
variation upon those words, where we were mysteriously blessed (God bless,
God bless) by a number of the staff and our fellow customers.
Must be the armor. Anyway, protected both physically and spiritually, we split
up to perform our different tasks for the day.
I headed south on 99 and after an interminable wait to make a left
turn onto DH Oroville – Quincy
(Hwy 70). Apparently, Brian
had done this on weekend and had choc-a-bloc traffic.
I, on the other hand faced none of those problems and, in the event
I did, I would able to get ahead of any cars by zipping to the front of
the line on the various red lights that existed at the numerous bridges
under repair.
Winding below the
high cliffs, along the bank of the North Fork of the Feather River, this
dream of a road has state-highway-quality pavement and engineering
combined with cliffs and riverside scenery.
I stopped at a little town that I think was called Belden.
Resort, campground, store, restaurant and emergency gas.
What else do you need? With
the road so quiet, this seems like it would be a terrific place to hang
during the week. After a drink and removing the T-shirt I had underneath my
new armor (that's better) I continued in the 100 degree heat toward
Quincy. I arrived there,
heavily into reserve (of course) and had a pleasant conversation with a
local who owned a VTR and a new FJR 1300.
We chit-chatted a bit and I told what we were about.
I then went north
back to the junction of Hwy 70 at 89 and through to the town of
Greenville. This is another
excellent section of road which will no doubt form an alternative ending
to this DH as it continues to scoot along the river amidst the steep
canyon cliffs. Frankly,
Greenville is a far niftier town to end a DH than Quincy but we’ll have
to see how the numbers break down. There
is even a little 3 mile tight and twisty, reasonably paved 3 mile jaunt up
to the Round Valley Reservoir. It
seems this lake, however, serves as the local water supply and therefore
swimming is not permitted. Guess
folks here have never heard of chlorine.
Then it was back on
the road to check out the potential DH Brian had identified as DH Taylorville - Janesville. Lower
end pavement and engineering make this extremely twisty road one tough
ride, especially when you come out of the Genessee Valley and climb over
the mountain. It’s one of
those roads that's tough to ride the first time round but would be a great
ride once you came to know it. It
also offers an excellent level of remoteness.
After the first few miles, I don't believe I saw a single car for
the remaining 35 miles to Janesville.
I added to the length of this ride by checking out the road that
runs on the north side of Antelope Lake.
Very similar to the southern passage, the only differences being
it’s longer and provides slightly better views of the lake.
Its greatest significance is that it lets Taylorvillians who just
want to ride up and back loop around the lake to add some variety to their
ride.
Stopped for gas and a
snack at the Hwy 395 Jct and then it was time to undertake the 140 mile or
so ride back to Redding. The
straight ride north to Susanville was not particularly memorable. Once north of Susanville, however, turning off onto Hwy 44, I
was in for a little bit of late night treat.
44 is one of those roads that would never be a DH because its
twistiness rating would never be up to snuff.
However, as every motorcyclist knows, it’s possible to have a
decent ride on so-so roads if other conditions are perfect. This was such a night.
I was tired after a
long day's riding and didn't need a lot of curves to keep me happy.
The handful of sweepers at the outset were gentle and just right
for the high-speed-let's-just-get-there rate that I was traveling.
The sun setting in the west created a certain glow over the road
which in its absence of traffic and absolute non-existence of development
through the forest and along the dry lakes, created an allegorical sense
of well-being.
By the time I merged
into Hwy 89, it was dark and I couldn't really see much as I zipped
through the quiet forest. It
was too dark to keep up any real speed for fear of deer and the fact that
lights in the distance could always be an oncoming speed tax collector. I finally got into Redding at about 9:00 p.m., having made
excellent time overall. Located
Brian, enjoyed the bottle of Grolsch that he had set aside for me and went
about the business of trying to find an open restaurant.
Given that it was 9:45 by the time we started hunting, it's no
surprise we ended up settling for Red Robin.
Hey, beats the gas station.
Fri Aug 15/03
Mike
Flying days. Two of them
back-to-back. Bearing in mind
my gastroenterological response to the last several flights, I approached
these days with a level of dread. However,
through judicious use of Dramamine and with some credit to the calm
weather, I managed to get through these two days with my stomach contents
intact.
One thing I enjoy
about this flying experience is that you go up and you never know exactly
where you are going to come down or what's going to be there. As we are flying about and find its time to stop for lunch or
gas, Don pulls out his handy little book which describes the services
available at or around these little municipal airports here and there and
away we go. On Friday, we
stopped at an absolutely charming little spot in Scott Valley, one valley
inland from I-5 and Mount Shasta. We
took the courtesy car and found a more than passable little restaurant
called Bob's Ranch House. Before
we left I even enjoyed a few minutes under something called "Tommy's
Tree". This appeared to be a large Ash or Maple that had been
planted some 25 years before by some noteworthy local.
I can't imagine a more perfect temperature than existed under that
tree on that day. Why isn't
there more of that here. In
Vancouver, several years ago, the city went on a huge tree planting
campaign. And that’s in a place where there's not much call for
shade. Take Vancouver shade
to California and you'd be onto something.
Hey, Arnold, how about a state shade tree planting campaign?
Back in Redding, we
had dinner at a local Italian restaurant that had been featured in our
guidebook (no, not the one we’re writing).
While the meal was passable, if this is the best that Redding has
to offer, there is definitely a market here for some upscale food. I couldn't help noticing on the approaches to the airport we
used here at Redding that there are these palatial mansions up on the hill
above the river east of town. I’ve
gotta wonder where the heck these people eat?
On the way to dinner,
we went through our first roadblock in California. Brian took the opportunity to “leaflet” the local
constabulary. That is to say,
gave them the description of what it is we do and provide them this
promotional material that we carry with us, largely for the purpose of
avoiding lengthy conversations with people who come up and ask us
“what’s theyat on yore heyad?”
Sat
Aug 16/03
Mike
Saturday was a similar day, covering a lot of territory all the way out to
the coast. My highlight was
flying over the Lost Coast Road - a lonely, middle-of-nowhere loop that
bypasses a section of Hwy 101 just south of Fortuna.
It looked gorgeous, one section directly along the Pacific shore
with the breakers creaming in. If
that omen weren’t enough, we even saw a bike along there.
I imagine it's going to be difficult to find oceanside roads that
have no traffic on them in California.
I'm looking forward to doing this one.
We paid the price for
the tour of that last road, however, as we hit the bumpiest part of the
flight. Winds were so strong
that the plane was pointing in one direction and yet flying sideways.
While I appreciate that Don was just starting to enjoy himself, I
was very happy to finally touch down on terra firma
that day, even if it was back in Redding.
Recovered the bikes
from the hangar, bid adieu to
Don who was flying yet another 2 hours back to Turlock and came back to
the hotel for a little pool time. Pool,
hot tub, beer, a good book. I
enjoyed these couple of hours before we finally set about 9:00 to locate
some dinner. The Olive
Garden was just fine. It just
goes to show, when you can't find great food, Italian's the way to go,
with Chinese a not too distant second.
Sun Aug 17/03
Mike
Sundays are probably the worst day to be on the road doing what is we are
doing. It's the heaviest
traffic day, particularly in the afternoon when people start returning
from the various weekend camping trips.
Still, I was excited by the prospect of attacking some of the great
roads we'd seen from the air and getting out of the heat of the Redding
Valley up into the mountains and toward the coast around Eureka.
I woke up invigorated, tipped my hat to the woman in the old Ford
who I have seen every morning I have been in Redding sifting around in the
dumpster for cans, bottles and other valuables, checked the tire pressure
and was ready for action. Brian,
as has as been previously documented in the diary, is not an "up and
at 'em" kind of guy. He
bridles at the prospect of getting on the bike before the heat of the day
has reached its full intensity. As
a consequence, we were off to our typical start at-- about 11:30 a.m.
That's okay. I had
only been up for 6 hours.
Sunday was a blessing
in disguise this week, however, in that with all of the road construction
going on the Lassen Parkway, you had to ride it on weekends in order to
avoid the various 25 minute waits that you'd otherwise face when trying to
ride it during the week. We
zipped up the 65-mph DH Dales –
Hwy 36/32 Jct toward the park, struggling to discern some curves and
sweepers amid the wide landscape. Following
the turnoff at Mineral, the road improved dramatically, turning into what
Brian has described as one of his favorite stretches of road in
California. Traffic was
surprisingly light, especially for a Sunday, and thus we were able to
enjoy these perfectly paved, superlatively engineered curves that passed
through the tall pines all the way past the Lassen Junction almost to Hwy
36.
As I had succumbed to
the temptation of a stack of pancakes with breakfast this morning, I took
a few minutes to crash by the side of Hwy 36 to absorb the low that
inevitably followed my maple syrup sugar high.
“Bonking” I think it’s called in the world of sport.
Sitting there, I must have seen about 20 sportbikes zip by.
It’s seems the sportier cognoscenti skip Lassen and its $5.00
toll and stick to Hwy 36.
We were, admittedly,
expecting more from DH Lassen Park
Road (Hwy 89) than it delivered.
The scenery, which had been described to us as the best in
California didn’t touch that of Yosemite, although it was kind of neat
to be riding alongside some snow for the first time.
It was unquestionably beautiful and would be a worthwhile ride for
a tourer. When it came to the
locals, however, we did notice that it seemed to be cruisers who were
dominating this road, the sportbikes, as I said, eschewing the traffic and
35 mph speed limit in favor of the freedom of the surrounding roads.
And while it was scenic and twisty at the top, a plethora of
campgrounds, trail heads, viewpoints and their attendant parking lots
packed with pylons, detracted to a large extent from any remoteness the
road might otherwise offer. Indeed,
it was only when it straightened and settled into its treed, northern end
that any sense of being away from it all returned.
We headed back on 44
to Redding, a road which, despite the number of bikes we saw coming the
other way, will not make it on the numbers as a DH.
It being 107 degrees by the time we arrived in Palo Cedro, I
stripped of the inner layer of armor that I wear, dragged a T-shirt out of
my bag, dunked in water and put it on underneath my air mesh jacket. While I don't advocate riding in shorts and T-shirts, one has
to strike the right balance between crash protection and heat stroke.
Re-hydrated and
refreshed by what remains one of the best cooling methods going, we zipped
up Dry Creek Rd, a road which felt much better on the ground than from the
air, and checked out the two arms that go around one small piece of Shasta Lake. Again, it
was surprising that the marina-- a natural destination with its restaurant
and bar, would be on such a bumpy road.
The east arm, which goes up to a boat ramp, was actually really
good. There is even a little
dock at the end you could swim off.
No time to succumb to
temptation, though. It was
quickly back down Bear Mountain Rd and north on Old Oregon Trail to the
interstate. Gilman Rd was one
that had looked particularly attractive to me from the air.
Smooth pavement twisting endlessly so close to the water.
As a dead-ender, it turns out it's too short be a DH, but just.
It remains, however, one of the top TE’s I expect we’ll find in
California and the best close-in ride available to Reddingites.
Great pavement, and twisties which while tight are well engineered
and predictable. Scenery is
not fantastic as the road goes through the trees almost the whole way and
views of the lake and mountains are usually screened by the trees. An inviting campground and day use spot at the end of the
road completes the picture. As
is always the case of dead-enders, armed with little road knowledge, the
ride out is better than the ride in.
After picking up
Oasis and Keswick Roads as a possible bypass to Shasta on Hwy 299 (the
start of the first of three DH’s on Hwy 299 to the coast), we headed
back to, where else?—Redding-- for our fourth night at the River Inn
Motor Hotel. By the time we
got around to thinking about dinner, it was too late to even order a pizza
from anyone but Dominos. And
what's with their no salad thing?
Mon Aug 18/03
Mike
Wow, what a surreal day. It
started off normally enough apart the fact that we actually got on the
road prior to 11:00 a.m. We
split up a couple of possible Twisted Edges in the area with the intention
of following Hwy 299 all the way from Redding to Eureka.
All of this went smoothly enough with the TE’s (mine were Trinity
Dam Rd and Rock Creek Rd) out of Lewiston being pretty much as expected.
I was impressed by
the little town of Lewiston and with its quirky longevity. A
tree planted in 1939 in commemoration of the bi-centennial of George
Washington's birthday. A general/gift shop with a couple of gas pumps from the 40's
outside, albeit not functioning. And
so on. The Lewiston River
Inn, I believe it's called, looked particularly inviting, or at least the
camp chairs perched by the lazy Lewiston River did.
Hwy 299, consisting of DH
Shasta – Douglas City, DH
Weaverville – Willow Creek and DH
Willow Creek – Blue Lake was pretty much as expected, rather
reminiscent of the Sea-to-Sky trilogy between Vancouver and Pemberton.
The first leg to Weaverville is a great road that's screwed by the
intense traffic. The middle
section is a little better and probably the best of the bunch when it
comes to variety of curves. And
a final section that's nothing but big sweepers but has a lot less
traffic.
It was a fine day
until I followed Brian down the 53 mile 1 lane, non-engineered Titlow Hill
Rd that things just started to get a little weird.
More of a paved trail than anything else, this rite of passage
between Hwy 299 and Hwy 36 did nothing if not beat the hell out of us
after an already long day. Even
though it was about 6:00 p.m. when we got there, we decided with the DH Mad River Road – Van Duzen Road loop so close, we may as well
knock that off prior to finding a place for the night.
That road was some 45 miles long with a fair chunk of gravel on it
as part of a repaving project. Not what we expected when we went to bang off a quick TE.
It now turns out we are going to have to come back and do the road
in proper light and rate it, preferably next year once all the paving is
done. Then we’ll know if
it’s a "road you travel to to journey on".
It was getting dark
by the time we finally reconnected with Hwy 36 and I was looking forward
to a gentle state highway cruise to a nearby motel.
Forget it. Not only
were there no "nearby hotels" - in fact there was nothing what
so ever until we got Fortuna some 50 miles away.
That 50 miles was not a nice gentle cruise, either.
Hwy 36 contorts through several dark-treed, one lane sections.
On one of them, a circus caravan went by.
Complete with paintings on the side of their buses.
This day was getting weirder by the minute.
After the circus sighting, we found ourselves in a piece of the
Redwood Forest that straddles Hwy 36 outside of Carlotta.
This is a very narrow stretch of road where the trees seemed to
grow right out of the pavement itself.
It was quite bizarre with our high beams illuminating the enormous
tree trunks and looking up at trees that seemed in the dark to be 8000
feet high. It really felt as if we had crossed into some other domain.
Finally.
Finally at about 9:20 p.m., we arrived at Fortuna and checked into
the Best Western, a nice hotel in a trucker’s village on the edge of
town. On our way back from
the brew pub, we noticed parked in the Super 8 Motel parking lot a truck
with these wooden sculptures of camels and possibly a bear.
By this point I was expecting at any moment to wake up and find
that it was morning in Redding.
Tue
Aug 19/03
Mike
Our final day on the road was to be a long one, since we had to get back
to Turlock to put the bikes away and catch a plane the next day, but I was
excited about the notion of riding this section of Hwy 36 in the daylight.
DH Carlotta (Fortuna) –
Red Bluff did not disappoint either, offering every kind of curve and
a wide range of engineering as it wiggled its way across to the I-5. At first, we thought the DH might split up to Redding at
Platina via the Platina Rd (A16). Don’t
think so. What a bumpfest
that county road nightmare turned out to be.
It finally got rideable around Ono and there’s a short but great
section just east of Centerville, but I for one would always continue on
Hwy 36 and turn onto Bowman Rd if I was heading to Redding.
We had to ride back on Hwy 36 to tape the last segment to Red
Bluff, just as it started to rain. In
Red Bluff, with the light starting to fade, we packed away the equipment,
took a breath and set out on the long trip down to Turlock.
As a safety
precaution, Brian and I usually ride with him in the lead.
It’s one less variable to screw you up, especially when you’re
tired. This is not such a
concern on interstates and so, when he was fiddling around after getting
gas, I hit the highway and got a bit of a lead up.
I never lost it, even when we were passing through Sacramento amid
the blinding thunderstorms. It
was a weird sensation with the water streaming through my air mesh.
I wasn’t cold but I was really wet.
But I was a man on a mission and miraculously, I made it all the
way to home base in Turlock in time to grab a beer and a bite at
Applebee’s.
Brian, the wimp,
ended up bailing, getting a motel and showing up in the morning, shaking
his head that I’d actually managed to make it through the storm. He was mumbling some crap about how the storm must have been
much more intense when he’d come through (six minutes or so later).
Sure, Brian. Whatever. The
fact is, some of us have what it takes.
Others, well….
Wed
Aug 20/03
Mike
Travel day. The planes,
trains and automobiles back to Vancouver took the usual eight hours.
Didn’t give a second thought, though, still buzzing from two
solid weeks on the road. And,
as is the wonderful thing about biking, I felt like I’d been away two
months.
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